Compilation

Compilation in
Philippine Literature
1st Sem 15-16
Submitted by:
Lorenzo Enrico H. Rodriguez
Submitted to:
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
NALPAY NA NAMNAM......................................................................................................3
WEDDING DANCE......6
NU NUNUK DU TUKUN..................................................................................................12
LIFE IS A THREE RING CIRCUS...13
THE GREAT FLOOD TRANSLATED..............................................................................18
THE BREAD OF SALT....................................................................................................21
THE OTHER WOMAN.....................................................................................................33
MAGNIFICENCE.............................................................................................................35
AMERICA.........................................................................................................................43
FAMILY REUNION...........................................................................................................44
BRINGING THE DOLL..46
PILANDOK CROSSES THE RIVER...48
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NALPAY NA NAMNAM
BY LEONA FLORENTINO
BACKGROUND OF THE AUTHOR

Leona Florentino (19 April 1849 - 4 October 1884) was a
Filipino poet in the Spanish and Ilocano languages. She is
considered as the "mother of Philippine women's literature"
and the "bridge from oral to literary tradition"
Born to a wealthy and prominent family in Vigan, Ilocos Sur,
Florentino began to write her first verses in Ilocano at a young
age. Despite her potential, she was not allowed to receive a
university education because of her gender. Florentino was
instead tutored by her mother, and then a series of private
teachers. An educated Ilocano priest taught her advanced
Spanish and encouraged her to develop her voice in poetry.
Map of Region 1
3 | Page
Poem
Ilocos version
Atoy ngatan ti ayat a kunada.
Aldaw rabii pampanunuten ka.
Summangpet ka, lubong ko nga natalna.
Ket biag gummulon sa dinakita ka.
No nairedep, sam-it nannanamek.

Nagragsak ta a dua diay tagtaginep.
Ngem no makariing, pa-it balbalunek
Ta nalpas manen diay dardaripdepek.
Ditoy dalan ko no sikan ti magna,

Sirsirpatangkan nga awan labas na.
Matmatak imnas mo awan kapada na,
Diak ngarud mapukaw ti pinagduadua,
Ket gapu ti nalaus nga ayat ko

Pinamuspusak inyapan ka diay ungto
Ta adaddiay ti maysa nga kayo
Inukit ko nagan mo nga sinanpuso.
Pinagduadua no sika ket agmaymaysa

Wen no ti pusom addan nakaala.
Toy manong mo, piman nga agsagaba
No awan kanton, malpay tay namnama.
Adu a tawenen ti nabilangko.

Dumteng manen nalammiis a tiempo
Awan man lang asi nga mauray ko,
Ta ti ibagbagam puro sentimiento.
Namnama ta ti pusom iyawat mo;

Ta ti diro ni ayat danggayantanto;
Ta ti rabii sika kumat raniag ko,
Kas naslag a bulan sadiay ngato.
Nu tay sika kenyak makagura,

Yeb-ebkas toy pusok ket sika latta.
Nalabit ti ayat ket kastoy ngata;
Pintas mo umunay a liwliwa.
Dayta pintas mo a dardaripdepek.

Tungal rabii no innak iredep
Agtalnan toy nakem kentoy utek,
Ta sikan ti kaduak diay tagtaginep.
Amin a pinagdungngo impakitak.

Sipupudnuak ta diak pay naglibak
Nagbabaan toy gasat no siak ti agayat
Ta apay madinak man lang maayat.
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Gasat nadanunen ti pannakapaay,

Sinaom a dinak a mauray.
Naut-ot launay ti inka impaay.
Naupay a ayat, kas sabong a nalaylay.
Ket aniakad payso ti ur-urayek?

Malaksid a ni rigat ti lak-amek!
Gapu piman ti ayat ko ken pateg,
Ta madim pay rinekna ken dinengngeg.
Gayagayek a ipalpalawag
Sika ti kayat ko a pagtungpalk
Ngem makitak met a sibabatad,
Ni pay ken liday ti kalak-amak.
Yantangay siak ket linipatnakon,

Liday ti yas-asog toy barungkonko.
Nuray agsagabaak nga agnanayon,
Nalpay a namnama aklunekon.
English Version
What gladness and what joy
never do I fully realize
are endowed to one who is loved
that I am worthy of her.
for truly there is one to share

all his sufferings and his pain.
Shall I curse the hour

when first I saw the light of day
My fate is dim, my stars so low
would it not have been better a thousand times
perhaps nothing to it can compare,
I had died when I was born.
for truly I do not doubt

for presently I suffer so.
Would I want to explain

but my tongue remains powerless
For even I did love,
for now do I clearly see
the beauty whom I desired
to be spurned is my lot.
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for to you do I vow and a promise I make

But would it be my greatest joy
its you alone for whom I would lay my life.
to know that it is you I love,
Wedding Dance
By Amador Daguio
The Amador Daguio was a story writer and poet in the English
language. He taught at the University of the East . Amador
Daguio with six great Filipino poet in 1894 that caused the
Leonard Casper.
He translated the epic ipugaw that Alim in English. The collection
of his poems was published here in the Philippines and
abroad, The Flaming Lyre ( 1959 ). That this assembly consists of
56 poems pertaining to various subjects. In 1998 the other's
poems are included Amador Daguio Manuel Garcia in his book of
poems entitled Hearts of the Islands .
Map of Region 1
6 | Page
Story
Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log
which served as the edge of the headhigh
threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself
with one bound that carried him across to the
narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped
inside, then pushed the cover back in place.
After some moments during which he seemed to
wait, he talked to the listening darkness.
"I'm sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry.
But neither of us can help it."
The sound of the gangsas beat through the
walls of the dark house like muffled roars of
falling waters. The woman who had moved with
a start when the sliding door opened had been
hearing the gangsas for she did not know how
long. There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She
gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but
continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.
But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his
heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the
middle of the room; he knew exactly where the
stove was. With bare fingers he stirred the
covered smoldering embers, and blew into the
stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao

put pieces of pine on them, then full round logs
as his arms. The room brightened.
"Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the
dancing women?" He felt a pang inside him,
because what he said was really not the right
thing to say and because the woman did not stir.
"You should join the dancers," he said, "as if--as
if nothing had happened." He looked at the
woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning
against the wall. The stove fire played with
strange moving shadows and lights
upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her
sullenness was not because of anger or hate.
"Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't
hate me for this separation, go out and dance.
One of the men will see you dance well; he will
like your dancing, he will marry you. Who knows
but that, with him, you will be luckier than you
were with me."
"I don't want any man," she said sharply. "I don't
want any other man."
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He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You

know very well that I won't want any other
woman either. You know that, don't you?
Lumnay, you know it, don't you?"
She did not answer him.
"You know it Lumnay, don't you?" he repeated.
"Yes, I know," she said weakly.
"It is not my fault," he said, feeling relieved. "You
cannot blame me; I have been a good husband
to you."
"Neither can you blame me," she said. She
seemed about to cry.
to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo

flooring in place. She tugged at the rattan
flooring. Each time she did this the split bamboo
went up and came down with a slight rattle. The
gong of the dancers clamorously called in her
care through the walls.
Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat,
paused before her, looked at her bronzed and
sturdy face, then turned to where the jars of
water stood piled one over the other. Awiyao
took a coconut cup and dipped it in the top jar
and drank. Lumnay had filled the jars from the
mountain creek early that evening.
"No, you have been very good to me. You have

been a good wife. I have nothing to say against
you." He set some of the burning wood in place.
"It's only that a man must have a child. Seven
harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have
waited too long. We should have another chance
before it is too late for both of us."
"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find

you among the dancers. Of course, I am not
forcing you to come, if you don't want to join my
wedding ceremony. I came to tell you that
Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can
never become as good as you are. She is not as
strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning
water jars, not as good keeping a house clean.
You are one of the best wives in the
whole village."
This time the woman stirred, stretched her right

leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the
blanket more snugly around herself.
"That has not done me any good, has it?" She

said. She looked at him lovingly. She almost
seemed to smile.
"You know that I have done my best," she said.

"I have prayed to Kabunyan much. I have
sacrificed many chickens in my prayers."
He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and

came closer to her. He held her face between
his hands and looked longingly at her beauty.
But her eyes looked away. Never again would he
hold her face. The next day she would not be
his any more. She would go back to her parents.
He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor
again and looked at her fingers as they tugged
softly at the split bamboo floor.
"Yes, I know."
"You remember how angry you were once when
you came home from your work in the terrace
because I butchered one of our pigs without
your permission? I did it to appease Kabunyan,
because, like you, I wanted to have a child. But
what could I do?"
"Kabunyan does not see fit for us to have a
child," he said. He stirred the fire. The spark
rose through the crackles of the flames. The
smoke and soot went up the ceiling.
"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you.

Make it your own, live in it as long as you wish. I
will build another house for Madulimay."
"I have no need for a house," she said slowly.
"I'll go to my own house. My parents are old.
They will need help in the planting of the beans,
in the pounding of the rice."
Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started
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"I will give you the field that I dug out of the
mountains during the first year of our marriage,"
he said. "You know I did it for you. You helped
me to make it for the two of us."
"I have no use for any field," she said.
He looked at her, then turned away, and became
silent. They were silent for a time.
"Go back to the dance," she said finally. "It is not
right for you to be here. They will wonder where
you are, and Madulimay will not feel good. Go
back to the dance."
"I would feel better if you could come, and
dance---for the last time. The gangsas are
playing."
"You know that I cannot."
"Lumnay," he said tenderly. "Lumnay, if I did this
it is because of my need for a child. You know
that life is not worth living without a child. The
man have mocked me behind my back. You
know that."
"I know it," he said. "I will pray that Kabunyan
will bless you and Madulimay."
She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly,
and sobbed.
She thought of the seven harvests that had
passed, the high hopes they had in the
beginning of their new life, the day he took her
away from her parents across the roaring river,
on the other side of the mountain, the trip up the
trail which they had to climb, the steep canyon
which they had to cross. The waters boiled in
her mind in forms of white and jade and roaring
silver; the waters tolled and growled,
resounded in thunderous echoes through the
walls of the stiff cliffs; they were far away now
from somewhere on the tops of the other
ranges, and they had looked carefully at the
buttresses of rocks they had to step on---a slip
would have meant death.
They both drank of the water then rested on the

other bank before they made the final climb to
the other side of the mountain.
She looked at his face with the fire playing upon
his features---hard and strong, and kind. He had
a sense of lightness in his way of saying things
which often made her and the village people
laugh. How proud she had been of his humor.
The muscles where taut and firm, bronze and
compact in their hold upon his skull---how frank
his bright eyes were. She looked at his body the
carved out of the mountains
five fields for her; his wide and supple torso
heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were
heaving; his arms and legs flowed down in fluent
muscles--he was strong and for that she had lost
him.
She flung herself upon his knees and clung to
them. "Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband," she cried.
"I did everything to have a child," she said
passionately in a hoarse whisper. "Look at me,"
she cried. "Look at my body. Then it was full of
promise. It could dance; it could work fast in the
fields; it could climb the mountains fast. Even
now it is firm, full. But, Awiyao, I am useless. I
must die."
"It will not be right to die," he said, gathering her
in his arms. Her whole warm naked naked
breast quivered against his own; she clung now
to his neck, and her hand lay upon his right
shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of
gleaming darkness.
"I don't care about the fields," she said. "I don't
care about the house. I don't care for anything
but you. I'll have no other man."
"Then you'll always be fruitless."
"I'll go back to my father, I'll die."
"Then you hate me," he said. "If you die it means
you hate me. You do not want me to have a
child. You do not want my name to live on in our
tribe."
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She was silent.
He went to the door.
"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it

means I'll die. Nobody will get the fields I have
carved out of the mountains; nobody will come
after me."
"Awiyao!"
"If you fail--if you fail this second time--" she said
thoughtfully. The voice was a shudder. "No--no, I
don't want you to fail."
"If I fail," he said, "I'll come back to you. Then
both of us will die together. Both of us will vanish
from the life of our tribe."
The gongs thundered through the walls of their
house, sonorous and faraway.
"I'll keep my beads," she said. "Awiyao, let me
keep my beads," she half-whispered.
"You will keep the beads. They come from far-off
times. My grandmother said they come from up
North, from the slant-eyed people across the
sea. You keep them, Lumnay. They are worth
twenty fields."
"I'll keep them because they stand for the love
you have for me," she said. "I love you. I love
you and have nothing to give."
She took herself away from him, for a voice was
calling out to him from outside. "Awiyao! Awiyao!
O Awiyao! They are looking for you at the
dance!"
"I am not in hurry."
"The elders will scold you. You had better go."
He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain

he turned to her. Her face was in agony. It
pained him to leave. She had been wonderful to
him. What was it that made a man wish for a
child? What was it in life, in the work in the field,
in the planting and harvest, in the silence of the
night, in the communing with husband and wife,
in the whole life of the tribe itself that made man
wish for the laughter and speech of a child?
Suppose he changed his mind? Why did the
unwritten law demand, anyway, that a man, to
be a man, must have a child to come after him?
And if he was fruitless--but he loved Lumnay. It
was like taking away of his life to leave her like
this.
"Awiyao," she said, and her eyes seemed to
smile in the light. "The beads!" He turned back
and walked to the farthest corner of their room,
to the trunk where they kept their worldly
possession---his battle-ax and his spear points,
her betel nut box and her beads. He dug out
from the darkness the beads which had been
given to him by his grandmother to give to
Lumnay on the beads on, and tied them in
place. The white and jade and deep orange
obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly
clung to him, clung to his neck as if she would
never let him go.
"Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard!" She gasped, and
she closed her eyes and huried her face in his
neck.
The call for him from the outside repeated; her
grip loosened, and he buried out into the night.
"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

"It is all right with me."
He clasped her hands. "I do this for the sake of
the tribe," he said.
"I know," she said.
Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then

she went to the door and opened it. The
moonlight struck her face; the moonlight spilled
itself on the whole village.
She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas
coming to her through the caverns of the other
houses. She knew that all the houses were
10 | P a g e
empty that the whole tribe was at the dance.

Only she was absent. And yet was she not the
best dancer of the village? Did she not have the
most lightness and grace? Could she not, alone
among all women, dance like a bird tripping for
grains on the ground, beautifully
timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the
men praise her supple body, and the women
envy the way she stretched her hands like the
wings of the mountain eagle now and then as
she danced? How long ago did she dance at her
own wedding? Tonight, all the women who
counted, who once danced in her honor, were
dancing now in honor of another whose only
claim was that perhaps she could give her
husband a child.
"It is not right. It is not right!" she cried. "How
does she know? How can anybody know? It is
not right," she said.
Suddenly she found courage. She would go to
the dance. She would go to the chief of the
village, to the elders, to tell them it was not right.
Awiyao was hers; nobody could take him away
from her. Let her be the first woman to complain,
to denounce the unwritten rule that a man may
take another woman. She would tell Awiyao to
come back to her. He surely would relent. Was
not their love as strong as the
river?
She made for the other side of the village where
the dancing was. There was a flaming glow over
the whole place; a great bonfire was burning.
The gangsas clamored more loudly now, and it
seemed they were calling to her. She was near
at last. She could see the dancers clearly now.
The man leaped lightly with their gangsas as
they circled the dancing women decked in feast
garments and beads, tripping on the ground like
graceful birds, following their men. Her heart
warmed to the flaming call of the dance; strange
heat in her blood welled up, and she started to
run. But the gleaming brightness of the bonfire
commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her
approach?
She stopped. What if somebody had seen her
coming? The flames of the bonfire leaped in
countless sparks which spread and rose like

yellow points and died out in the night. The blaze
reached out to her like a spreading radiance.
She did not have the courage to break into the
wedding feast.
Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground,
away from the village. She thought of the new
clearing of beans which Awiyao and she had
started to make only four moons before. She
followed the trail above the village.
When she came to the mountain stream she
crossed it carefully. Nobody held her hand, and
the stream water was very cold. The trail went
up again, and she was in the moonlight shadows
among the trees and shrubs. Slowly she climbed
the mountain.
When Lumnay reached the clearing, she cold
see from where she stood the blazing bonfire at
the edge of the village, where the wedding was.
She could hear the far-off clamor of the gongs,
still rich in their sonorousness, echoing from
mountain to mountain. The sound did not mock
her; they seemed to call far to her, to speak to
her in the language of unspeaking love. She felt
the pull of their gratitude for her
sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound to her
like many gangsas.
Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she
had known long ago-- a strong, muscular boy
carrying his heavy loads of fuel logs down the
mountains to his home. She had met him one
day as she was on her way to fill her clay jars
with water. He had stopped at the spring to drink
and rest; and she had made him drink the cool
mountain water from her coconut shell. After that
it did not take him long to decide to throw his
spear on the stairs of her father's house in token
on his desire to marry her.
The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing
moonlight. The wind began to stir the leaves of
the bean plants. Lumnay looked for a big rock
on which to sit down. The bean plants now
surrounded her, and she was lost among them.
11 | P a g e
A few more weeks, a few more months, a few

more harvests---what did it matter? She would
be holding the bean flowers, soft in the texture,
silken almost, but moist where the dew got into
them, silver to look at, silver on the light blue,
blooming whiteness, when the morning comes.
The stretching of the bean pods full length from

the hearts of the wilting petals would go on.
Lumnay's fingers moved a long, long time
among the growing bean pods.
12 | P a g e
NU NUNUK DU TUKUN
Map of Region 2
Poem
Translation
Nu nunuk du tukun, minuhung as kadisi na;
The Nunuk on the hill shot forth new leaves and

twigs;
Ichapungpung diya am yaken u nilawngan na.

Kapaytalamaran ava su avang di idaud
Ta miyan du inayebngan na, ta miyan du
inayebngan na.
Then suddenly all its branches fell, and I under

it.
On what is left I cannot watch boats on the sea,
For I stand on the side away from the sea.
Nu itanis ko na un an didiwen ko
I weep in my grief;
Ta nu taaw aya u suminbang diyaken.
It was the sea that made me an orphan
Nu maliliyak a pahung as maheheyet a riyes
U minahey niya diyaken.
The sad news came to me in the roar of the

breakers,
From the voice of the mighty sea currents.
13 | P a g e
Life is a Three Ring Circus

By: Jose A. Quirino
He was born in Bayombong, Nueva Vizcaya, on April 27, 1930. He finish his law degree at Far Eastern
University. He has won three Stanvac awards for journalism in feature writing. He was also named Most
Prolific and Most Valuable Contributor of the Philippines Free Press for nine consecutive years.
MAP OF REGION 2
STORY
About a dozen years ago, I got my first job as a
drumbeater for a German-Italian circus. I had
cubbed for two or three obscure provincial
newspapers, had finally become a real McCoy of
a reporter for a more stable paper in the big city,
and I was swoony with a glamour of the
journalistic life. I bought a hat just so I could
wear it on the back of my head. People followed
me for blocks to see if the hat would fall off.
I also learned to smoke cigars with one side of
the mouth but never learned to talk from the
other unoccupied side. The tone would have
been wrong anyway; nature had given me a
falsetto voice. I began on the police beat but did
entertainment features on the side, mostly
interviews with starlets who were as wet behind

the ears as I was.
Those movie items were what dumped me into
the publicity route. One day this promoter with a
stable starlets most of whom I had done,
interview-wise, asked me out to lunch. I thought
it was just a thank you lunch but it turned out
that the fellow was branching out. He was
importing a European circus. And he wanted me
me! to do the publicity work. I told him I knew
nothing of pro work but he said if I could write, I
could drumbeat.
He named a fee. It sounded like a fortune to me
in those days. But my heart was pure. I told him
14 | P a g e
Id have to consult my editor first and find out if

this was honest.
My editor, a tearful souse, wept over me; I think
he was mourning his lost innocence. But he did
give it to me straight: where legitimate news
ended and sly propaganda began. If I could walk
the brink without falling off, he didnt see why I
shouldnt accept the pro job. As I said, my heart
was pure and I had the strength of ten. I had not
the least doubt I could toe the perilous line
between being a newsman and being a
propagandist.
The sideline looked dull at first. The promoter
dumped a load of publicity material on me and
told me to cull out a few items from them. It was
mostly a rewrite job. I just changed the
adjectives and put the verb in future tense. But I
must have done a good job because most of the
papers I sent the items to, published them.
The promoter wasnt satisfied. He wanted more
specific writeups, especially on the stars of the
shadow. The top down was supposed to be a
very famous one and he wanted me to do a lush
job on that clown. I sifted through the publicity
material but more or less knew how I was going
to do the clown. I was young then, remember,
and had the stereotyped notion of clowns as
being very gloomy, even tragic creatures, when
not before the footlights.
How many movies had I seen about clowns
laughing while their heart broke. So I did this
writeup that I entitled The Grin is Only Painted
On. A real tear-jerker. Everybody ate it up. I and
the clown became names in peoples mouth. It
was my first small taste of fame.
Then the circus arrived and I met the clown in
person. I could have died of shame. This was
my first lesson in the difference between
literature and life, between the clich and the
reality. The clown was not the kind I had read
about in books or watched in the movies. In
street clothes he was just an ordinary man, very
relaxed and easygoing, eventempered, rather
indolent. It needed only a few minutes with him

to se he wasnt the moody type or a prima
donna . he was a great clown all right, as I found
out at rehearsal, but he didnt call it art, what he
did, it was just his line of work, a craft passed on
to him by his father and grandfather, and if they
had been carpenters he would have been as
cheerfully a carpenter too.
Gorgio his name was. He didnt used his
surname. He was a north Italian but the family
had moved up from some dreary village to a
swanky suburb of Milan. The first time we were
together he spent the first ten minutes showing
off photos of his villa in Milan, the two cars he
owned and his family.
The wife was a fat peasant but he told me she
ordered her clothes from Rome. His five children
were all in classy schools in Switzerland. In the
winter he took his family to Southern Spain. He
was pushing 50 then and was thinking of
retiring. He boasted he had saved enough
money to retire in style. Milan was nice but too
cold. He was thinking of buying a place in Capri.
His family had been in the circus for generations
but no circus for his children; the tradition was to
end with him; no grease-paint for his sons. They
would be professionals, businessmen, solid
citizens.
My heart sank lower and lower as I listened to
Gorgio. It wasnt merely the embarrassment of
having painted a wrong picture of him, in a
writeup that had caused so much splash it
demanded a follow-up. There was also the
problem of how to make this old square
interesting.
Again I beg you to remember that I was young. It
just didnt occur to me that the reality might be a
hell lot more interesting than the accepted
clich. I never got the bright idea of shattering a
superstition, of coming up with a piece that said:
Look, youve got a wrong slant on clowns.
Theyre not all gloomy. Heres one who laughs
because hes happy, not because his heart is
breaking. I had set ideas about life. Everything
15 | P a g e
followed a pattern. Newsmen were tough on the

outside, prostitutes had hearts of gold, movie
stars were discovered in rags, and journalism
was a glamorous profession. Clowns had to
follow the pattern set for them too.
I asked Gorgio if he had read what I had written
about him. He said he never read his notices.
He didnt say that to hurt me, he was just telling
the truth. He had good English but if he read at
all he read in Italian. I told him about having
drawn a picture of him a hamlet of a clown.
He laughed and made me face, then shrugged.
Yes, so many had written so about him, as being
melancholy, moody, morose. The world had a
certain picture of clowns that it didnt know was
spurious. So he never contradicted those
writeups about him. I had no cause to worry. He
would not contradict me either. He would go
along with the game if such publicity would draw
crowds to see him. I could say anything.
Now, what could you do to a guy like that?
Gorgio kept his word.
In his first general conference with the press he
wore black, spoke in curt monosyllables,
scowled at cameras went into a tantrum, then
broke down and said the gentlemen of the press
were to forgive him, he had so much on his
mind, emotional troubles, affairs of the heart.
The follow-up piece I did on him pulled out
whatever steps were left. I hinted at a series of
tragic live affairs. Now, in the middle age, he had
fallen in love with a young girl who was merely
playing with him. Every time he rolled into the
ring to play the clown, he was doing it to punish
himself for playing the clown in real life, for
allowing his heart to be kicked, punched,
buffeted, and tripped by a little hard-hearted
wench. All Manila crowded to the circus to see
this clown who was so funny because he was so
pitiful. I look to drinking.
Gorgio was a hit, and so was the circus. It had
been contracted for a mouth, was held over for
two weeks, then got contracted to appear in

Cebu and Davao. About two or three days
before the troupe left for the for the South the
promoter paid me off the stipulated fee plus a
bonus. He said I had done a terrific job. Next
time he imported a show I was to be its
drumbeater again. I told him he could give the
job to somebody else: this was my first and last
try as pro.
I had to resist an urge to give away to charity the
money I had earned. I was very much the
idealist in those days and I felt I had been false
to my public!
The promoter must have talked to Gorgio about
how I felt because the day before the troupe left
Gorgio invited me out to dinner. We went to the
European restaurant on Isaac Peral and Gorgio
showed his cosmopolitanism by ordering a rare
meal, each course with the proper wine. Since
there were only the two of us I was rather
puzzled by all the attention. Over the demitasse
and the brandy Gorgio opened up.
He said he could understand my feeling so
upset for having invented a story, but everyone
in show business was used to that sort of thing.
In time I would learn to take it in stride and not
be so scrupulous.
You must learn, he said, to separate your
professional life from your other lives, or youll
never be able to live for yourself. You will have a
very narrow world.
Look at me, he continued, My life is a three
ring circus. In one ring I am Gorgio the famous
clown. In another ring I am the father of a highly
respected family with an elegant villa in Milan.
And the third ring I am myself alone, in person.
This person thats me like good food, likes to
drink, like pretty girls, likes to live it up. He can
be very wild but he is wild only on his own time.
He is never allowed to mess up the work of
Gorgio the clown or to disturb the reputation of
that respectable father of the family in Milan. I
live, therefore, three different lives that are more
16 | P a g e
or less independent of each other. And because

I can keep them separate, each in its own ring, I
enjoy a much larger world than I would if I were
merely entirely engrossed in being a circus star
or the head of a family.
You must learn to do the same, boy. Right now
you are merely the newspaperman. You have
allowed your profession to absorb your entire
life. That is bad. In my business we would rate
you as just a one-ring circus. The big stars are in
the three ring circus. That is what you must
aspire for. It is good to be serious about your
vocation but bad to be nothing else except what
you do. You must right away start setting up two
other rings in the circus of your life.
I have put down as much as I can remember of
what Gorgio said that night, and I remember
them so well because they made such an
impression on me. In every mans life theres
one particular moment when the right advice hits
home and that night was the moment of
orientation for me.
That very next day I told my editor I was getting
tired of the police beat. I had an idea for a series
of articles on life in the provinces. Would he take
a chance on me and send me as a roving
reporter all over the country for two or three
months? I must have spoken forcefully because
an editorial conference soon after decided it
might not be bad to have a series on provincial
life. And I was tapped to do the series. It wasnt
the series I was after but the enlarging of my
horizons. I was taking Gorgios advice, I was
setting up a second ring in my circus. I was in
quest of experience.
I left for the Batanes a week later and it was

there I read, in a day-old paper, of Gorgios
accident in Davao. One part of his act has him
parodying a tight rope walker. The rope is
supposed to break and spill him to the floor. That
night in Davao, the rope has broken as usual but
Gorgio had landed on an iron bar the strongman
had left in the ring. Gorgio had bruised his back
against the bar. He had stood up right away and
gone on with the act but was absent from the
show the next day.
When I came back to Manila about two months
later, I called up my friend the promoter for news
about Gorgio. The circus had long left the
country; as far as the promoter knew, Gorgio
was all right. He had been absent only one night
during his tour and had arrived in Manila looking
fit. I told the promoter I had changed my mind; if
he imported another show I was ready to be his
drumbeater. He put me to work on a coming ice
revue at once.
All this was a dozen years ago. Early this year I
was approached by some fly-by-night company
that wanted me to publicize a circus. They felt
rather apologetic for approaching me; this circus
they were importing was only a small one-ring
circus, but that was why they needed me.
Maybe I could do wonders even for such a minor
show.
I was busy a lot of big deals, but for some
reason I was interested in this chickenfeed of a
proposition. After all, as I told myself, I had
started in the pro business as a drumbeater for a
circus. So I told the promoters to send me the
materials and I would see what I could do with
them.
Among the publicity stuff they sent me was the
usual writeup on the top clown, somebody called
Peppo was most probably a healthy, wealthy
member of the bourgeoisie back in his country
and owned a villa and two cars. I said he was
most probably the head of a respectable family,
sent his children to the best schools, and had a
17 | P a g e
fat, comfortable wife. This piece of mine also

created quite a sensation. My blas line had the
right hook for the public temper. The mood is
indigo.
I was in Hong Kong when the little circs arrived,
and when I came back to Manila it was just
ending its run. I heard it was a rather dreary
show. Well, what could you expect from a onering circus? I went to catch it on its last night.
When the clowns came in, one of them seemed
familiar. But I told myself it was impossible. I
couldnt possibly have seen the fellow before.
He was a very drip of a clown; I could sense he
was old you cant tell with all the paint on. And
I sensed something else he was suffering and
that his two companions were deliberately,
maliciously making him suffer.
There was intent, there was enjoyment in the
way they tripped him and whacked him and
jumped on him and kick him. He had two
companions, both obviously young, a boy and a
girl. And I began to be horrified with what they
are doing to that poor old clown; I could sense
he was old you cant tell with all that paint on.
And I sensed
Toward the end of the act, the boy and the girl
give poor Peppo a whack with a board that sent
him sprawling to the sawdust. The audience
roared as he strove to rise but couldnt, falling
down on his face after such effort to push
himself up. I leaned forward in my chair. Were
those real tears in the clowns eyes?
I felt positive he was weeping from pain. The
audience guffawed when the boy and the girl
jumped on his back, then picked him up by the
shoulders and dragged him out of the ring.
I jumped from my seat and hurried backstage. I

asked the way to Peppos dressing room. He
was alone in the room when I entered. He was
lying on a cot. I introduced myself. The eyes that
were dead under the paint flickered for a
moment. He sat up with effort and leaned toward
me.
We have met before, he said.
I asked him who he was and he rose and got a
towel and began wiping away the paint from his
face. Then he took off his wig and turned around
to show me his face.
It was Gorgio, Gorgio grown very old.
He told me what had happened to him. After that
accident in Davao he had begun to feel a pain in
the back. The pain grew so bad he had to leave
the circus he was with and undergo an
operation. It was the first of a series of
operations that had completely exhausted all his
savings. The villa in Milan had to be sold, his
children had to migrate to America. His wife
died. He had to beg for circus jobs. But
managers were reluctant to hire him now, he
could not move as nimbly as before, every
moment was pain.
I was aghast. I told him how shocked I was by
the way his companions tormented him in the
ring. Why did he allow that girl and that boy to
treat him as roughly if the least movement was
painful to him?
The girl is my wife, he said.
I did not know where to look.
And the boy is her lover, he went on in his dull
voice. I know shes unfaithful. I know they enjoy
making me suffer. But I cant do anything. I cant
leave her. Shes all my life now, all my world.
I reminded him about what he had told me long
ago: that life should be a three-ring circus.
Nothing should absorb your life by itself.
He made a horrible grimace.
18 | P a g e
That was another man talking. He said. All I

want now is a one-ring circus, however small,
however cheap. But its hard to get even that
now.
But Gorgio had heard us and was asking who it

was.
Somebody wants to take your picture, I called
out over my shoulder, still blocking the door way.
And suddenly he began to cry. I was

embarrassed. I rose to go, wanting only to leave
him alone in his misery. I had twice been wrong
about this man. When I opened the door, a news
photographer I knew was standing outside. I
deliberately blocked his way, not wanting the
photographer to see the man sitting on the cot
weeping.
Let him in, said Gorgio.

The photographer stepped in andi said goodbye.
Smile, I heard the photographer say as I
walked out. I glanced back. The clown was
laughing.
THE GREAT FLOOD TRANSLATED

BY F. LANDA JOCANO
Born in February 5, 1930 October 27, 2013 was

a Filipino anthropologist, educator, and author known for his
significant body of work within the field of Philippine
Anthropology, and in particular for documenting and
translating the Hinilawod, a Central Visayan folk epic. His
eminence within the field of Philippine anthropology was
widely recognized during his lifetime, with National Artist F.
Sionil Jose dubbing him the countrys first and foremost
cultural anthropologist
19 | P a g e
Jocano served as Professor Emeritus at the Asian Center of the University of the Philippines and
Executive Director of PUNLAD Research House, Inc. He has authored numerous books on various
aspects of Filipino Society and Culture.
MAP OF THE RIGION 2
Story
The Tingians, a group of pagan people
inhabiting the interior hills of Abra have their own
story of the Great Deluge.
The tragic incident began with the abduction of
Humitau, a sea-maiden guard of Tau-mari-u, lord
of the sea, by Aponi-tolau.
One day, Aponi-tolau, god-hero of the Tingians,
went down to the lowlands. He wandered
aimlessly through the plains until he reached the
seashore. The calm blue sea, massive and yet
helpless beneath the morning sun which flooded
it with golden light, fascinated the young man.
And unable to resist the beauty of the dancing
wavelets, he made a rattan raft and rowed
seaward.
On and on he rowed until he came to the edge

of the world. There, in a place where the sea
and the sky meet, Aponi-tolau saw a towering
rock, home of Tau-mari-u. lord of the sea. It was
guarded by nine beautiful daughters of the
seaweeds. The radiance of the ocean light
reflecting silver and gold upon the greenish hair
of the nine guards as they played around the
palace gates, chasing one another in gay
laughter, attracted the mountain lord.
Gathering the courage the Tingian warrior went
nearer the palace gates. However, when he
inquired what place it was, the maiden guard
laughed at him and lured him further inside the
palace walls. This made Aponi-tolau very angry.
Taking his magic hook, he lashed at the
unsuspecting maidens.
20 | P a g e
The hook hit the youngest and the most

beautiful among them, Humitau. The young
diwata gave a loud and piercing scream and
struggled desperately to free herself from Aponitolau's grip. But the magic oil which the
mountain lord had placed at the tip of his hook
weakened her blood and soon she was helpless.
A wild uproar followed as the guards screamed
and fled the gates. Aponi-tolau hurriedly picked
up the unconscious body of the sea-maiden,
loaded it on his rattan raft and rowed shoreward.
Shortly after the Tingian hero had left the bauwi (
native hut ) gates, Tau-mari-u went out of his
abode to see what was the commotion was all
about. But he was too late.
In his rage, Tau-mari-u summoned the waves
and tunas of the sea and ordered them to bring
back the intruder. The waves lashed at the raft of
the mountain warrior and the tunas pushed it
back.
Alarmed, Aponi-tolau cried out to his mother,
Lang-an of Kadalayapan, mistress of the wind
and rain, for help. The great goddess heard her
sons plea and immediately sent down strong
winds to pull Aponi-tolau and efforts of the tunas,
the Tingian warrior was able to reach the shore
unharmed.
But Tau-mari-u was furious. He immediately
called a meeting of the gods and demigods of
the seas and oceans, who agreed to punish the
dwellers of the land for what Aponi-tolau had

done.
From the sky, Lang-an knew the plan. She
immediately called for the north wind and sent
him to warn her son of the impending flood. She
instructed the mountain lord to go to the highest
peak of the Cordillera mountains for safety.
Obediently, Aponi-tolau took the members of his
household to the mountain top and waited. The
flood came. From his bauwi Aponi-tolau saw
mighty waves sweeping across the plains, filling
the valleys, and destroying the crops and
working animals of the inhabitants. Higher and
higher went the water until it covered the
mountain top but for the few square meters
where Aponi-tolau and his household took
shelter.
Frightened, Humitau gave a desperate cry. She
knew that she could no longer swim or live in the
water after having tasted the mountain food
which her husband had given her. The charm
removed her seapowers. She imploted Tau-mariu to save her.
Despite his anger, the water lord took pity upon
his favourite Humitau. Si he called back the
water and waves. But he promised that
henceforth he would sink mens boats and
drown passengers until Aponi-tolaus crime
appeased. When the water subsided, Aponitolau and his wife went down to the lowlands
and from them came the people of the world.
21 | P a g e
THE BREAD OF SALT

BY NVM GONZALES
He was born on 8 September 1915 in Romblon, Philippines. Gonzlez, however, was raised
in Mansalay, a southern town of the Philippine province of Oriental Mindoro. Gonzlez was a son of a
school supervisor and a teacher. As a teenager, he helped his father by deliveri ng meat door-to-door
across provincial villages and municipalities. Gonzlez was also a musician. He played the violin and
even made four guitars by hand. He earned his first peso by playing the violin during a Chinese funeral
in Romblon. Gonzlez attended Mindoro High School (now Jose J. Leido Jr. Memorial National High
School) from 1927 to 1930. Gonzlez attended college at National University (Manila) but he was unable
to finish his undergraduate degree. While in Manila, Gonzlez wrote for the Philippine Graphic and later
22 | P a g e
edited for the Evening News Magazine and Manila Chronicle.

His first published essay appeared in the Philippine
Graphic and his first poem in Poetry in 1934. Gonzlez made
his mark in the Philippine writing community as a member of
the Board of Advisers of Likhaan: the University of the
Philippines Creative Writing Center, founding editor of The
Diliman Review and as the first president of the Philippine
Writers Association. Gonzlez attended creative writing
classes underWallace Stegner and Katherine Anne
Porter at Stanford University. In 1950, Gonzlez returned to the Philippines and taught at the University of
Santo Tomas, the Philippine Womens University and the University of the Philippines (U.P.). At U.P.,
Gonzlez was only one of two faculty members accepted to teach in the university without holding a
degree. On the basis of his literary publications and distinctions, Gonzlez later taught at the University of
California, Santa Barbara, California State University, Hayward, the University of Washington,
the University of California, Los Angeles, and the University of California, Berkeley.
On 14 April 1987, the University of the Philippines conferred on N.V.M. Gonzlez the degree of Doctor of
Humane Letters, honoris causa, For his creative genius in shaping the Philippine short story and novel,
and making a new clearing within the English idiom and tradition on which he established an authentic
vocabulary, For his insightful criticism by which he advanced the literary tradition of the Filipino and
enriched the vocation for all writers of the present generationFor his visions and auguries by which he
gave the Filipino sense and sensibility a profound and unmistakable script read and reread throughout the
international community of letters
23 | P a g e
N.V.M. Gonzlez was proclaimed National Artist of the Philippines in 1997. He died on 28 November 1999
in Quezon City, Philippines at the age of 84. As a National Artist, Gonzalez was honored with a state
funeral at the Libingan ng mga Bayani.
MAP OF REGION
Story
Usually I was in bed by ten and up by five and
Grandmother wanted because recently she had
thus was ready for one more day of my
lost three molars. For young people like my
fourteenth year. Unless Grandmother had
cousins and myself, she had always said that
forgotten, the fifteen centavos for the baker
the kind called pan de sal ought to be quite all
down Progreso Street and how I enjoyed
right.
jingling those coins in my pocket!- would be in

The bread of salt! How did it get that name?
the empty fruit jar in the cupboard. I would
From where did its flavor come, through what
remember then that rolls were what
24 | P a g e
secret action of flour and yeast? At the risk of
and the rocks glinted with broken bottles, the
being jostled from the counter by early buyers, I
stone fence of the Spaniards compound set off
would push my way into the shop so that I might
the house as if it were a castle. Sunrise brought
watch the men who, stripped to the waist,
a wash of silver upon the roofs of the laundry
worked their long flat wooden spades in and out
and garden sheds which had been built low and
of the glowing maw of the oven. Why did the
close to the fence. On dull mornings the light
bread come nut-brown and the size of my little
dripped from the bamboo screen which covered
fist? And why did it have a pair of lips convulsed
the veranda and hung some four or five yards
into a painful frown? In the half light of the street,
from the ground. Unless it was August, when the
and hurrying, the paper bag pressed to my
damp, northeast monsoon had to be kept away
chest, I felt my curiosity a little gratified by the
from the rooms, three servants raised the screen
oven-fresh warmth of the bread I was proudly
promptly at six-thirty until it was completely
bringing home for breakfast.
hidden under the veranda eaves. From the

sound of the pulleys, I knew it was time to set
Well I knew how Grandmother would not mind if

out for school.
I nibbled away at one piece; perhaps, I might
even eat two, to be charged later against my
It was in his service, as a coconut plantation
share at the table. But that would be betraying a
overseer, that Grandfather had spent the last
trust; and so, indeed, I kept my purchase intact.
thirty years of his life. Grandmother had been
To guard it from harm, I watched my steps and
widowed three years now. I often wondered
avoided the dark street corners.
whether I was being depended upon to spend

the years ahead in the service of this great
For my reward, I had only to look in the direction

house. One day I learned that Aida, a classmate
of the sea wall and the fifty yards or so of
in high school, was the old Spaniards niece. All
riverbed beyond it, where an old Spaniards
my doubts disappeared. It was as if, before his
house stood. At low tide, when the bed was dry
25 | P a g e
death, Grandfather had spoken to me about her,
Her name, I was to learn many years later, was
concealing the seriousness of the matter by
a convenient mnemonic for the qualities to which
putting it over as a joke. If now I kept true to the
argument might aspire. But in those days it was
virtues, she would step out of her bedroom
a living voice. Oh that you might be worthy of
ostensibly to say
uttering me, it said. And how I endeavored to

build my body so that I might live long to honor
Good Morning to her uncle. Her real purpose, I

her. With every victory at singles at the handball
knew, was to reveal thus her assent to my
court the game was then the craze at school I
desire.
could feel my body glow in the sun as though it
On quiet mornings I imagined the patter of her
had instantly been cast in bronze. I guarded my
shoes upon the wooden veranda floor as a
mind and did not let my wits go astray. In class I
further sign, and I would hurry off to school,
would not allow a lesson to pass unmastered.
taking the route she had fixed for me past the
Our English teacher could put no question
post office, the town plaza and the church, the
before us that did not have a ready answer in
health center east of the plaza, and at last the
my head. One day he read Robert Louis
school grounds. I asked myself whether I would
Stevensons The Sire de Maletroits Door, and
try to walk with her and decided it would be the
we were so enthralled that our breaths trembled.
height of rudeness. Enough that in her blue skirt
I knew then that somewhere, sometime in the
and white middy she would be half a block
not too improbable future, a benign old man with
ahead and, from that distance, perhaps throw a
a lantern in his hand would also detain me in a
glance in my direction, to bestow upon my heart
secret room, and there daybreak would find me
a deserved and abundant blessing. I believed it
thrilled by the sudden certainty that I had won
was but right that, in some such way as this, her
Aidas hand.
mission in my life was disguised.
26 | P a g e
It was perhaps on my violin that her name
You must join my band, he said. Look, well
wrought such a tender spell. Maestro Antonino
have many engagements soon. Itll be vacation
remarked the dexterity of my stubby fingers.
time.
Quickly I raced through Alard-until I had all but

Pete pressed my arm. He had for some time
committed two thirds of the book to memory. My
now been asking me to join the Minviluz
short, brown arm learned at last to draw the bow
Orchestra, his private band. All I had been able
with grace. Sometimes, when practising my
to tell him was that I had my schoolwork to mind.
scales in the early evening, I wondered if the
He was twenty-two. I was perhaps too young to
sea wind carrying the straggling notes across
be going around with him. He earned his school
the pebbled river did not transform them into
fees and supported his mother hiring out his
Schuberts Serenade.
band at least three or four times a month. He
At last Mr. Custodio, who was in charge of our
now said:
school orchestra, became aware of my

Tomorrow we play at the funeral of a Chineseprogress. He moved me from second to first
four to six in the afternoon; in the evening, judge
violin. During the Thanksgiving Day program he
Roldans silver wedding anniversary; Sunday,
bade me render a number, complete with
the municipal dance.
pizzicati and harmonics.
My head began to whirl. On the stage, in front of
Another Vallejo! Our own Albert Spalding! I
us, the principal had begun a speech about
heard from the front row.
America. Nothing he could say about the Pilgrim
Aida, I thought, would be in the audience. I
Fathers and the American custom of feasting on
looked around quickly but could not see her. As I
turkey seemed interesting. I thought of the
retired to my place in the orchestra I heard Pete
money I would earn. For several days now I had
Saez, the trombone player, call my name.
but one wish, to buy a box of linen stationery. At
27 | P a g e
night when the house was quiet I would fill the
and white middy clapped her lily-white hands
sheets with words that would tell Aida how much
and, her voice trembling, cried Bravo!
I adored her. One of these mornings, perhaps

What people now observed at home was the
before school closed for the holidays, I would
diligence with which I attended to my violin
borrow her algebra book and there, upon a good
lessons. My aunt, who had come from the farm
pageful of equations, there I would slip my
to join her children for the holidays, brought with
message, tenderly pressing the leaves of the
her a maidservant, and to the poor girl was
book. She would perhaps never write back.
given the chore of taking the money to the
Neither by post nor by hand would a reply reach
bakers for rolls and pan de sal. I realized at
me. But no matter; it would be a silence full of
once that it would be no longer becoming on my
voices.
part to make these morning trips to the bakers. I
That night I dreamed I had returned from a tour
could not thank my aunt enough.
of the worlds music centers; the newspapers of

I began to chafe on being given other errands.
Manila had been generous with praise. I saw my
Suspecting my violin to be the excuse, my aunt
picture on the cover of a magazine. A writer had
remarked:
described how, many years ago, I used to trudge
the streets of Buenavista with my violin in a
What do you want to be a musician for? At
battered black cardboard case. In New York, he
parties, musicians always eat last.
reported, a millionaire had offered me a

Stradivarius violin, with a card that bore the
inscription: In admiration of a genius your own
people must surely be proud of. I dreamed I
spent a weekend at the millionaires country
house by the Hudson. A young girl in a blue skirt
Perhaps, I said to myself, she was thinking of a

pack of dogs scrambling for scraps tossed over
the fence by some careless kitchen maid. She
was the sort you could depend on to say such
vulgar things. For that reason, I thought, she
ought not to be taken seriously at all.
28 | P a g e
But the remark hurt me. Although Grandmother
Christmas program drew near. Finally it came; it
had counseled me kindly to mind my work at
was a warm December afternoon. I decided to
school, I went again and again to Pete Saezs
leave the room when our English teacher
house for rehearsals.
announced that members of the class might

exchange gifts. I felt fortunate; Pete was at the
She had demanded that I deposit with her my

door, beckoning to me. We walked out to the
earnings; I had felt too weak to refuse. Secretly, I
porch where, Pete said, he would tell me a
counted the money and decided not to ask for it
secret.
until I had enough with which to buy a brooch.
Why this time I wanted to give Aida a brooch, I
It was about an asalto the next Sunday which
didnt know. But I had set my heart on it. I
the Buenavista Womens Club wished to give
searched the downtown shops. The Chinese
Don Estebans daughters, Josefina and Alicia,
clerks, seeing me so young, were annoyed
who were arriving on the morning steamer from
when I inquired about prices.
Manila. The spinsters were much loved by the

ladies. Years ago, when they were younger,
At last the Christmas season began. I had not

these ladies studied solfeggio with Josefina and
counted on Aidas leaving home, and
the piano and harp with Alicia. As Pete told me
remembering that her parents lived in Badajoz,
all this, his lips ash-gray from practising all
my torment was almost unbearable. Not once
morning on his trombone, I saw in my mind the
had I tried to tell her of my love. My letters had
sisters in their silk dresses, shuffling off to
remained unwritten, and the algebra book
church for theevening benediction. They were
unborrowed. There was still the brooch to find,
very devout, and the Buenavista ladies admired
but I could not decide on the sort of brooch I
that. I had almost forgotten that they were twins
really wanted. And the money, in any case, was
and, despite their age, often dressed alike. In
in Grandmothers purse, which smelled of Tiger
low-bosomed voile bodices and white summer
Balm. I grew somewhat feverish as our class
29 | P a g e
hats, I remembered, the pair had attended
I was too dumbstruck by my own meanness to
Grandfathers funeral, at old Don Estebans
hear exactly what Aida said in answer to my
behest. I wondered how successful they had
greeting. But I recovered shortly and asked:
been in Manila during the past three years in the

Will you be away during the vacation?
matter of finding suitable husbands.
No, Ill be staying here, she said. When she
This party will be a complete surprise, Pete
added that her cousins were arriving and that a
said, looking around the porch as if to swear me
big party in their honor was being planned, I
to secrecy. Theyve hired our band.
remarked:
I joined my classmates in the room, greeting
So you know all about it? I felt I had to explain
everyone with a Merry Christmas
that the party was meant to be a surprise, an
jollier than that of the others. When I saw Aida in
asalto.
one corner unwrapping something two girls had

And now it would be nothing of the kind, really.
given her, I found the boldness to greet her also.
The womens club matrons would hustle about,
Merry Christmas, I said in English, as a
disguising their scurrying around for cakes and
hairbrush and a powder case emerged from the
candies as for some baptismal party or other. In
fancy wrapping. It seemed to me rather apt that
the end, the Rivas sisters would outdo them.
such gifts went to her. Already several girls were
Boxes of meringues, bonbons, ladyfingers, and
gathered around Aida. Their eyes glowed with
cinnamon buns that only the Swiss bakers in
envy, it seemed to me, for those fair cheeks and
Manila could make were perhaps coming on the
the bobbed dark-brown hair which lineage had
boat with them. I imagined a table glimmering
denied them.
with long-stemmed punch glasses; enthroned in

that array would be a huge brick-red bowl of
gleaming china with golden flowers around the
30 | P a g e
brim. The local matrons, however hard they
The overture shuffled along to its climax while
tried, however sincere their efforts, were bound
five men in white shirts bore huge boxes of
to fail in their aspiration to rise to the level of
goods into the house. I recognized one of the
Don Estebans daughters. Perhaps, I thought,
bakers in spite of the uniform. A chorus of
Aida knew all this. And that I should share in a
confused greetings, and the women trooped into
foreknowledge of the matrons hopes was a
the house;
matter beyond love. Aida and I could laugh

and before we had settled in the sala to play A
together with the gods.
Basket of Roses, the heavy damask curtains at
At seven, on the appointed evening, our small
the far end of the room were drawn and a long
band gathered quietly at the gate of Don
table richly spread was revealed under the
Estebans house, and when the ladies arrived in
chandeliers. I remembered that, in our haste to
their heavy shawls and trim panuelo, twittering
be on hand for the asalto, Pete and I had
with excitement, we were commanded to play
discouraged the members of the band from
the Poet and Peasant overture. As Pete directed
taking their suppers.
the band, his eyes glowed with pride for his

Youve done us a great honor! Josefina, the
having been part of the big event. The
more buxom of the twins, greeted the ladies.
multicolored lights that the old Spaniards
gardeners had strung along the vine-covered
Oh, but you have not allowed us to take you by
fence were switched on, and the women
surprise! the ladies demurred in a chorus.
remarked that Don Estebans daughters might

have made some preparations after all. Pete hid
his face from the glare. If the women felt let
down, they did not show it.
There were sighs and further protestations amid

a rustle of skirts and the glitter of earrings. I saw
Aida in a long, flowing white gown and wearing
an arch of sampaguita flowers on her hair. At her
command, two servants brought out a gleaming
31 | P a g e
harp from the music room. Only the slightest
By midnight, the merrymaking lagged. We
scraping could be heard because the servants
played while the party gathered around the great
were barefoot. As Aida directed them to place
table at the end of the sala. My mind traveled
the instrument near the seats we occupied, my
across the seas to the distant cities I had
heart leaped to my throat. Soon she was lost
dreamed about. The sisters sailed among the
among the guests, and we played The Dance of
ladies like two great white liners amid a fleet of
the Glowworms. I kept my eyes closed and held
tugboats in a bay. Someone had thoughtfully
for as long as I could her radiant figure before
remembered-and at last Pete Saez signaled to
me.
us to put our instruments away. We walked in

single file across the hall, led by one of the
Alicia played on the harp and then, in answer to

barefoot servants.
the deafening applause, she offered an encore.
Josefina sang afterward. Her voice, though a
Behind us a couple of hoarse sopranos sang La
little husky, fetched enormous sighs. For her
Paloma to the accompaniment of the harp, but I
encore, she gave The Last Rose of Summer;
did not care to find out who they were. The sight
and the song brought back snatches of the
of so much silver and china confused me. There
years gone by. Memories of solfeggio lessons
was more food before us than I had ever
eddied about us, as if there were rustling leaves
imagined. I searched in my mind for the names
scattered all over the hall. Don Esteban
of the dishes; but my ignorance appalled me. I
appeared. Earlier, he had greeted the crowd
wondered what had happened to the boxes of
handsomely, twisting his mustache to hide a
food that the Buenavista ladies had sent up
natural shyness before talkative women. He
earlier. In a silver bowl was something, I
stayed long enough to listen to the harp again,
discovered, that appeared like whole egg yolks
whispering in his rapture: Heavenly.
that had been dipped in honey
Heavenly . . .
32 | P a g e
and peppermint. The seven of us in the
done, and I felt all ardor for her gone from me
orchestra were all of one mind about the feast;
entirely.
and so, confident that I was with friends, I

I walked away to the nearest door, praying that
allowed my covetousness to have its sway and
the damask curtains might hide me in my
not only stuffed my mouth with this and that
shame. The door gave on to the veranda, where
confection but also wrapped up a quantity of
once my love had trod on sunbeams. Outside it
those egg-yolk things in several sheets of napkin
was dark, and a faint wind was singing in the
paper. None of my companions had thought of
harbor.
doing the same, and it was with some pride that
I slipped the packet under my shirt. There, I
With the napkin balled up in my hand, I flung out
knew, it would not bulge.
my arm to scatter the egg-yolk things in the

dark. I waited for the soft sound of their fall on
Have you eaten?

the garden-shed roof. Instead, I heard a spatter
I turned around. It was Aida. My bow tie seemed
in the rising night-tide beyond the stone fence.
to tighten around my collar. I mumbled
Farther away glimmered the light from
something, I did not know what.
Grandmothers window, calling me home.
If you wait a little while till theyve gone, Ill wrap
But the party broke up at one or thereabouts.
up a big package for you, she added.
We walked away with our instruments after the

matrons were done with their interminable good-
I brought a handkerchief to my mouth. I might

byes. Then, to the tune of Joy to the World, we
have honored her solicitude adequately and
pulled the Progreso Street shopkeepers out of
even relieved myself of any embarrassment; I
their beds. The Chinese merchants were
could not quite believe that she had seen me,
especially generous. When Pete divided our
and yet I was sure that she knew what I had
33 | P a g e
collection under a street lamp, there was already
edge of the sea wall. He laughed, thinking it
a little glow of daybreak.
strange that I should be hungry. We found

ourselves alone at the counter; and we watched
He walked with me part of the way home. We

the bakery assistants at work until our bodies
stopped at the bakers when I told him that I
grew warm from the oven across the door. It was
wanted to buy with my own money some bread
not quite five, and the bread was not yet ready.
to eat on the way to Grandmothers house at the
THE OTHER WOMAN

BY FRANCISCO A. ARCELLANA
Filipino writer, poet, essayist, critic, journalist and teacher. He
was born on September 16, 1916. Arcellana already had
ambitions of becoming a writer during his years in the
elementary. His actual writing, however, started when he
became a member of The Torres Torch Organization during his
high school years. Arcellana continued writing in various school
papers at the University of the Philippines Diliman. He later on
received a Rockfeller Grant and became a fellow in creative
writing the University of Iowa and Breadloafs writers
conference from 1956- 1957.
MAP OF REGION 4
34 | P a g e
STORY
I have watched her in stillness, how still and white and long. I have followed her about with my eyes, how
silent and swift and strong. When she is still, it is musical. When she moves, it is a song. I have looked at
her fearlessly, openly, and without shame: it is quite true that I desire you, it is quite true that lust is my
name. I know, I always know where she is, when she is around and about: it is in my body like a shout.
soft hair, white brow, eyes young nose fine, sweet lips, sweet mouth, tongue proud chin, neck white,
graceful, long downy nape, smooth, shoulders strong under the arms soft, arms long sweet and exquisite,
white and strong wrist small and supple hands neat, exquisite fingers petals of the lotus breasts like
apples white body shining, sweet and long hips broad and ample, wide and strong thighs like pillars, white
and long legs like cedars, firm and strong feet that are sweet toes like the rose I know her name, I have
called to her but she does not hear, she will not listen. I call to her but she does not come. The Lord is my
shepherd but I want.
35 | P a g e
MAGNIFICENCE
BY ESTRELLA ALFON
Estrella Alfon was born in San Nicolas, Cebu City on

March 27, 1917. She went to medical school to finish her
medicinal studies but when she was misdiagnosed for
having tuberculosis, she had to withdraw from her studies.
She finished her education with a degree in Associate of Arts
instead.
MAP OF REGION 4
36 | P a g e
STORY
There was nothing to fear, for the man was
come fully into the light, but his voice soft, his
always so gentle, so kind. At night when the little
manner slow. He would smell very faintly of
girl and her brother were bathed in the light of
sweat and pomade, but the children didnt mind
the big shaded bulb that hung over the big study
although they did notice, for they waited for him
table in the downstairs hall, the man would
every evening as they sat at their lessons like
knock gently on the door, and come in. he would
this. Hed throw his visored cap on the table, and
stand for a while just beyond the pool of light, his
it would fall down with a soft plop, then hed nod
feet in the circle of illumination, the rest of him in
his head to say one was right, or shake it to say
shadow. The little girl and her brother would look
one was wrong.
up at him where they sat at the big table, their

It was not always that he came. They could
eyes bright in the bright light, and watch him
remember perhaps two weeks when he
37 | P a g e
remarked to their mother that he had never seen
Japanese bazaars promoted a rage for those.
two children looking so smart. The praise had
Sometimes it is for little lead toys found in the
made their mother look over them as they stood
folded waffles that Japanese confection-makers
around listening to the goings-on at the meeting
had such light hands with. At this particular time,
of the neighborhood association, of which their
it was for pencils. Pencils big but light in
mother was president. Two children, one a girl of
circumference not smaller than a mans thumb.
seven, and a boy of eight. They were both very
They were unwieldy in a childs hands, but in all
tall for their age, and their legs were the long
schools then, where Japanese bazaars
gangly legs of fine spirited colts. Their mother
clustered there were all colors of these pencils
saw them with eyes that held pride, and then to
selling for very low, but unattainable to a child
partly gloss over the maternal gloating she
budgeted at a baon of a centavo a day. They
exhibited, she said to the man, in answer to his
were all of five centavos each, and one pencil
praise, But their homework. Theyre so lazy with
was not at all what one had ambitions for. In
them. And the man said, I have nothing to do in
rages, one kept a collection. Four or five pencils,
the evenings, let me help them. Mother nodded
of different colors, to tie with strings near the
her head and said, if you want to bother
eraser end, to dangle from ones book-basket, to
yourself. And the thing rested there, and the
arouse the envy of the other children who
man came in the evenings therefore, and he
probably possessed less.
helped solve fractions for the boy, and write
Add to the mans gentleness and his kindness in
correct phrases in language for the little girl.
knowing a childs desires, his promise that he

would give each of them not one pencil but two.
In those days, the rage was for pencils. School

And for the little girl who he said was very bright
children always have rages going at one time or
and deserved more, ho would get the biggest
another. Sometimes for paper butterflies that are
pencil he could find.
held on sticks, and whirr in the wind. The
One evening he did bring them. The evenings of
38 | P a g e
waiting had made them look forward to this final
The little girl went up to the man shyly, put her
giving, and when they got the pencils they
arms about his neck as he crouched to receive
whooped with joy. The little boy had tow pencils,
her embrace, and kissed him on the cheeks.
one green, one blue. And the little girl had three
The mans arms tightened suddenly about the
pencils, two of the same circumference as the
little girl until the little girl squirmed out of his
little boys but colored red and yellow. And the
arms, and laughed a little breathlessly, disturbed
third pencil, a jumbo size pencil really, was
but innocent, looking at the man with a smiling
white, and had been sharpened, and the little girl
little question of puzzlement.
jumped up and down, and shouted with glee.
Until their mother called from down the stairs.
The next evening, he came around again. All
What are you shouting about? And they told her,
through that day, they had been very proud in
shouting gladly, Vicente, for that was his name.
school showing off their brand new pencils. All
Vicente had brought the pencils he had
the little girls and boys had been envying them.
promised them.
And their mother had finally to tell them to stop

talking about the pencils, pencils, for now that
Thank him, their mother called. The little boy

they had, the boy two, and the girl three, they
smiled and said, Thank you. And the little girl
were asking their mother to buy more, so they
smiled, and said, Thank you, too. But the man
could each have five, and three at least in the
said, Are you not going to kiss me for those
jumbo size that the little girls third pencil was.
pencils? They both came forward, the little girl
Their mother said, Oh stop it, what will you do
and the little boy, and they both made to kiss him
with so many pencils, you can only write with
but Vicente slapped the boy smartly on his lean
one at a time.
hips, and said, Boys do not kiss boys. And the
little boy laughed and scampered away, and
And the little girl muttered under her breath, Ill
then ran back and kissed him anyway.
ask Vicente for some more.
39 | P a g e
Their mother replied, Hes only a bus conductor,
Vicente said to the little boy, Go and ask if you
dont ask him for too many things. Its a pity. And
can let me have a glass of water. And the little
this observation their mother said to their father,
boy ran away to comply, saying behind him, But
who was eating his evening meal between
buy us some more pencils, huh, buy us more
paragraphs of the book on masonry rites that he
pencils, and then went up to stairs to their
was reading. It is a pity, said their mother,
mother.
People like those, they make friends with people

Vicente held the little girl by the arm, and said
like us, and they feel it is nice to give us gifts, or
gently, Of course I will buy you more pencils, as
the children toys and things. Youd think they
many as you want
wouldnt be able to afford it.
And the little girl giggled and said, Oh, then I will
The father grunted, and said, the man probably
tell my friends, and they will envy me, for they
needed a new job, and was softening his way
dont have as many or as pretty.
through to him by going at the children like that.
And the mother said, No, I dont think so, hes a
Vicente took the girl up lightly in his arms,
rather queer young man, I think he doesnt have
holding her under the armpits, and held her to sit
many friends, but I have watched him with the
down on his lap and he said, still gently, What
children, and he seems to dote on them.
are your lessons for tomorrow? And the little girl

turned to the paper on the table where she had
The father grunted again, and did not pay any

been writing with the jumbo pencil, and she told
further attention.
him that that was her lesson but it was easy.
Vicente was earlier than usual that evening. The
Then go ahead and write, and I will watch you.
children immediately put their lessons down,
telling him of the envy of their schoolmates, and
Dont hold me on your lap, said the little girl, I
would he buy them more please?
am very heavy, you will get very tired.
40 | P a g e
The man shook his head, and said nothing, but
But Vicente had jumped up too soon as the little
held her on his lap just the same.
girl had jumped from his lap. He snatched at the

papers that lay on the table and held them to his
The little girl kept squirming, for somehow she

stomach, turning away from the mothers
felt uncomfortable to be held thus, her mother
coming.
and father always treated her like a big girl, she
was always told never to act like a baby. She
The mother looked at him, stopped in her tracks,
looked around at Vicente, interrupting her careful
and advanced into the light. She had been in the
writing to twist around.
shadow. Her voice had been like a bell of safety

to the little girl. But now she advanced into glare
His face was all in sweat, and his eyes looked

of the light that held like a tableau the figures of
very strange, and he indicated to her that she
Vicente holding the little girls papers to him, and
must turn around, attend to the homework she
the little girl looking up at him frightenedly, in her
was writing.
eyes dark pools of wonder and fear and
But the little girl felt very queer, she didnt know
question.
why, all of a sudden she was immensely

The little girl looked at her mother, and saw the
frightened, and she jumped up away from
beloved face transfigured by some sort of glow.
Vicentes lap.
The mother kept coming into the light, and when
She stood looking at him, feeling that queer
Vicente made as if to move away into the
frightened feeling, not knowing what to do. By
shadow, she said, very low, but very heavily, Do
and by, in a very short while her mother came
not move.
down the stairs, holding in her hand a glass of

She put the glass of soft drink down on the
sarsaparilla, Vicente.
table, where in the light one could watch the little
bubbles go up and down in the dark liquid. The
41 | P a g e
mother said to the boy, Oscar, finish your
The man said nothing, for she said nothing
lessons. And turning to the little girl, she said,
either. Up the stairs went the man, and the
Come here. The little girl went to her, and the
mother followed behind. When they had reached
mother knelt down, for she was a tall woman
the upper landing, the woman called down to her
and she said, Turn around. Obediently the little
son, Son, come up and go to your room.
girl turned around, and her mother passed her

The little boy did as he was told, asking no
hands over the little girls back.
questions, for indeed he was feeling sleepy
Go upstairs, she said.
already.
The mothers voice was of such a heavy quality
As soon as the boy was gone, the mother turned
and of such awful timbre that the girl could only
on Vicente. There was a pause.
nod her head, and without looking at Vicente

Finally, the woman raised her hand and slapped
again, she raced up the stairs. The mother went
him full hard in the face. Her retreated down one
to the cowering man, and marched him with a
tread of the stairs with the force of the blow, but
glance out of the circle of light that held the little
the mother followed him. With her other hand
boy. Once in the shadow, she extended her
she slapped him on the other side of the face
hand, and without any opposition took away the
again. And so down the stairs they went, the
papers that Vicente was holding to himself. She
man backwards, his face continually open to the
stood there saying nothing as the man fumbled
force of the womans slapping. Alternately she
with his hands and with his fingers, and she
lifted her right hand and made him retreat before
waited until he had finished. She was going to
her until they reached the bottom landing.
open her mouth but she glanced at the boy and
closed it, and with a look and an inclination of
He made no resistance, offered no defense.
the head, she bade Vicente go up the stairs.
Before the silence and the grimness of her
42 | P a g e
attack he cowered, retreating, until out of his
buttons and imparting a terror to the little girl that
mouth issued something like a whimper.
almost made her sob. Hush, the mother said.

Take a bath quickly.
The mother thus shut his mouth, and with those

hard forceful slaps she escorted him right to the
Her mother presided over the bath the little girl
other door. As soon as the cool air of the free
took, scrubbed her, and soaped her, and then
night touched him, he recovered enough to turn
wiped her gently all over and changed her into
away and run, into the shadows that ate him up.
new clothes that smelt of the clean fresh smell of
The woman looked after him, and closed the
clothes that had hung in the light of the sun. The
door. She turned off the blazing light over the
clothes that she had taken off the little girl, she
study table, and went slowly up the stairs and
bundled into a tight wrenched bunch, which she
out into the dark night.
threw into the kitchen range.
When her mother reached her, the woman, held
Take also the pencils, said the mother to the
her hand out to the child. Always also, with the
watching newly bathed, newly changed child.
terrible indelibility that one associated with terror,
Take them and throw them into the fire. But
the girl was to remember the touch of that hand
when the girl turned to comply, the mother said,
on her shoulder, heavy, kneading at her flesh,
No, tomorrow will do. And taking the little girl by
the woman herself stricken almost dumb, but her
the hand, she led her to her little girls bed, made
eyes eloquent with that angered fire. She knelt,
her lie down and tucked the covers gently about
She felt the little girls dress and took it off with
her as the girl dropped off into quick slumber.
haste that was almost frantic, tearing at the
43 | P a g e
AMERICA
BY SIMEON DUMDUM, JR.
Simeon Dumdum, Jr. (born March 7, 1948) is a Regional Trial
Court Executive Judge in Cebu City, The Philippines, and a
published poet. He once studied for the priesthood in Galway,
Ireland, but left the seminary to take up law. After years of
practicing law, he was appointed Regional Trial Court judge in
Cebu. He won prizes for his poetry, which he has published and read
abroad. He was born in Balamban, Cebu, where he grew up and had
his early schooling. He attended St. Francis Academy for his secondary
education, and then went to St. Clements College in Iloilo City,
where he did a year of college. In Ireland, he went to University
College, Galway
MAP OF REGION 5-7
of West Virginia
(he was born in Leyte
POEM
but was living
I listened to him speak
in West Virginia).
44 | P a g e
And on that warm
evening
I told
myself,
Thats where I want to be,
but the moon was rising
in West Virginia, or New York,
and it was bigger than in
or San Francisco
America.
FAMILY REUNION
BY CARLOS ANGELES
Born in Tacloban City, Leyte, Philippines May 25, 1921

When in 1964 the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature included Poetry for the first time, the
highest honor went to Carlos A. Angeles for a stun of jewels. In that year too, for the same book, Angeles
received the Republic Cultural Heritage Award for LiteratureYears afterwards in America, Angeles would
ruefully shake his head over those honors. An immigrant there since 1978, his Muse had kept silent for
twenty years, from 1958 when he served as public relations manager of PanAm Airways to 1978But
then, in 1984, he wrote again, tried to go on an even keel. Memory was his Muse. You know, I love this
one image in Stones for Ibarraa cork that had been taken out of the bottle. Like memories, the cork just
wont slide back into the bottles mouth easily.
MAP OF REGION 8
45 | P a g e
PPOEM
It must have been a letter sent, it must.
caressing Us with focused love, and spoke the

welcome,
Have been some mute desire made vocable

Welcome! And us, we wept at such addressing
At last my word or whisper, or as hummed
Papa was human, He forgot how long
By someone who was never there at all.
Our absence was, but led us in; and in.
Must have been; it was not a Holyday
The centered room spoke syllables to us
Nor death; there was no testament to hear.
Like love, like love. Mama forgave our sins.
It was as if-no, none could half suppose
Simply by closing the door behind her,
What purpose we came with, why we were
there.
And as simply, shut out the outside world.
Papa called us by our names as we stepped
And here, at last, we prodigals closed in
To kiss his hand, and Mama watched,
Like remnants which were being slowly furled.
46 | P a g e
BRINGING THE DOLL

By Merlie Alunan
She has lived and worked all her life in the

Philippines but not in Manila, a city she describes
urban conglomeration.
On the map of her country one can spot a group of
islands between two large ones--the island of
and of Mindanao. The group of islands is known
Visayas. She lives on the island of Leyte where
she has been here since 1959 when she was just
in high school.
as a huge
Luzon
as the
While she has traveled a bit around the Visayan

Islands, she finally settled in Leyte in 2000. The
island is largely rural. Most of the people are
engaged either in fishing or farming. It means
that there is not much of an intellectual life. In
that sense, poetry is a way to resist the mind becoming numb due to a lack of
activities and intellectual challenges.
She has a Master's Degree in English, major in Creative Writing. By the time she was
26, she had completed her MA.
Once she started her family of five children, she no longer wrote. Also she had
started on a Ph.D. but due to all the family pressure lost the momentum. She only
47 | P a g e
resumed writing poetry in her early forties, beleaguered as she was with raising her
children alone. She brought her five children through alone by holding down her job
as teacher. In that sense, poetry gave her strength and sanity to see all these things
through.
MAP OF REGION 8
Poem
Two dolls in rags and tatters,
the stealthy tears I could not wipe.
one missing an arm and a leg,
Then I sawrags, tatters and all
the other blind in one eyeI grabbed them from

her arms,
there among the neat trim packs,
No, I said, they cannot come.

Each tight baggage
I had packed
only for the barest need:
no room for sentiment or memory
to clutter with loose ends
my stern resolve. I reasoned,
even a child must learn
she cannot take what must be left behind.
And so the boat turned seaward,
a smart wind blowing dry
the dolls I ruled to leave behind.

Her silence should have warned me
she knew her burdens
as I knew mine:
her clean white years unlived
and paid my price.
She battened on a truth
she knew I too must own:
when whats at stake
is loyalty or love,
hers are the true rights.

Her own faiths she must keep, not I.
48 | P a g e
PILANDOK CROSSES A RIVER

Pilandok wanted to cross a wide and deep river but he could not do it because there
were so many crocodiles in it. So he thought of an idea. He used the datus name by
saying to the crocodiles that the datu wanted to count them so that could feed them
and the crocodiles believed on it. He asked the crocodiles to align themselves
without knowing that it was just a trap so he could go to the other side of the river.
He jumped from the crocodiles back then what he had planned happened. As he
reached the other side he told to the crocodiles that what he said was not true.
Then he ran home as fast as he could.

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BACKGROUND OF THE AUTHOR

No nairedep, sam-it nannanamek.

Ditoy dalan ko no sikan ti magna,

Ket gapu ti nalaus nga ayat ko

Pinagduadua no sika ket agmaymaysa

Adu a tawenen ti nabilangko.

Namnama ta ti pusom iyawat mo;

Nu tay sika kenyak makagura,

Dayta pintas mo a dardaripdepek.

Amin a pinagdungngo impakitak.

Gasat nadanunen ti pannakapaay,

Ket aniakad payso ti ur-urayek?

Yantangay siak ket linipatnakon,

What gladness and what joy

never do I fully realize

are endowed to one who is loved

that I am worthy of her.

for truly there is one to share

Shall I curse the hour

My fate is dim, my stars so low

would it not have been better a thousand times

perhaps nothing to it can compare,

I had died when I was born.

for truly I do not doubt

Would I want to explain

For even I did love,

for now do I clearly see

the beauty whom I desired

for to you do I vow and a promise I make

its you alone for whom I would lay my life.

to know that it is you I love,

stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao

He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You

to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo

"No, you have been very good to me. You have

"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right

"That has not done me any good, has it?" She

"You know that I have done my best," she said.

He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and

"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you.

Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started

They both drank of the water then rested on the

She was silent.

He went to the door.

"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it

He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain

"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then

empty that the whole tribe was at the dance.

countless sparks which spread and rose like

A few more weeks, a few more months, a few

The stretching of the bean pods full length from

Nu nunuk du tukun, minuhung as kadisi na;

The Nunuk on the hill shot forth new leaves and

Ichapungpung diya am yaken u nilawngan na.

Then suddenly all its branches fell, and I under

The sad news came to me in the roar of the

Life is a Three Ring Circus

interviews with starlets who were as wet behind

Id have to consult my editor first and find out if