How my brother leon brought home a wife

How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife

(American Colonial Literature)

By Manuel E. Arguilla

She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. SHe was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth.

"You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high on her right cheek.  "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much." She held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum.

I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his forehead now."

She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she came and touched Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily.

My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her.
"Maria---" my brother Leon said.

He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name.

"Yes, Noel."

Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way.

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

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

"You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?"

Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel.

We stood alone on the roadside.

The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang's white coat, which I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire.

He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly in answer.

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

"Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it."

"There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him."

She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang's neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high up on her right cheek.

"If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous."

My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them.

I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top.

She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away.

"Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears.

She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair. When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around.

"What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said.

I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went---back to where I had unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires.

When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly:

"Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?"

His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig.

"Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the camino real?"

His fingers bit into my shoulder.

"Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong."

Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said:

"And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and the calesa."

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?"

I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart.

"Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky.

"I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said. "Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?"

"Yes, Noel," she said. "Look at it," she murmured, half to herself. "It is so many times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach."

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

"So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath.

"Making fun of me, Maria?"

She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's hand and put it against her face.

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

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

Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart.

"Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked.

"Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him."

"I am asking you, Baldo," she said.

Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly:

"Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home---Manong."

"So near already."

I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky Sown with Stars'---the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again.

Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes.

"But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly.

"You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?" My brother Leon stopped singing.

"Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here."

With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired. In a little while we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real.

"---you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields because---but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home."

"Noel," she said.

"Yes, Maria."

"I am afraid. He may not like me."

"Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said. "From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered, gentlest man I know."

We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said "Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels.

I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's hand were:

"Father... where is he?"

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

I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them.

There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking.

"Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked.

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

He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair.

"She is very beautiful, Father."

"Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders.

"No, Father, she was not afraid."

"On the way---"

"She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang."

"What did he sing?"

"---Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him."

He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside.

The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in.

"Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me.

I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn.

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

I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

from: http://www.seasite.niu.edu

Some things to highlight in PH literature during the US colonization

Please copy this very short poem:

Vacation days at last are here,

And we have time for fun so dear,

All boys and girls do gladly cheer,

This welcomed season of the year.

In early June in school we’ll meet;

A harder task shall we complete

And if we fail we must repeat

That self same task without retreat.

We simply rest to come again

To school where boys and girls obtain

The Creator’s gift to men

Whose sanguine hopes in us remain.

Vacation means a time for play

For young and old in night and day

My wish for all is to be gay,

And evil none lead you astray

                       

 - Juan F. Salazar    

Philippines Free Press, May 9, 1909

from: NCCA

Vocabulary Words for the Short Story: My father goes to court

Instructions:
1. Consult the dictionary (not the Tagalog to English vise versa kind) for the meaning of the words. 
2. Read the short story: My father goes to court by Carlos Bulosan to see how each words was used.
3. Create sentences that display the proper use of the vocabulary words.
4. Put it in a whole legal paper (yellow paper).

Ready?? let's begin!

1. Enchanting
2. Glowered
3. Condemning
4. Contagious
5. Grotesque
6. Faint
7. Boisterous
8. Sturdy
9. Gratuitously
10. Feeble
11. Spectators
12. Strode
13. Strutted
14. Roaring
15. Chase

have a wonderful time reading the short story! I know it will be filled with fun and laughter :)

NEW YORKER IN TONDO

(Marcelino Agana, Jr.)

SCENE: The parlor of the Mendoza house in Tondo. Front door is at right. Curtained
window is at left. Left side of stage is occupied by a rattan set –sofa and two
chairs flanking a table. On the right side of the stage, a cabinet radio stands
against a back wall. Open door-way in center, background, leads into the rest of
the house.

MRS. M: (As she walks toward the door) –Visitors, always visitors. Nothing but visitors all
day long. Naku, I’m beginning to feel like a society matron.
(She opens door. Tony steps in, carrying a bouquet. Tony is 26, dressed to kill, and is the suave
type. Right now, however, he is feeling a trifle nervous. He starts slightly on seeing Mrs.
Mendoza.)

MRS. M : Tony! I thought you were in the provinces.

TONY : (Startling) –But is that you, Aling Atang?

MRS. M : ( Laughing) --- Of course. It’s I, foolish boy. Who did you think it was
…Carmen Rosales?

TONY : You …you don’t look like Aling Atang.

MRS. M : (shyly touching her boyish bob) – I had my hair cut. Do I look
so horrible?

TONY : Oh, no, no … you look just wonderful, Aling Atang. For a moment I
thought you were your own daughter. I thought you were Kikay.

MRS. M : (Playfully slapping his cheek) --- Oh, you are as palikero as ever, Tony. But come
in, come in. (She moves toward the furniture and Tony follows.) Here, sit down,
Tony. How is your mother?

TONY : (As he sits down, still holding the bouquet) --- Oh, poor mother is terribly
homesick for Tondo, Aling Atang. She wants to come back here at once.

MRS. M : (Standing beside his chair, putting on an apron) – How long have you
been away?

TONY : Only three months

MR. M : Only three months! Three months is too long for a Tondo native to be
away from Tondo. Ay, my kumare, how bored she must be out there!

TONY : Well, Aling Atang, you know how it is with us engineers. We must go
where our jobs call us. But as soon as I have finished with that bridge in Bulacan, mother and I are coming back here to Tondo.

MRS. M : Yes, you must bring her back as soon as possible. We miss her
whenever we play panguingue.

TONY : (Laughing) --- That is what she misses most of all.

MRS. M : Now I understand how she feels! Your mother could never, never become
a provinciana, Tony. Once a Tondo girl, always a Tondo girl, I always say. (She
pauses, struck by a thought). But I wonder if that’s true after all. Look at my
Kikay; she was over there in America for a whole year, and she says that she
never, never felt homesick at all!

TONY : (Beginning to look nervous again) --- When … when did she, Kikay,
arrive, Aling Atang?

MRS. M : Last Monday.

TONY : I didn’t know she had come back from New York until I read about it
in the newspapers.

MRS. M : (Plaintively) --- That girl arrived only last Monday and look at what has happened
to me! When she first saw me, she was furious; she said that I need a complete
overhauling. She dragged me off to a beauty shop, and look, look what she had
done to me! My hair is cut, my eyebrows are shaved, my nails are manicured,
and whenever I go to market, I must use lipstick and rouge! All my kumares are
laughing at me. People must think I have become a … loose woman! And at my
age, too! But what can I do. You know how impossible it is to argue with Kikay.
And she says that I must learn how to look and act like an Americana because I
have a daughter who has been to America. Dios mio, do I look like an American?

TONY : (Too worried to pay much attention) --- You look just wonderful,
Aling Atang. And … and where is she now?

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

TONY : Kikay? Is she at home?

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

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

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

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

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

TONY : (Rising disconsolately) --- Well, will you just tell her I called … to welcome her
home. Oh, and will you please give her these flowers?

MRS. M : (Taking the flowers) --- But surely, you’re not going yet, Tony. Why, you and she
grew up together! Sit right down again, Tony. I will go and wake her up.

TONY : Oh, please don’t bother, Aling Atang. I can come back some other time.

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

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

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

TONY : Yes, Aling Atang?

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

TONY : Why not?

MRS. M : Kikay doesn’t like it. She says I must tell people to call me Mrs. Mendoza. She
says it’s a more civilized form of address. So … and especially in front of
Kikay…. You must call me Mrs. Mendoza.

TONY : Yes, Aling … I, mean yes, Mrs. Mendoza.

MRS. M : (Turning to go) --- Well, wait just a minute and I will call Kikay.

TONY : (To himself as he sits down) --- Hah!

MRS. M : (Turning around again) ---- Oh, and Tony …

TONY : (Jumping up again) --- Yes, Aling … I mean yes, Mrs. Mendoza.

MRS. M : You must not call Kikay, “Kikay.”

TONY : (Blankly) --- and what shall I call her?

MRS. M : You must call her Francesca.

TONY : Francisca?

MRS. M : Not Francisca … Fran…CES…ca.

TONY : But why Francesca?

MRS. M : She says that in New York, every body calls her Fran-CES-ca.That is how all
those Americans in New York pronounce her name. And all she wants everybody
here to pronounce it in the same way. She says it sounds so “chi-chi”, so Italian.
Do you know that many people in New York thought she was an Italian…an
Italian from California? So be sure and remember; do not call her Kikay, she
hates that name … call her Fran-CES-ca.

TONY : (Limply, sitting down again) --- yes, Mrs. Mendoza.

MRS. M : (Turning to go again) – Now wait right here while I call Fran-CES-ca. (Somebody
knocks at the front door. She turns around again.) Aie, Dios mio!

TONY : (Jumping up once again) – Never mind, Mrs. Mendoza, I’ll answer it.
(He goes to open the door.)

MRS. M : (As she exists) --- Just tell them to wait, Tony.
(Tony opens door and Totoy steps in. Totoy is the same age as Tony and is more clearly a
Tondo sheik. The one word that could possibly describe his attire is “spooting”. Both boys
extend their arms out wide on beholding each other.)

TOTOY : Tony!

TONY : Totoy! (They pound each other’s bellies.)

TOTO : You old son of your father!

TONY : You big carabao, you!

TOTOY : Mayroon ba tayo diyan?

TONY : You ask me that … and you look like a walking goldmine! How many depots
have you been looting, huh?

TOTOY : Hoy, hoy, more slowly there … It’s you the police are out looking for.

TONY : Impossible! I’m a reformed character!

TOTOY : (Arms around each other’s shoulders, they march across the room) ---
Make way for the Tondo boys … Bang! Bang!

TONY : (Pushing Totoy away and producing a package of cigarettes) Good to see you,
old pal … here, have a smoke.

TOTOY : (Taking a cigarette) – I thought you were in Bulacan, partner.

TONY : I am. I just came to say hello to Kikay.

TOTOY : (As they light cigarette) --- Tony, I’ve been hearing the most frightful things about
that girl.

TONY : (Sinking into a chair) --- So have I.

TOTOY : (Sitting down too) --- People are saying that she has gone crazy.

TONY : No, she has only gone New York.

TOTOY : What was she doing in New York?

TONY : Oh, studying. Hair culture and beauty science. She got a diploma.

TOTOY : Uy, imagine that! Our dear old Kikay!

TONY : Pardon me, but she’s not Kikay anymore … she is Fran-CES-ca.

TOTOY : Fran-CES-ca?

TONY : Miss Tondo has become Miss New York. Our dear old Kikay is now an American.

TOTOY : Kikay, an American? Don’t make me laugh! Why, I knew that girl when she was
still selling rice cakes! (Stands up and imitates a girl puto vendor) --- Puto kayo
diyan … bili na kayo ng puto.

TONY : (Laughing) – Remember when we pushed her into the canal?

TOTOY : She chased us all around the streets.

TONY : Naku, how that girl could fight!

TOTOY : (Fondly) --- Dear old Kikay!

(Knocking at the door. Totoy goes to open it. Enter Nena. Nena is a very well possessed young
lady of 24. )

NENA : Why, it’s Totoy!

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

NENA : (Brushing him aside as she walks into the room) – and Tony too! What’s
all this? A Canto boy Reunion?

TOTOY : (Following behind her) – We have come to greet the lady from New York.

NENA : So have I. Is she at home?

TONY : Aling Atang is trying to wake her up.

NENA : To wake her up! Is she still dreaming?

MRS. M : (Appearing in the center doorway) – No, she’s awake already. She’s
changing. Good morning, Nena. Good morning, Totoy.
(Totoy and Nena are staring speechless. Mrs. Mendoza is carrying a vase in which she has
arranged Tony’s flowers. She self-consciously walks into the room and sets the vase on the
table amidst the silence broken only by Totoy’s helpless wolf whistle.)

MRS. M : (Having set the vase on the table) –Well, Totoy? Well, Nena? I said good
morning. Why are you staring at me like that?

NENA : Is … is that you Aling Atang?

TOTOY : Good God, It is Aling Atang! (He collapses into a chair)

TONY : Totoy, Aling Atang now prefers to be called Mrs. Mendoza.

MRS. M : Oh, Tony … you know it is not I but Kikay who prefers it. She was delighted with
these flowers, Tony. She thanks you very much. Nena, if you don’t stop gaping
at me, I’ll pinch you!

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

MRS. M : You were a very naughty girl, always fighting with Kikay. You were all very
naughty children. (She points at Totoy) – This one, especially, always sneaking
into our backyard to steal mangoes from our mango tree.

TOTOY : Do you still have the mango tree?

MRS. M : Yes, it’s still out there in our backyard.

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

MRS.M : Ah-ah, you just try! I still run as fast as ever. See if I don’t catch you again and
pull your pants off!

TOTOY : (Gripping his pants) – ah, but I wear suspenders now, Mrs. Mendoza.

MRS. M : Oh, you rascal! Come with me to the kitchen.

TOTOY : Why? To pull my pants off?

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

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

MRS. M : It’s only orange juice, Nena. I was preparing some for Kikay. She takes nothing
else in the morning. She says that in New York nobody eats breakfast. Come
along, Totoy.
(Exits Mrs. Mendoza and Totoy. Left alone, Nena and Tony are silent for a moment. Tony
seated; Nena stands behind the sofa.)

NENA : Well, Tony?

TONY : You shouldn’t have come today, Nena.

NENA : Oh, why not?

TONY : I haven’t talked to Kikay yet.

NENA : You haven’t talked to Kikay yet..! I thought you were going to come here
and tell her everything last night.

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

NENA : Oh, Tony, Tony!

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

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

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

NENA : (Bitterly) –Yes…and you were engaged to Kikay, too!

TONY : But that was a year ago!

NENA : (Flaring up) – Oh, you wolf! (She flounces away, furious)

TONY : (Jumping up and following her) – Nena, Nena, you know I love you, only you!

NENA : (Whirling around to face him) – How could you have the nerve to propose to me
when you were still engaged to Kikay?

TONY : I wish I had never told you. This is what I get for being honest!

NENA : Honest! You call yourself honest? Getting me to fall in love with you when
you still belonged to Kikay?

TONY : I … I thought I didn’t belong to Kikay anymore. It was only a secret engagement
anyway. I proposed to her just before she left for America and she said we must
keep our engagement a secret until she came back. But when she had been
there a couple of months, she stopped answering my letters. So I considered
myself a free man again.

NENA : (Sarcastically) – And you proposed to me.

TONY : (Miserably) – Yes …

NENA : And then asked me to keep our engagement a secret!

TONY : Because right afterwards, I found out that Kikay was coming back.

NENA : Well, I’m tired of being secretly engaged to you! What fun is it being engaged if you
can’t tell everybody!

TONY : Just give me a chance to talk to Kikay and explain everything to her. Then you
and I will announce our engagement.

NENA : Well, you better hurry. I’m getting impatient.

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

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

NENA : You want me and Totoy to clear out?

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

NENA : I’ll take care of Totoy.

TONY : That’s good.

NENA : Just leave it to me.

(Totoy appears in the doorway with tray on his head; glasses and a pitcher are on a tray.)
TOTOY : (Sailing in) – Puto kayo diyan, bili na kayo ng puto…!
(Mrs. Mendoza appears in the doorway, carrying a plate of sandwiches.)

MRS. M : Listen everybody…here comes Kikay…but she prefers to be called Fran-CES-ca.
(She moves away from the doorway and Kikay appears. Kikay is garbed in a trailing gown
trimmed with fur at the neck and hemline. From one hand she dangles a large silk handkerchief
which she keeps waving about as she walks and talks. In the other hand, she carries a very
long cigarette holder with an unlighted cigarette affixed. Kikay’s manner and appearance are
…to use a Hollywood expression …”chi-chi mad.”)

KIKAY : (Having paused a long moment in the doorway, hands uplifted in surprise and
delight) – Oh, hello, hello… you darling, darling people! (She glides into the
room. Everybody else is too astonished to move) Nena, my dear…but how cute
you’ve become! (She kisses Nena)And Tony, my little pal of the valley…how are
you? (She gives her hand to Tony) and Totoy…my, how ravishing you look. (She
walks all around the apprehensive Totoy) goodness, you look like a Tondo superproduction in Technicolor! But sit down everybody…do sit down and let me look
at you. (Her three visitors sit down. She sees the tray with the glasses and
pitcher on the table and throws her hands up in amused horror.) Oh, mumsy,
mumsy!

MRS. M : What’s the matter now?

KIKAY : How many times must I tell you, mumsy dearest, never, never serve fruit
juice in water glasses!

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

KIKAY : (Approaching and kissing her mother) – Oh, my poor li’l mumsy…she is
so clumsy, no? But never mind, dearest; don’t break your heart about it.
Here sit down.

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

KIKAY : Oh, mumsy, don’t forget my celery. (to her visitors) – I can’t live without
celery. I’m like a rabbit…munch, munch all day.

MRS. M : Well, if you people will excuse me…Tony, remember me to your mother.
(She moves away)

KIKAY : (Gesturing make up) – and remember, mumsy…a little bloom on the lips,
a little bloom on the cheeks.

MRS. M : Oh, Kikay, do I have to?

KIKAY : Again, mumsy?

MRS. M : (Already in the center doorway) – Do I have to paint this old face of mine,
Fran-CES-ca?

KIKAY : (Breaking into laughter and turning towards the others) – But how dreadfully she
puts it! Oh, mumsy, mumsy…what am I going to do with you?

MRS. M : (As she exits) – I give up!

KIKAY : (Still laughing) – Poor mumsy, she’s quite a problem. (She waves her cigarette)
Oh, does anybody have a light?
(Totoy jumps up and gives her a light.)

KIKAY : Merci.

TOTOY : Huh?

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

TOTOY : (As he sits down) – Merci!

(Kikay poses herself on the arm of the sofa where Nena is sitting and sipping orange juice. The
two boys, also sipping juice and munching sandwiches, occupying the two chairs)
NENA : Tell us about New York.

KIKAY : (Fervently) – Ah, New York, New York!

TONY : How long did you stay there?

KIKAY : (In a trance) – 10 months, 4 days, 7 hours and 21 minutes!

TOTOY : (Aside to the others) – and she’s still there … in her dreams!

KIKAY : (With emotion choking her voice) – Yes, I feel as if I were still there, as though I
had never left it, as though I had lived there all my life. But I look around me (She
bitterly looks around her at the three gaping visitors) and I realize that no, no I’m
not there. I’m not in New York… I’m here, here!

KIKAY : (She rises abruptly and goes to window where she stands looking out) I’m home,
they tell me. Home! But which is home for me? This cannot be home because my
heart aches with home sickness. I feel myself to be an exile…yes, a spiritual
exile. My spirit aches for its true home across the sea. Ah, New York! My own
dear New York! (She is silent a moment, looking across the horizon, her arms
cross over her breast. Her visitors glanced uneasily at each other.)

NENA : (To others) – I don’t think we ought to be here at all, boys.

TONY : Yes, we shouldn’t disturb her.

NENA : (With a languishing gesture) – And leave her alone with her memories.

TONY : (Glancing at the entranced Kikay) – Is that the girl we used to go swimming with
in the mud paddies?

TOTOY : (Crossing his arms over his chest) – Ah, New York! My own dear New York!

KIKAY : (Whirling around, enraptured) – Listen…oh listen! Now, in New York, it’s
springtime…it’s spring in New York! The daisies are just appearing in Central
Park and out in Staten Island the grass is green again. (With a little fond laugh)
Oh, we have a funny custom in New York…an old, old and very dear custom.
When spring comes around each year, we New Yorkers, we make a sort of
pilgrimage to an old tree growing down by the Battery. Oh, it’s an old tree. It’s
been growing there ever since New York was New York. And we New Yorkers,
we call it “Our Tree”. Every spring we go down to say hello to it and to watch its
first green leaves coming out. In a way, that tree is our symbol for New
York…undying immortal, forever growing and forever green! (She laughs and
makes an apologetic gesture) But please, please forgive me! Here I am going
sentimental and just mooning away over things you have no idea about. No, you
can’t understand this emotion I feel for our dear old tree over there in New York.

NENA : Oh, but I do, I understand perfectly! I feel that way too about “our” tree.

KIKAY : (Blankly) – About what tree?

NENA : Our mango tree, Kikay. Have you forgotten about it? Why you and I used to go
climbing up there every day and gorging ourselves on green mangoes. How our
stomachs ached afterwards! And then these bad boys would come and start
shaking the branches until we fell down!

TOTOY : Aling Atang once caught me climbing that tree and she grabbed my pants and
off they came!

NENA : And Kikay and me, we were rolling on the ground, simply hysterical with laughter.
And Totoy, you kept shouting,”Give me back my pants! Give me back my pants!”
(They were all shaking with laughter except Kikay who is staring blankly at this.)

KIKAY : But wait a minute, wait a minute…what is this tree you’re talking about?

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

KIKAY : (Flatly) – Oh that tree…

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

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

NENA : (Rising) – Well it does…for me. And such happy, happy memories! I really must
run out to the backyard and say hello to it. (Imitating Kikay’s tone and manner)
You know, Kikay, over here in Tondo, we have a funny custom…an old, old and
very dear custom. We make a sort of pilgrimage to a silly old mango tree
growing in a backyard. And for us here in Tondo, that tree is “our” tree. In a way,
it is a symbol…

KIKAY : (Interrupting) – don’t be silly, Nena.

TONY : Look who’s talking.

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

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

KIKAY : (Earnestly) –- That’s it exactly! Until you’ve been to New York, you can’t, can’t
understand ever. Oh, believe me…not to have lived in New York is not to have
lived at all! That tree of ours over there… it doesn’t stand for kid stuff and childish
foolishness. It stands for higher and finer things; for a more vivacious, a more
streamlined, and a more daring way of life!

KIKAY : It stands for Freedom and for the Manhattan skyline and for the Copacabana and
for Coney Island in summer and for Grant’s Tomb on Riverside Drive and for
Tuesday nights at Eddie Condons with Wild Bill Davidson working on that
trumpet of his and for Saturday nights at Madison Square Garden with the
crowds spilling all over the side walk and for the nickel ferry ride to Staten Island
and for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade down Fifth Avenue and for all (She stops,
overcome with her memories) Oh, it’s impossible to make you see!

TONY : I still prefer a tree that grows in Tondo.

TOTOY : I second the motion

NENA : So do I.

KIKAY : (Tolerantly, very much the woman of the world) – Oh you funny, funny children!

NENA : I really must go and say hello to our tree. You don’t mind, Kikay, do you?

KIKAY : (Laughing) – Of course not, child. Do go.

NENA : Totoy, will you come with me?

TOTOY : (Fervently, as he rises) – To the ends of the earth!

NENA : (In the Kikay manner) – No darling…just out to our dear little backyard.

TOTOY : (Acting up too) – Oh , the backyard of Tondo, the barong-barongs of Maypaho,
the streets of Sibakong…

NENA : (In the center doorway) – Listen, idiot, are you coming with me or not?

TOTOY : (Following her) – Anywhere, dream girl, anywhere at all!
(Exits Nena and Totoy)

KIKAY : (Sitting down on the sofa) – Apparently, our Totoy still has a most terrific crush
on Nena. (Tony is silent) Do wake up, Tony… what are you looking so miserable
about?
(Tony rises from his chair and sits down beside Kikay on the sofa. He is nervous and cannot
speak. Kikay smilingly gazes at him.)

TONY : (Finally gathering courage) – Kikay…I don’t know just how to begin.

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

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

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

TONY : Forget?

KIKAY : That’s the New York way, Tony. Forget. Nothing must ever be so serious,
nothing must drag on too long. Tonight, give all your heart. Tomorrow forget. And
when you meet again, smile, shake hands…just good sports.

TONY : What are you talking about?

KIKAY : Tony, I was only a child at that time.

TONY : When?

KIKAY : When you and I got engaged. I’ve changed so much since then, Tony.

TONY : That was only a year ago.

KIKAY : To me, it seems a century. So much has happened to me. I’ve become a
completely different person in just one year. After all, what’s a year, what’s a
person? Just relative terms. More can happen to you in just one year in New
York than in all a lifetime spent anywhere else. Do you know…I feel as if I’ve
always lived in New York. In spirit, I am and have always been a native of
Manhattan. When I first arrived there, I felt I had come home at last. It’s my real
home. Oh, listen, last summer it was really hot…one of the hottest summers we
ever had. I’d go riding on one of those double-decker buses just to cool off, and
all those people from Kalamazoo and Peoria and other places like that would be
wandering around the streets…sightseeing, you know…and there I would be on
top of this bus looking down at them and feeling very amused at the way they
gaped at the sky-scrapers and the way they gaped at the shop windows; but I’d
be feeling very proud too, because it was my city they were admiring, and I’d feel
rather sorry for them living out in the sticks…

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

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

TONY : Why not?

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

TONY : (Blazing) – Now look here…

KIKAY : (Very tolerantly) – I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Tony but I wanted you to realize how
ridiculous it would be to think that I could still be engaged to you.

TONY : (Leaping up) – I’m not going to sit here and be insulted.

KIKAY : Hush, Tony, hush! Don’t shout, don’t lose your temper…it’s so uncivilized.
People in New York don’t lose their temper. Not people of the haute monde
anyway!

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

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

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

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

NENA : What’s all this?

KIKAY : Nothing…nothing at all.

TOTOY : What were you two quarrelling about?

KIKAY : We were not quarrelling. Tony and I just decided to be good friends and nothing
more.

NENA : Tony, is this true?

TONY : (Shouting) –Yes!

NENA : Oh good! Now we can tell them!

KIKAY : Tell us what?

TOTOY : What’s going on here, eh?

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

KIKAY : (Rising) – Engaged!

TOTOY : (At the same time) – Engaged!

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

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

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

KIKAY : You unspeakable cad!

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

KIKAY : He’s not your fiancé!

NENA : Oh no? And why not, ha?

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

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

KIKAY : Ah, but I didn’t know about all this. This treacherous business! Oh, the shame of
it! Getting engaged to you when he was still engaged to me! Do I look like the
kind of girl who’d let a man jilt her? (Moving towards Tony) Oh, you horrible,
horrible monster!

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

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

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

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

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

KIKAY : You ought to be ashamed of yourself…stealing my man behind my back!

NENA : (Exploding) – WHAT! What did you say?

TONY : (Keeping a safe distance) – Totoy, pull them apart!

KIKAY : (To Totoy, as he approaches) – You keep out of this or I’ll knock your head off!

TOTOY : Naku, lumabas din and pagka Tondo!

NENA : Shameless hussy!

KIKAY : Man-eater!

(They grapple and stagger. Tony and Totoy rush forward to separate them and finally
succeeded but not before Kikay has socked Nena. Nena, infuriated, breaks away from
Tony…who’s dragging her away. and pounces on Kikay…whom Totoy is holding. Tony came
running but is too late to prevent Nena from socking Kikay. Kikay sags down in Totoy’s arms.
Tony pulls Nena away.)

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

NENA : What? She hit me first!

TONY : Look what you’ve done to her!
( Totoy has dropped the knocked-out Kikay on a chair.)

NENA : Are you trying to defend her? You never defended me!

TONY : SHUT UP!

NENA : I hate you! I hate you!

TONY : Shut up or I’ll bash your mouth off!

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

TONY : You keep out of this!

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

TOTOY : (To Tony) – You take your hands off her!

TONY : I told you to keep out of this!
(Totoy socks Tony. Tony drops to the floor.)

NENA : (Running to Totoy) – Oh Totoy, you’ve saved my life.
(Meanwhile, Kikay has run to Tony’s side.)

KIKAY : (Kneeling beside Tony) – Tony, Tony … open your eyes!

TONY : (Sitting up and brushing her hands away) – Oh, get away from here.
(Kikay rises and haughtily moves away. Tony continues to sit on the floor, in the attitude of
Rodin’s “Thinker”.)

NENA : Totoy, take me away from here!

TOTOY : (Pointing to Tony) – Are you still engaged to him?

NENA : I hate him! I never want to see him again in my life!

TOTOY : Good! Come on, let’s go.
(He takes her arm and propels her to the door.)

TONY : (As they pass him) – Hey!

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

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

TOTOY : Don’t you speak to me either! You have insulted the woman I love!

NENA : (Beaming up at him) – Oh Totoy, why have you never told me?

TOTOY : (Shyly) – Well…now you know…

TONY : (Still on the floor) – Congratulations!

NENA : (Coldly) – Let’s go darling…I don’t like the smell around here.
(Exit Nena and Totoy. Tony rises and dusts himself. Kikay is on the floor on the other side of the
room, her haughty back to him.)

TONY : Now you’ve ruined my life. I hope you’re satisfied.

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

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

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

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

KIKAY : And I wouldn’t touch you with a 20-foot pole.

TONY : Just one year in New York and you forget your old friends!

KIKAY : Just one year that I’m in New York… and what do you do! But when we got
engaged, you swore to be true, you promised to wait for me. And I believed you, I
believed you! (She begins to weep) Oh, you’re fickle, fickle!

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

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

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

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

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

KIKAY : Yes, Tony…that was Francesca saying all those silly things. But Francesca
exists no more, Tony. The girl standing before you is Kikay.

TONY : In that silly dress?

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

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

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

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

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

TONY : Liked it in New York?

KIKAY : Uh-uh. Give me Tondo anytime.

TONY : Why didn’t you answer my letters?

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

TONY : That misty girl. I’m glad she’s dead!
(Offstage Mrs. Mendoza is heard calling “ Francesca, Francesca.” Tony and Kikay listen, then
burst into laughter.)

MRS. M : (Appearing in doorway) – Frances…Oh, Tony, are you still here? Francesca,
don’t be angry but I couldn’t live without it!

TONY : (Moving towards the radio) – That was Francesca, Aling Atang, and Francesca is
dead. The girl standing before you is Kikay.

MRS. M : (Dazed) – But Kikay is Francesca…

KIKAY : Oh no, Inay. I’m not Francesca…I’m Kikay.

MRS. M : (After gazing from on to the other, throwing her hands up.) – I GIVE UP!
(Exits)

(Tony and Kikay burst into laughter. They have turned on the radio. It’s playing “Again” or some
such silly song.)

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

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

------------------------------ end-------------------------------------------------------

ATTENTION!

Before I make my announcement, let me have this opportunity to contemplate on certain things that has happened to my family this past weeks.

My mother was hospitalized because she needed a blood transfusion because we found out she had a very low hemoglobin level, and we just got out of the hospital this week.

Hospitalization is a such a pain in the pocket and in the heart. There are a lot of worrying, dramas, negativity etc. that my body almost gave up too. but, GOD has been very kind to me and my mother: He ensured that we both gather the strength we needed to come out of this situation. He is full of grace, and that is something to be thankful for, every waking days of our lives. My faith has been wavering for some times, yet He still manage to remind me of the greatness He forever will have. Praise goes to Him and to Him only.

SO NOW BACK TO WORK GUYS! - Id like to congratulate the talented students I witnessed last July 12 for the celebration of our school's Foundation day!

so for the school works we've missed:

I will be able to sum it up all on July 29 - August 3, 2013. Just attend our class and we will have a lecture on the topics included in the exam which we weren't able to do last week. DO NOT WORRY! KEEP YOUR NOTES BECAUSE THEY MIGHT BE A BIG HELP FOR YOU TO ACE THE EXAM! :)

PH HISTORY CLASS: The coverage for the examination will be:
1. The importance of studying history.
2. History - its definition
2. PH geography - location, bounderies, flora and fauna.
    see: http://www.philippine411.com/LivinginthePhilippines/MoreInformation/FloraandFauna.aspx

3. The ancient Philippines - political, economic and social systems, customs and traditions, and the Maragtas.

PH LITERATURE:
So far, we have been able to tackle everything! so review your notes on:
1. Ancient or the pre-colonial PH Literature
2. Spanish colonial literature: Spanish religious writings - the rise of the Nationalistas
3. The one act play: New Yorker in Tondo

so that would be all for this prelim, and do not worry we will make it up once we get to see each other!

Good luck and God bless us all!

DASALAN AT TOCSOHAN NI MH DEL PILAR

Dasalan at Tocsohan

Miss Samson says: This written piece serves as a mockery of the Friar's way of spreading Christianity to the Indios in the Colonial era. This is not an attack to the Catholic Church, but to those people who should have been the role model/tagapagpalaganap of the religious faith. The Dasalan at Tocsohan is not published in The Sol nor The Diyaryong Tagalog, it is spread among the Indios like how a booklet or a brochure is given to the people back then.

Ang Tanda

Ang tanda nang cara- i- cruz ang ipangadya mo sa amin, Panginoon naming Fraile, sa manga bangkay namin, sa ngalan nang Salapi at nang Maputing binte, at nang Espiritung Bugaw. Siya naua.

Pagsisisi

Panginoon kong Fraile, Dios na hindi totoo at labis nang pagkatuo gumaga at sumalacay sa akin: pinagsisihan kong masakit sa tanang loobang dilang pag-asa lo sa iyo, ikaw nga ang berdugo ko. Panginoon ko at kaauay ko na inihihibic kong lalo sa lahat, nagtitica akong matibay na matibay na dina muli-muling mabubuyo sa iyo: at lalayuan ko na at pangingilagan ang balanang makababacla nang loob ko sa pag-asa sa iyo, macalilibat nang dating sakit nang manga bulsa ko, at nagtitica naman acong maglalathala nang dilang pagcadaya ko umaasa akong babambuhin ka rin, alang-alang sa mahal na pasyion at pangangalakal mo nang Cruz, sa pagulol sa akin. Siya naua.

Ang Amain Namin

Amain naming sumasaconvento ka, sumpain ang ngalan mo, malayo sa amin ang kasakiman mo, quitlin ang liig mo ditto sa lupa para nang sa langit. Saulan mo cami ngayon nang aming kaning iyonh inaraoarao at patauanin mo kami sa iyong pagungal para nang pag papataua mo kung kami nacucualtahan; at huag mo kaming ipahintulot sa iyong manunukso at iadya mo kami sa masama mong dila. Amen.

Ang Aba Guinoong Baria

Aba guinoong Baria nakapupuno ka nang alcancia ang Fraile'I sumasainyo bukod ka niyang pinagpala't pina higuit sa lahat, pinagpala naman ang kaban mong mapasok. Santa Baria Ina nang Deretsos, ipanalangin mo kaming huag anitan ngayon at cami ipapatay. Siya naua.

Ang Aba Po Santa Baria

Aba po Santa Bariang Hari, inagao nang Fraile, ikao ang kabuhayan at katamisan. Aba bunga nang aming pauis, ikaw ang pinagpaguran naming pinapanaw na tauong Anac ni Eva, ikaw nga ang ipinagbubuntonh hininga naming sa aming pagtangis dito sa bayang pinakahapishapis. Ay aba pinakahanaphanap naming para sa aming manga anak, ilingon mo sa aming ang cara- i cruz mo man lamang at saka bago matapos ang pagpanaw mo sa amin ay iparinig mo sa amin ang iyong kalasing Santa Baria ina nang deretsos, malakas at maalam, matunog na guinto kami ipanalangin mong huag magpatuloy sa aming ang manga banta nang Fraile. Amen.

Ang Manga Utos Nang Fraile (Ang Sampung Utos ng Prayle)

Sa makabagong pagbabaybay

Ang mga utos nang Prayle ay sampu:

Ang nauna: Sambahin mo ang Prayle na lalo sa lahat.

Ang ikalaua: Huwag kang magpapahamak o manumba ng ngalang deretsos.

Ang ikatlo: Manalangin ka sa Prayle Linggo man at piyesta.

Ang ikapat: Isanla mo ang katauhan mo sa pagpapalibing sa ama't ina,

Ang ikalima: Huwag kang mamamatay kung wala pang salaping panlibing.

Ang ikanim: Huwag kang makiapid sa kanyang asawa.

Ang ikapito: Huwag kang makinakaw.

Anh ikaualo: Huwag mo silang pagbibintangan, kahit ka masinungalingan.

Ang ikasiyam: Huwag mong ipagkait ang iyong asawa.

Ang ikapulo: Huwag mong itangi ang iyong ari.

Itong sampong utos ng Prayle'y dalawa ang kinauuwian.

Ang isa: Sambahin mo ang Prayle lalo sa lahat.

Ang ikalawa: Ihain mo naman sa kaniya ang puri mo't kayamanan. Siya nawa.

Ang mga kabuhungang asal, ang pangala'y tontogales ay tatlo.

Igalang mo ……………

Katakutan mo………… Ang Prayle

At pagmanuhan mo …..

references: Agoncillo (The History of the Filipino people) and wikipedia. Other references are actually vague now because I have studied this in my first year in my Undergrad (one is PH lit by rex bookstore). I hope I did not commit any errors in typing and copying some parts LOL. :)

PAG-IBIG SA TINUBUANG LUPA (A. BONIFACIO)

Pag-ibig sa Tinubuang Lupa
ni Andres Bonifacio

Aling pag-ibig pa ang hihigit kaya
sa pagka-dalisay at pagka-dakila
gaya ng pag-ibig sa tinubuang lupa?
Alin pag-ibig pa? Wala na nga, wala.

Ulit-ulitin mang basahin ng isip
at isa-isahing talastasing pilit
ang salita’t buhay na limbag at titik
ng isang katauhan ito’y namamasid.

Banal na pag-ibig pag ikaw ang nukal
sa tapat na puso ng sino’t alinman,
imbit taong gubat, maralita’t mangmang
nagiging dakila at iginagalang.

Pagpuring lubos ang nagiging hangad
sa bayan ng taong may dangal na ingat,
umawit, tumula, kumatha’t sumulat,
kalakhan din nila’y isinisiwalat.

Walang mahalagang hindi inihandog
ng pusong mahal sa Bayang nagkupkop,
dugo, yaman, dunong, tiisa’t pagod,
buhay ma’y abuting magkalagot-lagot.

Bakit? Ano itong sakdal nang laki
na hinahandugan ng buong pag kasi
na sa lalong mahal kapangyayari
at ginugugulan ng buhay na iwi.

Ay! Ito’y ang Inang Bayang tinubuan,
siya’y ina’t tangi na kinamulatan
ng kawili-wiling liwanag ng araw
na nagbibigay init sa lunong katawan.

Sa kanya’y utang ang unang pagtanggol
ng simoy ng hanging nagbigay lunas,
sa inis na puso na sisinghap-singhap,
sa balong malalim ng siphayo’t hirap.

Kalakip din nito’y pag-ibig sa Bayan
ang lahat ng lalong sa gunita’y mahal
mula sa masaya’t gasong kasanggulan.
hanggang sa katawan ay mapasa-libingan.

Ang na nga kapanahon ng aliw,
ang inaasahang araw na darating
ng pagka-timawa ng mga alipin,
liban pa ba sa bayan tatanghalin?

At ang balang kahoy at ang balang sanga
na parang niya’t gubat na kaaya-aya
sukat ang makita’t sasa-ala-ala
ang ina’t ang giliw lampas sa saya.

Tubig niyang malinaw sa anak’y bulog
bukal sa batisang nagkalat sa bundok
malambot na huni ng matuling agos
na nakaa-aliw sa pusong may lungkot.

Sa kaba ng abang mawalay sa Bayan!
gunita ma’y laging sakbibi ng lumbay
walang ala-ala’t inaasam-asam
kundi ang makita’ng lupang tinubuan.

Pati na’ng magdusa’t sampung kamatayan
waring masarap kung dahil sa Bayan
at lalong maghirap, O! himalang bagay,
lalong pag-irog pa ang sa kanya’y alay.

Kung ang bayang ito’y nasa panganib
at siya ay dapat na ipagtangkilik
ang anak, asawa, magulang, kapatid
isang tawag niya’y tatalikdang pilit.

Datapwa kung bayan ng ka-Tagalogan
ay nilalapastangan at niyuyurakan
katwiran, puri niya’t kamahalan
ng sama ng lilong ibang bayan.

Di gaano kaya ang paghinagpis
ng pusong Tagalog sa puring nalait
at aling kaluoban na lalong tahimik
ang di pupukawin sa paghihimagsik?

Saan magbubuhat ang paghihinay
sa paghihiganti’t gumugol ng buhay
kung wala ring ibang kasasadlakan
kundi ang lugami sa ka-alipinan?

Kung ang pagka-baon niya’t pagka-busabos
sa lusak ng daya’t tunay na pag-ayop
supil ng pang-hampas tanikalang gapos
at luha na lamang ang pinaa-agos

Sa kanyang anyo’y sino ang tutunghay
na di-aakayin sa gawang magdamdam
pusong naglilipak sa pagka-sukaban
na hindi gumagalang dugo at buhay.

Mangyari kayang ito’y masulyap
ng mga Tagalog at hindi lumingap
sa naghihingalong Inang nasa yapak
ng kasuklam-suklam na Castilang hamak.

Nasaan ang dangal ng mga Tagalog,
nasaan ang dugong dapat na ibuhos?
bayan ay inaapi, bakit di kumikilos?
at natitilihang ito’y mapanuod.

Hayo na nga kayo, kayong ngang buhay
sa pag-asang lubos na kaginhawahan
at walang tinamo kundi kapaitan,
kaya nga’t ibigin ang naaabang bayan.

Kayong antayan na sa kapapasakit
ng dakilang hangad sa batis ng dibdib
muling pabalungit tunay na pag-ibig
kusang ibulalas sa bayang piniit.

Kayong nalagasan ng bunga’t bulaklak
kahoy niyaring buhay na nilant sukat
ng bala-balakit makapal na hirap
muling manariwa’t sa baya’y lumiyag.

Kayong mga pusong kusang (pugal)
ng dagat at bagsik ng ganid na asal,
ngayon magbangon’t baya’y itanghal
agawin sa kuko ng mga sukaban.

Kayong mga dukhang walang tanging (lasap)
kundi ang mabuhay sa dalita’t hirap,
ampunin ang bayan kung nasa ay lunas
sapagkat ang ginhawa niya ay sa lahat.

Ipaghandog-handog ang buong pag-ibig
hanggang sa mga dugo’y ubusang itigis
kung sa pagtatanggol, buhay ay (mailit)
ito’y kapalaran at tunay na langit.

MY FATHER GOES TO COURT

MY FATHER GOES TO COURT

by: Carlos Bulosan

Miss Samson says: This is one of my favorite PH short story. This reminds me of the simplicity of life, the healthy attitude of optimism and the wisdom of the simple Filipino father and his family. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did!

When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the island of Luzon. Father’s farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine floods, so for several years afterward we all lived in the town, though he preffered living in the country. We had a next-door neighbor, a very rich man, whose sons and daughters seldom came out of the house. While we boys and girls played and sand in the sun, his children stayed inside and kept the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the windows of our house and watch us as we played, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house to eat.

Now, this rich man’s servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the aroma of the food was wafted down to us from the windows of the big house. We hung about and took all the wonderful smell of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our whole family stood outside the windows of the rich man’s house and listened to the musical sizzling of thick strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbor’s servants roasted three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped into the burning coals gave off an enchanting odor. We watched the servants turn the beautiful birds and inhaled the heavenly spirit that drifted out to us.

Some days the rich man appeared at a window and glowered down at us. He looked at us one by one, as though he were condemning us. We were all healthy because we went out in the sun every day and bathed in the cool water of the river that flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we wrestled with one another in the house before we went out to play.

We were always in the best of spirits and our laughter was contagious. Other neighbors who passed by our house often stopped in our yard and joined us in our laughter.

Laughter was our only wealth. Father was a laughing man. He would go in to the living room and stand in front of the tall mirror, stretching his mouth into grotesque shapes with his fingers and making faces at himself, and then he would rush into the kitchen, roaring with laughter.

There was plenty to make us laugh. There was, for instance, the day one of my brothers came home and brought a small bundle under his arm, pretending that he brought something to eat, maybe a leg of lamb or something as extravagant as that to make our mouths water. He rushed to mother and through the bundle into her lap. We all stood around, watching mother undo the complicated strings. Suddenly a black cat leaped out of the bundle and ran wildly around the house. Mother chased my brother and beat him with her little fists, while the rest of us bent double, choking with laughter.

Another time one of my sisters suddenly started screaming in the middle of the night. Mother reached her first and tried to calm her. My sister criedand groaned. When father lifted the lamp, my sister stared at us with shame in her eyes.

“What is it?” 

“I’m pregnant!” she cried.

“Don’t be a fool!” Father shouted.

“You’re only a child,” Mother said.

“I’m pregnant, I tell you!” she cried.

Father knelt by my sister. He put his hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. “How do you know you are pregnant?” he asked.

“Feel it!” she cried.

We put our hands on her belly. There was something moving inside. Father was frightened. Mother was shocked. “Who’s the man?” she asked.

“There’s no man,” my sister said.

‘What is it then?” Father asked.

Suddenly my sister opened her blouse and a bullfrog jumped out. Mother fainted, father dropped the lamp, the oil spilled on the floor, and my sister’s blanket caught fire. One of my brothers laughed so hard he rolled on the floor.

When the fire was extinguished and Mother was revived, we turned to bed and tried to sleep, but Father kept on laughing so loud we could not sleep any more. Mother got up again and lighted the oil lamp; we rolled up the mats on the floor and began dancing about and laughing with all our might. We made so much noise that all our neighbors except the rich family came into the yard and joined us in loud, genuine laughter.

It was like that for years.

As time went on, the rich man’s children became thin and anemic, while we grew even more robust and full of fire. Our faces were bright and rosy, but theirs were pale and sad. The rich man started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing too. Then the children started to cough one after the other. At night their coughing sounded like barking of a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wondered what had happened to them. We knew that they were not sick from lack of nourishing food because they were still always frying something delicious to eat.

One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there a long time. He looked at my sisters, who had grown fat with laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were like the molave, which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and ran through the house, shutting all the windows.

From that day on, the windows of our neighbor’s house were closed. The children did not come outdoors anymore. We could still hear the servants cooking in the kitchen, and no matter how tight the windows were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and drifted gratuitously into our house.

One morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper. The rich man had filled a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the town clerk and asked him what it was all about. He told Father the man claimed that for years we had been stealing the spirit of his wealth and food.

When the day came for us to appear in court, Father brushed his old army uniform and borrowed a pair of shoes from one of my brothers. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a chair in the center of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on a long bench by the wall. Father kept jumping up his chair and stabbing the air with his arms, as though he were defending himself before an imaginary jury.

The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble; his face was scarred with deep lines. With him was his young lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge entered the room and sat on a high chair. We stood up in a hurry and sat down again.

After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge took at father. “Do you have a lawyer?” he asked.

“I don’t need a lawyer judge.” He said.

“Proceed,” said the judge.

The rich man’s lawyer jumped and pointed his finger at Father, “Do you or do you not agree that you have been stealing the spirit of the complainant’s wealth and food?”

“I do not!” Father said.

“Do you or do you not agree that while the complainant’s servants cooked and fried fat legs of lambs and young chicken breasts, you and your family hung outside your windows and inhaled the heavenly spirit of the food?”

“I agree,” Father said.

“How do you account for that?”

Father got up and paced around, scratching his head thoughtfully. Then he said, “I would like to see the children of the complainant, Judge.”

“Bring the children of the complainant.”

They came shyly. The spectators covered their mouths with their hands. They were so amazed to see the children so thin and pale. The children walked silently to a bench and sat down without looking up. They stared at the floor and moved their hands uneasily.

Father could not say anything at first. He just stood by his chair and looked at them. Finally he said, “I should like to cross-examine the complainant.”

“Proceed.”

“Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your wealth and became a laughing family while yours became morose and sad?” Father asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we are going to pay you right now,” Father said. He walked over to where we children were sitting on the bench and took my straw hat off my lap and began filling it up with centavo pieces that he took out his pockets. He went to Mother, who added a fistful of silver coins. My brothers threw in their small change.

“May I walk to the room across the hall and stay there for a minutes, Judge?” Father asked.

“As you wish.”

“Thank you,” Father said. He strode into the other room with the hat in his hands. It was almost full of coins. The doors of both rooms were wide open.

“Are you ready?” Father called.

“Proceed.” The judge said.

The sweet tinkle of coins carried beautifully into the room. The spectators turned their faces toward the sound with wonder. Father came back and stood before the complainant.

“Did you hear it?” he asked.

“Hear what?” the man asked.

“The spirit of the money when I shook this hat?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you are paid.” Father said.

The rich man opened his mouth to speak and fell to the floor without a sound. The lawyer rushed to his aid. The judge pounded his gravel.

“Case dismissed,” he said.

Father strutted around the courtroom. The judge even came down to his high chair to shake hands with him. “By the way,” he whispered, “I had an uncle who died laughing.”

“You like to hear my family laugh, judge?” Father asked.

“Why not?”

Did you hear that children?” Father said.

My sister started it. The rest of us followed them and soon the spectators were laughing with us, holding their bellies and bending over the chairs. And the laughter of the judge was the loudest of all.

The visitation of the gods

The Visitation of the Gods 

by:Gilda Cordero-Fernando 

The letter announcing the visitation (a yearly descent upon the school by the superintendent, the district supervisors and the division supervisors for "purposes of inspection and evaluation") had been delivered in the morning by a sleepy janitor to the principal. The party was, the attached circular revealed a hurried glance, now at Pagkabuhay, would be in Mapili by lunchtime, and barring typhoons, floods, volcanic eruptions and other acts of God, would be upon Pugad Lawin by afternoon.

Consequently, after the first period, all the morning classes were dismissed. The Home Economics building, where the fourteen visiting school officials were to be housed, became the hub of a general cleaning. Long-handled brooms ravished the homes of peaceful spiders from cross beams and transoms, the capiz of the windows were scrubbed to an eggshell whiteness, and the floors became mirrors after assiduous bouts with husk and candlewax. Open wood boxes of Coronaslar gas were scattered within convenient reach of the carved sofa, the Vienna chairs and the stag-horn hat rack.

The sink, too, had been repaired and the spent bulbs replaced; a block of ice with patches of sawdust rested in the hollow of the small unpainted icebox. There was a brief discussion on whether the French soap poster behind the kitchen door was to go or stay: it depicted a trio of languorous nymphs in various stages of dishabille reclining upon a scroll bearing the legend Parfumerie et Savonerie but the wood working instructor remembered that it had been put there to cover a rotting jagged hole - and the nymphs had stayed.

The base of the flagpole, too, had been cemented and the old gate given a whitewash. The bare grounds were, within the remarkable space of two hours, transformed into a riotous bougainvillea garden. Potted blooms were still coming in through the gate by wheelbarrow and bicycle. Buried deep in the secret earth, what supervisor could tell that such gorgeous specimens were potted, or that they had merely been borrowed from the neighboring houses for the visitation? Every school in the province had its special point of pride - a bed of giant squashes, an enclosure or white king pigeons, a washroom constructed by the PTA. Yearly, Pugad Lawin High School had made capital of its topography: rooted on the firm ledge of a hill, the schoolhouse was accessible by a series of stone steps carved on the hard face of the rocks; its west windows looked out on the misty grandeur of a mountain chain shaped like a sleeping woman. Marvelous, but the supervisors were expecting something tangible, and so this year there was the bougainvillea.

The teaching staff and the student body had been divided into four working groups. The first group, composed of Mrs. Divinagracia, the harassed Home Economics instructor, and some of the less attractive lady teachers, were banished to the kitchen to prepare the menu: it consisted of a 14-lbs. suckling pig, macaroni soup, embutido, chicken salad, baked lapu-lapu, morcon, leche flan and ice cream, the total cost of which had already been deducted from the teachers' pay envelopes. Far be it to be said that Pugad Lawin was lacking in generosity, charm or good tango dancers! Visitation was, after all, 99% impression - and Mr. Olbes, the principal, had promised to remember the teachers' cooperation in that regard in the efficiency reports.

The teachers of Group Two had been assigned to procure the beddings and the dishes to be used for the supper. In true bureaucratic fashion they had relegated the assignment to their students, who in turn had denuded their neighbors' homes of cots, pillows, and sleeping mats. The only bed properly belonging to the Home Economics Building was a four-poster with a canopy and the superintendent was to be given the honor of slumbering upon it. Hence it was endowed with the grandest of the sleeping mats, two sizes large, but interwoven with a detailed map of the archipelago. Nestling against the headboard was a quartet of the principal's wife's heart-shaped pillows - two hard ones and two soft ones - Group Two being uncertain of the sleeping preferences of division heads.

"Structuring the Rooms" was the responsibility of the third group. It consisted in the construction (hurriedly) of graphs, charts, and other visual aids. There was a scurrying to complete unfinished lesson plans and correct neglected theme books; precipitate trips from bookstand to broom closet in a last desperate attempt to keep out of sight the dirty spelling booklets of a preceding generation, unfinished projects and assorted rags - the key later conveniently "lost" among the folds of Mrs. Olbes' (the principal's wife) balloon skirt.

All year round the classroom walls had been unperturbably blank. Now they were, like the grounds, miraculously abloom - with cartolina illustrations of Parsing, A mitosis Cell Division and the Evolution of the Filipina Dress - thanks to the Group Two leader, Mr. Buenaflor (Industrial Arts) who, forsaken, sat hunched over a rainfall graph. The distaff side of Group Two were either practicing tango steps or clustered around a vacationing teacher who had taken advantage of her paid maternity leave to make a mysterious trip to Hongkong and had now returned with a provocative array of goods for sale.

The rowdiest freshman boys composed the fourth and discriminated group. Under the stewardship of Miss Noel (English), they had, for the past two days been "Landscaping the Premises," as assignment which, true to its appellation, consisted in the removal of all unsightly objects from the landscape. That the dirty assignment had not fallen on the hefty Mr. de Dios (Physics) or the crafty Mr. Baz (National Language), both of whom were now hanging curtains, did not surprise Miss Noel. She had long been at odds with the principal, or rather, the principal's wife - ever since the plump Mrs. Olbes had come to school in a fashionable sack dress and caught on Miss Noel's mouth a half-effaced smile.

"We are such a fashionable group," Miss Noel had joked once at a faculty meeting. "If only our reading could also be in fashion!" -- which statement obtained for her the ire of the only two teachers left talking to her. That Miss Noel spent her vacations taking a summer course for teachers in Manila made matters even worse - for Mr. Olbes believed that the English teacher attended these courses for the sole purpose of showing them up. And Miss Noel's latest wrinkle, the Integration Method, gave Mr. Olbes a pain where he sat.

Miss Noel, on the other hand, thought utterly unbecoming and disgusting the manner in which the principal's wife praised a teacher's new purse of shawl. ("It's so pretty, where can I get one exactly like it?" - a heavy-handed and graceless hint) or the way she had of announcing, well in advance, birthdays and baptisms in her family (in other words, "Prepare!"). The lady teachers were, moreover, for lack of household help, "invited" to the principal's house to make a special salad, stuff a chicken or clean the silverware. But this certainly was much less than expected of the vocational staff - the Woodworking instructor who was detailed to do all the painting and repair work on the principal's house, the Poultry instructor whose stock of leghorns was depleted after every party of the Olbeses, and the Automotive instructor who was forever being detailed behind the wheel of the principal's jeep - and Miss Noel had come to take it in stride as one of the hazards of the profession.

But today, accidentally meeting in the lavatory, a distressed Mrs. Olbes had appealed to Miss Noel for help with her placket zipper, after which she brought out a bottle of lotion and proceeded to douse the English teacher gratefully with it. Fresh from the trash pits, Miss Noel, with supreme effort, resisted from making an untoward observation - and friendship was restored on the amicable note of a stuck zipper.

At 1:30, the superintendent's car and the weapons carrier containing the supervisors drove through the town arch of Pugad Lawin. A runner, posted at the town gate since morning, came panting down the road but was outdistanced by the vehicles. The principal still in undershirt and drawers, shaving his jowls by the window, first sighted the approaching party. Instantly, the room was in a hustle. Grimy socks, Form 137's and a half bottle of beer found their way into Mr. Olbes' desk drawer. A sophomore breezed down the corridor holding aloft a newly-pressed barong on a wire hanger. Behind the closed door, Mrs. Olbes wriggled determinedly into her corset.

The welcoming committee was waiting on the stone steps when the visitors alighted. It being Flag Day, the male instructors were attired in barong, the women in red, white or blue dresses in obedience to the principal's circular. The Social Studies teacher, hurrying down the steps to present the sampaguita garlands, tripped upon an unexpected pot of borrowed bougainvillea. Peeping from an upstairs window, the kitchen group noted that there were only twelve arrivals. Later it was brought out that the National Language Supervisor had gotten a severe stomach cramp and had to be left at the Health Center; that Miss Santos (PE) and Mr. del Rosario (Military Tactics) had eloped at dawn.

Four pairs of hands fought for the singular honor of wrenching open the car door, and Mr. Alava emerged into the sunlight. He was brown as a sampaloc seed. Mr. Alava gazed with satisfaction upon the patriotic faculty and belched his approval in cigar smoke upon the landscape. The principal, rivaling a total eclipse, strode towards Mr. Alava minus a cuff link. "Compañero!" boomed the superintendent with outstretched arms.

"Compañero!" echoed Mr. Olbes. They embraced darkly.

There was a great to-do in the weapons carrier. The academic supervisor's pabaon of live crabs from Mapili had gotten entangled with the kalamay in the Home Economics supervisor's basket. The district supervisor had mislaid his left shoe among the squawking chickens and someone had stepped on the puto seco. There were overnight bags and reed baskets to unload, bundles of perishable and unperishable going-away gifts. (The Home Economics staff's dilemma: sans ice box, how to preserve all the food till the next morning). A safari of Pugad Lawin instructors lent their shoulders gallantly to the occasion.

Vainly, Miss Noel searched in the crowd for the old Language Arts supervisor. All the years she had been in Pugad Lawin, Mr. Ampil had come: in him there was no sickening bureaucracy, none of the self-importance and pettiness that often characterized the small public official . He was dedicated to the service of education, had grown old in it. He was about the finest man Miss Noel had ever known.

How often had the temporary teachers had to court the favor of their supervisors with lavish gifts of sweets, de hilo, portfolios and what-not, hoping that they would be given a favorable recommendation! A permanent position for the highest bidder. But Miss Noel herself had never experienced this rigmarole -- she had passed her exams and had been recommended to the first vacancy by Mr. Ampil without having uttered a word of flattery or given a single gift. It was ironic that even in education, you found the highest and the meanest forms of men.

Through the crowd came a tall unfamiliar figure in a loose coat, a triad of pens leaking in his pocket. Under the brave nose, the chin had receded like a gray hermit crab upon the coming of a great wave. "Miss Noel, I presume?" said the stranger.

The English teacher nodded. "I am the new English supervisor - Sawit is the name." The tall man shook her hand warmly.

"Did you have a good trip, Sir?"

Mr. Sawit made a face. "Terrible!"

Miss Noel laughed. "Shall I show you to your quarters? You must be tired."

"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Sawit. "I'd like to freshen up. And do see that someone takes care of my orchids, or my wife will skin me alive."

The new English supervisor gathered his portfolios and Miss Noel picked up the heavy load of orchids. Silently, they walked down the corridor of the Home Economics building, hunter and laden Indian guide.

"I trust nothing's the matter with Mr. Ampil, Sir?"

"Then you haven't heard? The old fool broke a collar bone. He's dead."

"Oh."

"You see, he insisted on doing all the duties expected of him - he'd be ahead of us in the school we were visiting if he felt we were dallying on the road. He'd go by horseback, or carabao sled to the distant ones where the road was inaccessible by bus - and at his age! Then, on our visitation to barrio Tungkod - you know that place, don't you?"

Miss Noel nodded.

"On the way to the godforsaken island, that muddy hellhole, he slipped on the banca - and well, that's it."

"How terrible."

"Funny thing is - they had to pass the hat around to buy him a coffin. It turned out the fellow was as poor as a church mouse. You'd think, why this old fool had been thirty-three years in the service. Never a day absent. Never a day late. Never told a lie. You'd think at least he'd get a decent burial - but he hadn't reached 65 and wasn't going to get a cent he wasn't working for. Well, anyway, that's a thorn off your side."

Miss Noel wrinkled her brow, puzzled.

"I thought all teachers hated strict supervisors." Mr. Sawit elucidated. "Didn't you all quake for your life when Mr. Ampil was there waiting at the door of the classroom even before you opened it with your key?"

"Feared him, yes," said Miss Noel. "But also respected and admired him for what he stood for."

Mr. Sawit shook his head smiling. "So that's how the wind blows," he said, scratching a speck of dust off his earlobe.

Miss Noel deposited the supervisor's orchids in the corridor. They had reached the reconverted classroom that Mr. Sawit was to occupy with two others.

"You must be kind to us poor supervisors," said Mr. Sawit as Miss Noel took a cake of soap and a towel from the press. "The things we go through!" Meticulously, Mr. Sawit peeled back his shirt sleeves to expose his pale hairless wrists. "At Pagkabuhay, Miss What's-her-name, the grammar teacher, held a demonstration class under the mango trees. Quite impressive, and modern; but the class had been so well rehearsed that they were reciting like machine guns. I think it's some kind of a code they have, like if the student knows the answer he is to raise his left hand, and if he doesn't he is to raise his right, something to that effect." Mr. Sawit reached for the towel hanging on Miss Noel's arm.

"What I mean to say is, hell, what's the use of going through all that palabas? As I always say," Mr. Sawit raised his arm and pumped it vigorously in the air, "let's get to the heart of what matters."

Miss Noel looked up with interest. "You mean get into the root of the problem?"

"Hell no!" the English supervisor said, "I mean the dance! I always believe there's no school problem that a good round of tango will not solve!"

Mr. Sawit groped blindly for the towel to wipe his dripping face and came up to find Miss Noel smiling.

"Come, girl," he said lamely. "I was really only joking."

As soon as the bell rang, Miss Noel entered I-B followed by Mr. Sawit. The students were nervous. You could see their hands twitching under the desks. Once in a while they glanced apprehensively behind to where Mr. Sawit sat on a cane chair, straight as a bamboo. But as the class began, the nervousness vanished and the boys launched into the recitation with aplomb. Confidently, Miss Noel sailed through a sea of prepositions, using the Oral Approach Method:

"I live in a barrio."

"I live in a town."

"I live in Pugad Lawin."

"I live on a street."

"I live on Calle Real…"

Mr. Sawit scribbled busily on his pad.

Triumphantly, Miss Noel ended the period with a trip to the back of the building where the students had constructed a home-made printing press and were putting out their first school paper.

The inspection of the rest of the building took exactly half an hour. It was characterized by a steering away from the less presentable parts of the school (except for the Industrial Arts supervisor who, unwatched, had come upon and stood gaping at the French soap poster). The twenty-three strains of bougainvillea received such a chorus of praise and requests for cutting that the poor teachers were nonplussed on how to meet them without endangering life and limb from their rightful owners. The Academic supervisor commented upon the surprisingly fresh appearance of the Amitosis chart and this was of course followed by a ripple of nervous laughter. Mr. Sawit inquired softly of Miss Noel what the town's cottage industry was, upon instructions of his uncle, the supervisor.

"Buntal hats," said Miss Noel.

The tour ended upon the sound of the dinner bell and at 7 o'clock the guests sat down to supper. The table, lorded over by a stuffed Bontoc eagle, was indeed an impressive sight. The flowered soup plates borrowed from Mrs. Valenton vied with Mrs. De los Santos' bone china. Mrs. Alejandro's willoware server rivalled but could not quite outshine the soup tureens of Mrs. Cruz. Pink paper napkins blossomed grandly in a water glass.

The superintendent took the place of honor at the head of the table with Mr. Olbes at his right. And the feast began. Everyone partook heavily of the elaborate dishes; there were second helpings and many requests for toothpicks. On either side of Mr. Alava, during the course of the meal, stood Miss Rosales and Mrs. Olbes, the former fanning him, the latter boning the lapu-lapu on his plate. The rest of the Pugad Lawin teachers, previously fed on hopia and coke, acted as waiteresses. Never was a beer glass empty, never a napkin out of reach, and the supervisors, with murmured apologies, belched approvingly. Towards the end of the meal, Mr. Alava inquired casually of the principal where he could purchase some bunt al hats. Elated, the latter replied that it was the cottage industry right here in Pugad Lawin. They were, however, the principal said, not for sale to colleagues. The Superintendent shook his head and said he insisted on paying, and brought out his wallet, upon which the principal was so offended he would not continue eating. At last the superintendent said, all right,compañero, give me one or two hats, but the principal shook his head and ordered his alarmed teachers to round up fifty; and the ice cream was served.

Close upon the wings of the dinner tripped the Social Hour. The hosts and the guests repaired to the sal a where a rondalla of high school boys were playing an animated rendition of "Merry Widow" behind the hat rack. There was a concerted reaching for open cigar boxes and presently the room was clouded with acrid black smoke. Mr. Olbes took Miss Noel firmly by the elbow and steered her towards Mr. Alava who, deep in a cigar, sat wide-legged on the carved sofa. "Mr. Superintendent," said the principal. "This is Miss Noel, our English teacher. She would be greatly honored if you open the dance with her."

"Compañero," twinkled the superintendent. "I did not know Pugad Lawin grew such exquisite flowers."

Miss Noel smiled thinly. Mr. Alava's terpsichorean knowledge had never advanced beyond a bumbling waltz. They rocked, gyrated, stumbled, recovered, rolled back into the center, amid a wave of teasing and applause. To each of the supervisors, in turn, the principal presented a pretty instructor, while the rest, unattractive or painfully shy, and therefore unfit offering to the gods, were left to fend for themselves. The first number was followed by others in three-quarter time and Miss Noel danced most of them with Mr. Sawit.

At ten o'clock, the district supervisor suggested that they all drive to the next town where the fiesta was being celebrated with a big dance in the plaza. All the prettier lady teachers were drafted and the automotive instructor was ordered behind the wheel of the weapons carrier. Miss Noel remained behind together with Mrs. Divinagracia and the Home Economics staff, pleading a headache. Graciously, Mr. Sawit also remained behind.

As Miss Noel repaired to the kitchen, Mr. Sawit followed her. "The principal tells me you are quite headstrong, Miss Noel," he said. "But then I don't put much stock by what principals say."

Miss Noel emptied the ashtrays in the trash can. "If he meant why I refused to dance with Mr. Lucban…"

"No, just things in general," said Mr. Sawit. "The visitation, for instance. What do you think of it?"

Miss Noel looked into Mr. Sawit's eyes steadily. "Do you want my frank opinion, Sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, I think it's all a farce."

"That's what I've heard - what makes you think that?"

"Isn't it obvious? You announce a whole month ahead that you're visiting. We clean the schoolhouse, tuck the trash in the drawers, bring out our best manners. As you said before, we rehearse our classes. Then we roll out the red carpet - and you believe you observe us in our everyday surrounding, in our everyday comportment?"

"Oh, we know that."

"That's what I mean - we know that you know. And you know that we know that you know." Mr. Sawit gave out an embarrassed laugh. "Come now, isn't that putting it a trifle strongly?"

""No," replied Miss Noel. "In fact, I overheard one of your own companions say just a while ago that if your lechon were crisper than that of the preceding school, if our pabaon were more lavish, we would get a higher efficiency rating."

"Of course he was merely joking. I see what Mr. Olbes meant about your being stubborn."

"And what about one supervisor, an acquaintance of yours, I know, who used to come just before the town fiesta and assign us the following items: 6 chickens, 150 eggs, 2 goats, 12leche flans. I know the list by heart - I was assigned the checker."

"There are a few miserable exceptions…"

"What about the sweepstakes agent supervisor who makes a ticket of the teacher's clearance for the withdrawal of his pay? How do you explain him?"

Mr. Sawit shook his head as if to clear it.

"Sir, during the five years that I've taught, I've done my best to live up to my ideals. Yet I please nobody. It's the same old narrow conformism and favor-currying. What matters is not how well one teaches but how well one has learned the art of pleasing the powers-that-be and it's the same all the way up."

Mr. Sawit threw his cigar out of the window in an arc. "So you want to change the world. I've been in the service a long time, Miss Noel. Seventeen years. This bald spot on my head caused mostly by new teachers like you who want to set the world on fire. In my younger days I wouldn't hesitate to recommend you for expulsion for your rash opinions. But I've grown old and mellow - I recognize spunk and am willing to give it credit. But spunk is only hard-headedness when not directed towards the proper channels. But you're young enough and you'll learn, the hard way, singed here and there - but you'll learn."

"How are you so sure?" asked Miss Noel narrowly.

"They all do. There are thousands of teachers. They're mostly disillusioned but they go on teaching - it's the only place for a woman to go."

"There will be a reclassification next month," continued Mr. Sawit. "Mr. Olbes is out to get you - he can, too, on grounds of insubordination, you know that. But I'm willing to stick my neck out for you if you stop being such an idealistic fool and henceforth express no more personal opinions. Let sleeping dogs lie, Miss Noel. I shall give you a good rating after this visitation because you remind me of my younger sister, if for no other reason. Then after a year, when I find that you learned to curb your tongue, I will recommend you for a post in Manila where your talents will not be wasted. I am related to Mr. Alava, you know."

Miss Noel bit her lip in stunned silence. Is this what she had been wasting her years on? She had worked, she had slaved - with a sting of tears she remembered all the parties missed ("Can't wake up early tomorrow, Clem"), alliances forgone ("Really, I haven't got the time, maybe some other year?") the chances by-passed ("Why, she's become a spinster!") - then to come face to face with what one has worked for - a boor like Mr. Sawit! How did one explain him away? What syllogisms could one invent to rub him out of the public school system? Below the window, Miss Noel heard a giggle as one of the Pugad Lawin teachers was pursued by a mischievous supervisor in the playground.

"You see," the voice continued, "education is not so much a matter of brains as getting along with one's fellowmen, else how could I have risen to my present position?" Mr. Sawit laughed harshly. "All the fools I started out with are still head-teachers in godforsaken barrios, and how can one be idealistic in a mudhole? Goodnight, my dear." Mr. Sawit's hot trembling hand (the same mighty hand that fathered the 8-A's that made or broke English teachers) found its way swiftly around her waist, and hot on her forehead Miss Noel endured the supreme insult of a wet, fatherly kiss.

Give up your teaching, she heard her aunt say again for the hundredth time, and in a couple of months you might be the head. We need someone educated because we plan to export.

Oh, to be able to lie in a hammock on the top of the hill and not have to worry about the next lesson plan! To have time to meet people, to party, to write.

She remembered Clem coming into the house (after the first troubled months of teaching) and persuading her to come to Manila because his boss was in need of a secretary. Typing! Filing! Shorthand! She had spat the words contemptuously back at him. I was given a head so I could think! Pride goeth… Miss Noel bowed her head in silence. Could anyone in the big, lighted offices of the city possibly find use for a stubborn, cranky, BSE major?

As Miss Noel impaled the coffee cups upon the spokes of the drainboard, she heard the door open and the student named Leon come in for the case of beer empties.

"Pandemonium over, Ma'am?" he asked. Miss Noel smile dimly. Dear perceptive Leon. He wanted to become a lawyer. Pugad Lawin's first. What kind of a piker was she to betray a dream like that? What would happen to him if she wasn't there to teach him his p's and f's? Deep in the night and the silence outside flickered an occasional gaslight in a hut on the mountain shaped like a sleeping woman. Was Porfirio deep in a Physics book? (Oh, but he mustn't blow up any more pigshed.) What was Juanita composing tonight? (An ode on starlight on the trunk of a banana tree?) Leon walked swiftly under the window: in Miss Noel's eyes he had already won a case. Why do I have to be such a darn missionary?

Unafraid, the boy Leon stepped into the night, the burden of bottles light on his back.

After breakfast the next morning, the supervisors packed their belongings and were soon ready. Mr. Buenaflor fetched a camera and they all posed on the sunny steps for a souvenir photo: the superintendent with Mr. and Mrs. Olbes on either side of him and the minor gods in descending order on the Home Economics stairs. Miss Noel was late - but she ran to take her place with pride and humility on the lowest rung of the school's hierarchy.

source:http://compilationofphilippineliterature.blogspot.com/2011/04/visitation-of-gods-gilda-cordero.html