LIT 113 WEEK 8

Ibanag Palavvun or Riddles

Sinni pano y tadday nga babay

Kanan na baggi na a maguroray - Kandela
(Who can be the lovely lady
That eats her own body - Candle)

Adalam nu mapangarianan
Abibbaw nu malannapan - Poso
(Deep when decreased
Shallow when increased- Well
Pira y levu na
Vulauan y unag na - Illuk
(What is golden that is surrounded with silver? –Egg)

Ngisi nu matolay
Nafuraw nu matay - Bavi
(Black when alive
White when dead- Pig)

Egga lubig ku nga balabaddi

Nga maggafu ta langi - Uran
(I have a tiny silver string
Which come from heaven – Rain )

Lappaw No Asasena (Poem)

Ay kekasta na matam zigarigatan na Asucena Flower

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 1 of 30
Ay, mataya-k to aya nu innamma Oh, how beautiful are your eyes, they
Ay, neyarig ta ka ta lappaw na asusena Make me suffer
Nga ummaummakkan na alibambang ta Oh, I die of love when you look at
me
kada umma Oh, oh, you are like an asucena flower
Neneng ilipem kari nio y matam Which butterflies kiss /smell every day.
Ta makallallo oye oye matay ta aya Neneng, please cast your eyes on me
napannuan ta daddam . A pitiful one, who dies of love for you
Ta sinni a futu y enna pangidangingan To whom else will he whisper his
love
Ta tanakuan na lappaw, Neneng, nu ari To no other flower, Neneng, if not
you.
sikaw laman

The Return (Poem)

Edith L. Tiempo

If the dead years could shake their skinny legs and run
As once he had circled this house in thirty counts,
He would go thru this door among these old friends and they would not shun
Him and the tales he would tell, tales that would bear more than the spare
Testimony of willed wit and his grey hairs
He would enter among them, the fatted meat about his mouth,
As he told of how he had lived on strange boats on strange waters,
Of strategems with lean sly winds,
Of the times death went coughing like a sick man on the motors,
Their breaths would rise hot and pungent as the lemon rinds
In their cups and sniff at the odors
Of his past like dogs at dried bones behind a hedge,
And he would live in the whispers and locked heads,
Wheeling around and around and turning back was where he started:

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 2 of 30
The turn to the pasture, a swift streak under a boy's running;
The swing, up a few times and he had all the earth he wanted;
The tower trees, and not so tall as he had imagined;
The rocking chair on the porch, you pushed it and it started rocking,
Rocking, and abruptly stopped. He, too, stopped in the door way, chagrined.
He would go among them but he would not tell, he could be smart,
He, an old man cracking the bones of his embarrassment apart.
Week 8
REGION III (Central Luzon Region)
Faith, Love, Time, and Dr. Lazaro
Gregorio C. Brillantes
(1) From the upstairs veranda, Dr. Lazaro had a view of stars, the country
darkness, the lights on the distant highway at the edge of town. The
phonograph in the sala played Chopin-like a vast sorrow controlled, made
familiar, he had been wonting to think. But as he sat there, his lean frame in
the habitual slack repose he took after supper, and stared at the plains of
night that had evoked gentle images and even a kind of peace (in the end,
sweet and invincible oblivion), Dr. Lazaro remembered nothing, his mind lay
untouched by any conscious thought, he was scarcely aware of the April heat;
the patterns of music fell around him and dissolved swiftly, uncomprehend. It
was as though indifference were an infection that had entered his blood-it was
everywhere in his body. In the scattered light from the sala, his angular face
had a dusty, wasted quality; only his eyes contained life. He could have
remained there all evening, unmoving, and buried, as it were, in a strange
half-sleep, had his wife not come to tell him he was wanted on the phone.
(2) Gradually his mind stirred, focused; as he rose from the chair he recognized
the somber passage in the sonata that curiously, made him think of ancient
monuments, faded stone walls, a greyness. the brain filed away an image, an
arrangement of sounds released it. He switched off the phonograph,
suppressed an impatient quiver in his throat as he reached for the phone:

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 3 of 30
 everyone has a claim on his time. He thought why not the younger ones for a
change? He had spent a long day at the provincial hospital.
(3) The man was calling from a service station outside the town- the station after
the agricultural high school, and before the San Miguel bridge, the man added
rather needlessly, in a voice at once frantic yet oddly subdued and courteous.
Dr. Lazaro had heard it countless times, in the corridors of the hospital, in
waiting rooms: the perceptual awkward misery. He was Pedro Esteban, the
brother of the doctor's tenant in Nambalan, said the voice, trying to make itself
less sudden and remote.
(4) But the connection was faulty, there was a humming in the wires, as though
darkness had added to the distance between the house in the town and the
station beyond the summer fields. Dr. Lazaro could barely catch the severed
phrases. The man's week-old child had a high fever, a bluish skin: its mouth
would not open to suckle. They could not take the baby to the Poblacion, they
would not dare move it, its body turned rigid when touched. If the doctor would
consent to come at so late· an hour, Esteban would wait for him at the station.
If the doctor would be so kind.
(5) Tetanus of the new-born: that was elementary, and most likely it was also
hopeless, a waste of time. Dr. Lazaro said yes, he would be there, he had
committed himself to that answer, long ago; duty had taken the place of an
exhausted compassion. The carelessness of the poor, the infected blankets,
the toxin moving toward the heart; they were casual scribbled items of a
clinical report. But outside the grilled windows, the night suddenly seemed
alive and waiting. He had no choice left now but action: it was the only
certitude-he sometimes reminded himself-even if it should prove futile, before
the descent into nothingness.
(6) His wife looked up from her needles and twine, under the shaded lamp of the
bedroom; she had finished the pullover for the grandchild in Baguio and had
begun work, he noted, on another of those altar vestments for the parish
church. Religion and her grandchild certainly kept her busy. . . . She looked
at him, not so much to inquire as to be spoken to: a large and placid woman.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 4 of 30
 (7) "Shouldn't have let the driver go home so early," Dr. Lazaro said. "They had to
wait till now to call. . . Child's probably dead. . . "
(8) "Ben can drive for you."
(9) "Hardly see that boy around the house. Seems to be taking his vacation both
from home and school."
(10) "He's downstairs," his wife said.
(11) Dr. Lazaro put on a fresh shirt, buttoned it with tense abrupt motions. "I
thought he'd gone out again. Who's that girl he's been seeing?... It’s not just
warm, it’s hot. You should've stayed on in Baguio. . . There's disease,
suffering, because Adam ate the apple. They must have an answer to
everything.... “He paused at the door, as though for the echo of his words.
(12) Mrs. Lazaro had resumed her knitting; in the circle of yellow light, her head
bowed, she seemed absorbed in some contemplative prayer. But her silence
had ceased to disturb him, like the plaster saints she kept in the room, in their
cases of glass, or that air she wore of conspiracy, when she left with Ben for
mass in the mornings. Dr. Lazaro would ramble about miracle drugs, politics,
music, the common sense of his unbelief; unrelated things strung together in
a monologue, he posed questions, supplied his own answers; and she would
merely nod, with an occasional "Yes?" and something like a shadow of
anxiety in her gaze.

(13) He hurried down the curving stairs, under the votive lamps of the Sacred
Heart. Ben lay sprawled on the sofa, in the front parlor, engrossed in a book, one
leg propped against the back cushions. "Come along, we're going somewhere,"
Dr. Lazaro said, and went into the clinic for his medical bag. He added a vial of
pen strep, an ampule of caffeine to the satchel's contents: rechecked the bag
before closing it; the catgut would last just one more patient. One can only cure,
and know nothing beyond one's work. There had been the man, today, in the
hospital: the cancer pain no longer helped by the doses of morphine; the patient's
eyes flickering their despair in the eroded face. Dr. Lazaro brushed aside the
stray vision as he strode out of the whitewashed room; he was back in his

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 5 of 30
 element, among syringes, steel instruments, quick decisions, and it gave him a
sort of blunt energy.

(14)"I'll drive, Pa?" Ben followed him through the kitchen, where the maids were
ironing the week's wash, gossiping, and out to the yard, the dimness of the single
bulb under the eaves. The boy pushed back the folding doors of the garage and
slid behind the wheel.
(15)"Somebody's waiting at the gas station near San Miguel. You
know the place?"

(16) "Sure," Ben said.

(17) The engine sputtered briefly and stopped. "Battery's weak,” Dr, Lazaro said.
"Try it without the lights," and he smelled the gasoline overflow as the old
Pontiac finally lurched around the house and through the trellised gate, its
front beams sweeping over the dry dusty street.
(18) But he's all right, Dr. Lazaro thought as they swung smoothly into the main
avenue of the town, past the church and the plaza, the kiosko bare for once in
a season of fiestas, the lamp posts shining on the quiet square. They did not
speak; he could sense his son's concentration on the road, and he noted, with
a tentative amusement, the intense way the boy sat behind the wheel, his
eagerness to be of help. They passed the drab farm-houses behind the
marketplace, and the capitol building on its landscaped hill, gears shifting
easily as they went over the rail tracks that crossed the last asphalted section
of the main street.

(19) Then the road was pebbled and uneven, the car bucking slightly; and they
were speeding between open fields, a succession of narrow wooden bridges
breaking the crunching drive of the wheels. Dr. Lazaro gazed at the wide
darkness around them, the shapes of trees and bushes hurling toward them
and sliding away, and he saw the stars, nearer now, they seemed, moving
with the car. He thought of light years, black space, and infinite distances; in

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 6 of 30
 the unmeasured universe, man's life flared briefly and was gone, traceless in
the void. He turned away from the emptiness. He said: "You seem to have a
lot of practice, Ben."
(20) "A lot of what, Pa?"

(21) "The way you drive. Very professional."

(22) In the glow of the dashboard lights, the boy's face relaxed, smiled. "Tio
Cesar let me use his car in Manila. Special occasions.

(23) "No reckless speeding now," Dr. Lazaro said. "Some fellows think its smart.
Gives them a thrill. Don't be like that."

(24) "No, I won't Pa. I just like to drive and go places, that’s all."

(25) Dr. Lazaro watched the young face intent on the road, a cowlick over the
forehead, the small curve of the nose, his own face before he left to study
in another country, a young student full of illusions, a lifetime ago; long before
the loss of faith, God turning abstract, unknowable, and everywhere, it
seemed to him, those senseless accidents of pain. He felt a need to define
unspoken things, to come closer somehow to the last of his sons; one of this
days, before the boys vacation was over they might go on a picnic together, a
trip to the farm; a special day for the two of them-father and son, as well as
friends. In the two years Ben had been away in college, they had written a few
brief, almost formal letters to each other: your money is on the way, study
hard, these are the best years…

(26) Time was moving toward them, was swirling around and rushing away, and it
seemed Dr. Lazaro could almost hear its hollow receding roar, and
discovering his son’s profile against the flowing darkness, he had a thirst to
speak. He could not find what it was he had meant to say.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 7 of 30
 (27) The agricultural school buildings came up in the headlights and glided back
into blurred shapes behind a fence.

(28) “What was that book you were reading, Ben?”

(29) “Biography,” the boy said.

(30) “Statesman? Scientist maybe?”

(31) “It’s about a guy who became a monk.”

(32) “That’s your summer reading?” Dr. Lazaro asked with a small laugh, half
mockery, half affection. “You’re getting to be a regular saint like your mother.”

(33) “It’s an interesting book,” Ben said.

(34) “I can imagine…” He dropped the bantering tone. “I suppose you’ll go on to

medicine after you’re A.B.?”

(35) “I don’t know yet, Pa.”

(36) Tiny moths like brown bits of paper flew toward the windshield and funneled
away above them. “You don’t have to be a country doctor like me, Ben. You
could build up a good practice in the city. Specialize in cancer, maybe, or
neuro-surgery, and join a good hospital." It was like trying to recall some rare
happiness, in the car, in the shifting darkness.

(37) "I've been thinking about it," Ben said. "It's a vocation, a great one. Being
able to really help people, I mean."

(38) "You've done well in math, haven't you?"

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 8 of 30
 (39) "Well enough, I guess," Ben said.

(40) "Engineering is a fine course, too," Dr. Lazaro said. "There'll be lots of room
for engineers. Far too many lawyers and salesmen. Now if your brother - He
closed his eyes, erasing the slashed wrists, part of the future dead in a
boarding house room, the landlady whimpering, "He was such a nice boy,
doctor, your son. . ." Sorrow lay in ambush among the years.

(41) "I have all summer to think about it," Ben said.

(42) "There's no hurry," Dr. Lazaro said. What was it he had wanted to say?
Something about knowing each other, about sharing; no, it was not that at
all...

(43) The station appeared as they coasted down the incline of a low hill, its
fluorescent lights the only brightness on the plain before them, on the road
that led farther into deeper darkness. A freight truck was taking on a load of
gasoline as they drove up the concrete apron and stopped beside the station
shed.

(44) A short barefoot man in a patchwork shirt shuffled forward to meet them. "I
am Esteban, doctor," the man said, his voice faint and hoarse, almost
inaudible, and he bowed slightly with a careful politeness. He stood blinking,
looking up at the doctor, who had taken his bag and flashlight from the car. In
the windless space, Dr. Lazaro could hear Esteban's labored breathing, the
clank of the metal nozzle as the attendant replaced it in the pump; the man in
the truck stared at them curiously.

(45) Esteban said, pointing at the darkness beyond the road: "We will have to go
through those fields, Doctor, then cross the river." The apology for yet one
more imposition was a wounded look in his eyes. He added, in his subdued

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 9 of 30
 voice: "It's not very far. . ." Ben had spoken to the attendants and was
locking the car.

(46) The truck rumbled and moved ponderously onto the road, its throb strong
and then fading into the warm night stillness.

(47) "Lead the way," Dr. Lazaro said, handing Esteban the flashlight.

(48) They crossed the road, to a cleft in the embankment that bordered the fields.
Dr. Lazaro was sweating now in the dry heat; following the swinging ball of the
flashlight beam, surrounded by the stifling night, he felt he was being dragged,
helplessly, toward some vast and complicated error, a meaningless
ceremony. Somewhere to his left rose a flapping of wings, a bird cried among
unseen leaves: they walked swiftly, and there was only the sound of the
silence, the constant whir of crickets, and the whisper of their feet on the path
between the stubble fields.

(49) With the boy close behind him, Dr. Lazaro followed Esteban down a clay
slope to the slap and ripple of water in the darkness. The flashlight showed a
banca drawn up at the river's edge; Esteban waded waist-deep into the water,
holding the boat steady as Dr. Lazaro and Ben stepped on board. In the
darkness, with the opposite bank like the far rise of an island, Dr. Lazaro had
a moment's tremor of fear as the boat slid out over the black waters; below
prowled the deadly currents; to drown here in the depths of night.

(50) But it took less than a minute to cross the river; "We're here, doctor,"
Esteban said, and they padded up a stretch of sand to a clump of trees; a dog
started to bark, the shadows of a kerosene lamp wavered at a window.

(51) Unsteady on the steep ladder, Dr. Lazaro entered the cave of Esteban's hut.
The single room contained the odors he often encountered but had remained
alien to stirring an impersonal disgust: the sourish decay, the smells of the

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 10 of 30
 unaired sick. An old man greeted him lisping incoherently; a woman, the
grandmother, sat couched in a corner, beneath a framed print of the Mother of
Perpetual Help; a boy, about ten, slept on, sprawled on a mat. Esteban's wife,
pale and thin, lay on the floor with the sick child beside her. Motionless, its tiny
blue- tinged face drawn away from its chest in a fixed wrinkled grimace, the
infant seemed to be straining to express some terrible ancient wisdom.

(52) Dr. Lazaro made a cursory check-skin dry, turning cold; breathing shallow;
heartbeat fast and irregular. And in that moment, only the child existed before
him; only the child and his own mind probing now like a hard gleaming
instrument; how strange that it should still live, his mind said, as it considered
the spark that persisted within the rigid and tortured body. He was alone with
the child, his whole being focused on it, in those intense minutes shaped into
a habit now by so many similar instances: his physician's knowledge trying to
keep the heart beating, life rising again.

(53) Dr. Lazaro removed the blankets that bundled the child and injected a whole
ampule to check the tonic spasms, the needle piercing neatly into the sparse
flesh; he broke another ampute with deft precise movements, and emptied the
syringe, while the infant lay stiff as wood beneath his hands. He wiped off the
sweat running into his eyes, then holding the rigid body with one hand, he
tried to draw air into the faltering lungs, pressing and releasing the chest; but
even as he worked to rescue the child, the bluish color of its face began to
turn gray.

(54) Dr. Lazaro rose from his crouch on the floor, a cramped ache in his
shoulders, his mouth dry. The lamplight glistened on his pale hollow face as
he confronted the room again, the stale heat, the poverty. Esteban met his
gaze; all their eyes were upon him, Ben at the door, the old man, the woman
in the corner, and Esteban's wife, in the trembling shadows.

(55) Esteban said: "Doctor. . . ."

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 11 of 30
 (56) He shook his head, and replaced the syringe case in his bag, slowly and
deliberately, and fastened the clasp. There was a murmuring behind him, a
rustle across the bamboo floor, and when he turned, Ben was kneeling beside
the child. And he watched, with a tired detached surprise, the boy pour a
trickle of water from a coconut shell on the infant's brow. He caught the words
half-whispered in the quietness: "...in the name of the Father... Son... the Holy
Ghost..."

(57) The shadows flapped on the walls, the lamplight quivering before it settled
into a slender flame. By the river, dogs were barking. Dr. Lazaro glanced at
his watch, it was close to midnight. Ben stood over the child, the coconut shell
in his hands, as though wondering what next to do with it, until he saw his
father nod for them to go.

(58) "Doctor, tell us-" Esteban clutched at his arm. (59) "I did everything," Dr.
Lazaro said. "It's too late-" gestured vaguely, with a dull resentment; by some
implicit relationship, he was also responsible, for the misery in the room, the
hopelessness. "There's nothing more I can do, Esteban," he said. He thought
with a flick of anger: Soon the child will be out of it, you ought to be grateful.
Esteban's wife began to cry, a weak smothered gasping, and the old womart
was comforting her- "It is the will of God, my daughter..."
(59) “I did everything,” Dr. Lazaro said. “It’s too late _” He gestured vaguely, with
a dull resentment; by some implicit relationship, he was also responsible, for
the misery in the room, the hopelessness. “There’s nothing more I can do,
Esteban,” he said. He thought with a flick of anger: Soon the child will be out
of it, you ought to be grateful. Esteban’s wife began to cry, a weak smothered
gasping, and the old woman was comforting her_ “It is the will of God, my
daughter…”

(60) In the yard, Esteban pressed carefully folded bills into the doctor's hand; the
limp, tattered feel of the money was part of the futile journey. "I know this is

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 12 of 30
 not enough, Doctor." Esteban said. "As you can see we are very poor... I shall
bring you fruit, chicken, someday..."
(61) A late moon had risen, edging over the tops of the trees, and in the faint
wash of its light, Esteban guided them back to the boat. A glimmering rippled
on the surface of the water as they paddled across; the white moonlight
spread in the sky, and a sudden wind sprang rain-like and was lost in the
trees massed on the river bank.

(62) "I cannot thank you enough, Doctor," Esteban said. "You have been very
kind to come this far, at this hour."

(63) They stood on the clay bank, in the moon shadows beside the gleaming
water. Dr. Lazaro said: "You better go back now, Esteban. We can find the
way back to the road. The trail is just over there, isn't it?" He wanted to be rid
of the man, to be away from the shy humble voice, the prolonged
wretchedness.

(64) "I shall be grateful always, Doctor," Esteban said. "And to your son, too. God
go with you." He was a faceless voice withdrawing in the shadows, a cipher in
the shabby crowds that came to town on market days.

(65) "Let's go Ben," Dr. Lazaro said.

(66) They took the path back across the field; around them the moonlight had
transformed the landscape, revealing a gentle, more familiar dimension, a
luminous haze upon the trees stirring with a growing wind; and the heat of the
night had passed, a coolness was falling from the deep sky. Unhurried, his
face no more than a casual stroll, Dr. Lazaro felt the oppression of the night
begin to lift from him; an emotionless calm returned to his mind. The sparrow
does not fall without the Father's leave, he mused at the sky, but it falls just
the same. But to what end are the sufferings of a child? The crickets chirped
peacefully in the moon-pale darkness beneath the trees.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 13 of 30
 (67) "You baptized the child, didn't you, Ben?"

(68) "Yes, Pa." The boy kept in step beside him.

(69) He used to believe in it, too, the power of the Holy Spirit washing away
original sin, the purified soul made heir of heaven. He could still remember
fragments of his boyhood faith, as one might remember an improbable and
long-discarded dream.

(70) "Lay baptism, isn't that the name for it?"

(71) "Yes," Ben said. "I asked the father. The baby hadn't been baptized." He
added as they came to the embankment that separated the field from the
road: "They were waiting for it to get well."

(72) A fine gesture; it proved the boy had presence of mind, convictions, but what
else? The world will teach him his greatest lessons.

(73) The station had closed, with only the canopy light and the globed neon sign
left burning. A steady wind was blowing now across flow across the fields, the
moonlit plains.
(74) He saw Ben stifle a yawn. “Pli do the driving,” Dr. Lazaro said.
(75) His eyes were not what they used to be, and he drove leaning forward, his
hands tight on the wheel. Fie began to sweat again, and the empty road and
the lateness and the memory of Esteban and the child dying before morni1g
in the cramped lamplit room fused into a tired melancholy. He started to think
of his other son, the one whom he had lost.
(76) He said, seeking conversation, “If other people carried on like you, Ben, the
priests would be run out of business.”
(77) The boy sat beside him, his face averted, not answering.
(78) “Now, you’ll have an angel praying for you in heaven,” Dr. Lazaro said,
teasing, trying to create an easy mood between them,” What if you hadn’t

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 14 of 30
 baptized the baby and it died. What would happen to it then?” .
(79) “It won’t see God,” Ben said.
(80) “But isn’t that unfair?” It was like a riddle, trivial but diverting. “Just because
—”
(81) “Maybe God has another remedy,” Ben said. “I don’t know. But the Church
says—”
(82) He could sense the boy groping for the tremendous answers. “The Church
teaches, the Church says. . .“ God: Christ: the communion of saints: Dr.
Lazaro found himself wondering again at the world of novenas and candles,
where bread and wine became the flesh and blood of the Lord, and a woman
bathed in light appeared before children, and mortal men spoke of eternal life,
the vision of god, the body’s resurrection at the end of time. It was like a
country from which he was barred; no matter_ the customs, the geography,
didn’t appeal to him. But in the car suddenly, driving through the night, he was
aware of an obscure disappointment, a subtle pressure around his heart, as
though he had been deprived of a certain joy…
(83) A bus roared around a hill toward them, its lights blinding him, and he pulled
to the side of the road, braking involuntarily as a billow of dust swept over the
car. He had not closed the window on his side, and the flung dust poured in,
the thick brittle powder almost choking him, making him cough, his eyes
smarting, before he could shield his face with his hands. In the headlights the
dust sifted down and when the air was clear again, Dr. Lazaro, swallowing a
taste of earth, of darkness, maneuvered the car back onto the road, his arms
numb and exhausted. He drove the last half mile to town in silence, his mind
registering nothing but the grit of dust in his mouth and the empty road
unwinding swiftly before him.
(84) They reached the sleeping town, the desolate streets, the plaza empty in the
moonlight, and the huddled shapes of houses, the ,old houses that Dr. Lazaro
had always known. How many nights had he driven home like this through the
quiet town, with a man’s life ended behind him, or a child crying newly risen
from the womb; and a sense of constant motion, of change, of the days
moving swiftly toward an immense revelation touched him once more, briefly,

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 15 of 30
 and still he could not find the words. He turned the last comer, then steered
the car down the graveled driveway to the garage, while Ben closed the gate.
Dr. Lazaro sat there a moment, in the stillness, resting his eyes, conscious of
the measured beating of his heart, and breathing a scent of dust that lingered
on his clothes, his skin, before he finally Went around the tower of the water
tank to the front yard where Ben stood waiting.
(85) With unaccustomed tenderness he placed a hand On Ben’s shoulder as they
turned toward the cement-walled house. They had gone on a trip; they had
come home safely together. He felt closer to the boy than he had ever been in
years.
(86) “Sorry for keeping you up this late,” Dr. Lazaro said.
(87) “It’s all right, Pa.”
(88) “Some night, huh, Ben? What you did back in that barrio—” there was just
the slightest patronage in his tone - “your mother will love to hear about it.”
(89) He shook the boy beside him gently. “Reverend Father Ben Lazaro.” The
impulse of uncertain humor it was part comradeship. He chuckled drowsily:
“Father Lazaro, must I do to gain eternal life?”
(90) As he slid the door open on the vault of darkness, the familiar depths of the
house, it came to Dr. Lazaro faintly in the late night that for certain things, like
love, there was only so much time. But the glimmer was lost instantly, buried
in the midst of indifference and sleep rising now in his brain.
Week 9
REGION IV (Southern Tagalog Region)
The Bread of Salt
(1) Usually, I was in bed by ten and up by five and thus ready for one more day of
my fourteenth year. Unless Grandmother had forgotten, the fifteen centavos for the
baker down Progreso Street _ and how I enjoyed jingling those coins in my pocket!
_Would be in the empty fruit jar in the cupboard. I would remember then those rolls
were what Grandmother wanted because recently she had lost three molars. For
young people like my cousins and myself, she had always said that the kind called
pan de sal ought to be quite all right.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 16 of 30
(2) The bread of salt! How did it get that name? From where did its flavor come,
through what secret action of flour and yeast? At the risk of being jostled from the
counter by early buyers, I would push my way into the shop so that I might watch the
men who, stripped to the waist, worked their long flat wooden spades in and out of
the glowing maw of the oven. Why did the bread come nut-brown and the size of my
little fist? And why did it have a pair of lips convulsed into a painful frown? In the half
light of the street, and hurrying, the paper bag pressed to my chest, I felt my curiosity
a little gratified by the oven-fresh warmth of the bread I was proudly bringing home
for breakfast.
(3) Well, I knew how Grandmother would not mind if I nibbled away one piece;
perhaps, I might even eat two, to be charged later against my share at the table. But
that would be betraying a trust; and so, indeed, I kept my purchase intact. To guard it
from harm, I watched my steps and avoided the dark street corners.
(4) For my reward, I had only to look in the direction of the sea wall and the fifty
yards or so of riverbed beyond it, where an old Spaniard’s house stood. At low tide,
when the bed was dry and the rocks glinted with broken bottles, the stone fence of
the Spaniard’s compound set off the house as if it were a castle. Sunrise brought a
wash of silver upon the roofs of the laundry and garden sheds which had been built
low and close to the fence. On dull mornings the light dripped from the bamboo
screen which covered the veranda and hung four or five yards from the ground.
Unless it was August when the damp, northeast monsoon had to be kept away from
the moms, three servants raised the screen promptly at six-thirty until it was
completely hidden under the veranda eaves.
From the sound of the pulleys, I knew it was time to set out for school.
(5) It was in his service, as a coconut plantation overseer, that Grandfather had
spent the last thirty years of his life. Grandmother had been widowed three years
now, I often wondered whether I was being depended upon to spend the years
ahead in the service of this great house. One day that Aida, a classmate in high
school, was the old Spaniard’s niece. All my doubts disappeared. It was as if, before
his death, Grandfather had spoken to me about her, concealing the seriousness of
the matter by putting it over as a joke. If now I kept true to the virtues, she would step

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 17 of 30
out of her bedroom ostensibly to say Good Morning to her uncle. Her real purpose, I
knew, was to reveal thus her assent to my desire.
(6) On quiet mornings I imagined the patter of her shoes upon the wooden veranda
floor as a further sign, and I would hurry off to school, taking the route she had fixed
for me past the post office, the town plaza and the church, the’ health center east of
the plaza, and at last the school grounds. I asked myself whether I would try to walk
with her and decided it would be the height of rudeness. Enough that in her blue skirt
and white middy she would be half a block ahead and, from that distance, perhaps
throw a glance in my direction, to bestow upon my heart a deserved and abundant
blessing. I believed it was but right that, in some such way as this, her mission in my
life was disguised.
(7) Her name, I was to learn many years later, was a convenient mnemonic for the
qualities to which argument might aspire. But in those days it was a living voice, “Oh
that you might be worthy of uttering me,” it said. And how I endeavored to build my
body so that I might live long to honor her. With every victory at singles at the
handball court - the game was then the craze at school I could feel my body glow in
the sun as though it had instantly been cast in bronze. I guarded my mind and did
not let my wits go astray. In class I would not allow a lesson to pass unmastered:
Our English teacher could put no, question before us that did not have a ready
answer in my head. One day he read Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Sire de
Maletroit’s Door, and we were so enthralled that our breath trembled. I knew then
that somewhere sometime in the not too improbable future, a, benign old man with a
lantern in his hand would also ‘detain me in a secret room, and there daybreak would
find me thrilled by the sudden certainty that I had won Aida’s hand.
(8) It was perhaps on my violin that her name wrought such a tender spell. Maestro
Antonino remarked on the dexterity of my stubby fingers. Quickly I raced through
Alard_ until I had all but committed two-thirds of the book to memory. My short,
brown arm learned at last to draw the bow with grace. Sometimes, when practicing
my scales in the early evening I wondered if the sea wind carrying the straggling
notes across the pebbled river did not transform them into Schubert’s
“Serenade.”

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 18 of 30
(9) At last Mr. Custodio, who was in charge of our school orchestra, became aware
of my progress. He moved me from second to first violin. During the Thanksgiving
Day program he bade me render a number complete with pizzicati and harmonies.
(l0) “Another Vallejo! Our own Albert Spalding!” I heard from the front row.
(11) Aida, I thought, would be in the audience. I looked around quickly but could not
see her. As I retired to my place in the orchestra I heard Pete Saez, the trombone
player, call my name.
(12) “You must join my band,” he said. “Look, we’ll have many engagements soon.
It’ll be vacation time.”
(13) Pete pressed my arm. He had for some time now been asking me to join the
Minviluz Orchestra, his private band. All had been able to tell him was that I had my
schoolwork to mind. He was twenty-two. I was perhaps too young to be going around
with him. He earned his school fees and supported his mother hiring out his band at
least three or four times a month. He now said:
(14) “Tomorrow we play at the funeral of a Chinese_ four to six in the afternoon; in
the evening, Judge Roldan’s silver wedding anniversary; Sunday, the municipal
dance.”
(15)My head began to whirl. On the stage in front of us, the principal had begun a
speech about America. Nothing he could say seemed interesting. I thought of the
money I would earn. For several days now I had but one wish, to buy a box of linen
stationery. At night when the house was quite I would fill the sheets with words that
would tell Aida how much I adored her. One of these mornings, perhaps before
school closed for the holidays, I would borrow her algebra book and there, upon a
good pageful of equations, there I would slip my message, tenderly pressing the
leaves of the book. She would perhaps never write back. Neither by post nor by
hand would a reply reach me. But no matter; it would be a silence full of voices.
(16) That night I dreamed I had returned from a tour of the world’s music centers;
the newspapers of Manila had been generous with praise. I saw my picture on the
cover of a magazine. A writer had described how, many years ago, I used to trudge
the streets of Buenavista with my violin in a battered black cardboard case. In New
York, he reported,’ a millionaire had offered me a Stradivarius violin, with a card that
bore the inscription: “In admiration of a genius your own people must surely be proud

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 19 of 30
of.” I dreamed I spent a weekend at the millionaire’s country house by the Hudson. A
young girl in a blueskirt and white middy clapped her lilywhite hands and, her voice
trembling, cried “Bravo!”
(17) What people now observed at home was the diligence with which I attended to
my violin lessons. My aunt, who had come from the farm to join her children for the
holidays, brought with her a maidservant, and to the poor girl was given the chore of
taking the money to the baker’s for rolls and pan de sal. I realized at once that it
would be no longer becoming on my part to’ make these morning trips to the baker’s.
I could not thank my aunt enough.
(18) I began to chafe on being given other errands. Suspecting my violin to be the
excuse, my aunt remarked: “What do you want to be a musician for? At parties,
musicians always eat last.”
(19) Perhaps, 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.
(20) But the remark hurt me. Although Grandmother had counseled me kindly to
mind my work at school, I went again and again to Pete Saez’s house for rehearsals.
(21) She had demanded that I deposit with her my earnings; I had felt too weak to
refuse. Secretly I counted the money and decided not to ask for it until I had enough
with which to buy a brooch. Why this time I wanted to give Aida a brooch, I didn’t
know.
But I had set my heart on it. I searched the downtown shops. The Chinese clerks,
seeing me so young, were annoyed when I inquired about prices.
(22) At last the Christmas season began. I had not counted on Aida’s leaving home,
and remembering that her parents lived in Badajoz, my torment was almost
unbearable. Not once had I tried to tell her of my love. My letters had remained
unwritten, and the algebra book unborrowed. There was still the brooch to find but I
could not decide on the sort of brooch I really wanted. And the money, in any case,
was in Grandmother’s purse, which smelled of “Tiger Balm” I grew somewhat
feverish as our class Christmas program drew near. Finally it came; it was a warm
December afternoon. I decided to leave the room when our English teacher

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 20 of 30
announced that members of the class might exchange gifts. I felt fortunate; Pete was
at the door, beckoning to me. We walked out to the porch where, Pete said, he
would tell me a secret.
(23) It was about an asalto the next Sunday which the Buenavista Women’s Club
wished to give Don Esteban’s daughters,
Josefina and Alicia, who were arriving on the morning steamer from Manila. The
spinsters were much loved by the ladies. Years ago, when they were younger, these
ladies studied solfeggio with Josefine and the piano and harp with Alicia. As Pete
told me all this, his lips ash-gray from practicing all morning on his trombone, I saw in
my mind the sisters in their silk dresses, shuffling off to church for the evening
benediction. They were very devout, and the Buenavista ladies admired that. I had
almost forgotten that they were twins and, despite their age, often dressed alike. In
low-bosomed voile bodices and white summer hats, I remembered, the pair had
attended Grandfather’s funeral, at old Don Esteban’s behest. I wondered how
successful they had been in Manila during the past three years in the matter of
finding suitable husbands.

24) “This party will be a complete surprise,” Pete said, looking around the porch as if
to swear me to secrecy. “They’ve hired our band.”
(25) I joined my classmates in the room, greeting everyone with a Merry Christmas
jollier than that of the others. When I saw Aida in one corner unwrapping something
two girls had given her, I found the boldness to greet her also.
26) “Merry Christmas,” I said in English, as a hairbrush and a powder case emerged
from the fancy wrapping. It seemed to me rather apt, that such gifts went to her.
Already several girls were gathered around Aida. Their eyes glowed with envy, it
seemed to me, for those fate cheeks and the bobbed dark-brown hair which lineage
had denied them.
27) I was too dumbstruck by my own meanness to hear exactly what Aida said in
answer to my greeting. But I recovered shortly and asked:
(28) “Will you be away during the vacation?”
29) “No, I’ll be staying here,” she said. When she added that her cousins were
arriving and that a big party in their honor was being planned, I remarked:

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 21 of 30
(30) “So you know all about it?” I felt I had to explain that the party was meant to be
a surprise, an asalto.

(31) And now it would be nothing of the kind, really. The women’s
club matrons would hustle about, disguising their scurrying around for cakes and
candies as for some baptismal party or other. In the end, the Riva’s sisters would
outdo them. Boxes of meringues, bonbons, ladyfingers and cinnamon buns that only
the Swiss bakers ‘in Manila could make were perhaps coming on the boat with them.
I imagined a table glimmering with long-stemmed punch glasses; enthroned in that
array
would be a huge brick-red bowl of gleaming china with golden flowers around the
brim. The local matrons, however hard they tried, however sincere their efforts, were
bound
to fail in their aspiration to rise to the level of Don Esteban’s daughters. Perhaps, I
thought, Aida knew all this. And that I should share in a foreknowledge of the
matrons’ hopes was a matter beyond love. Aida and I could laugh together with the
gods.
(32) At seven, on the appointed evening, Our small band gathered quietly at the gate
of Don Esteban’s house and when the ladies arrived in their heavy shawls and trim
panuelos, twittering with excitement, we were commanded to play the Poet and
Peasant overture. As Pete directed the band, his eyes glowed with pride for his
having been part of the big event. The multicolored lights that the old Spaniard’s
gardeners had strung along the vine-covered fence were switched on, and the
women remarked that Don Esteban’s 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.
(33) The overture shuffled along to its climax while five men in white shirts bore huge
boxes of goods into the house recognized one of the bakers in spite of the uniform. A
chorus of confused greetings, and the women trooped into the house; and before we
had settled in the sala to play “A Basket of Roses,” the heavy damask curtains at the
far end of the room were drawn and a long table richly spread was revealed under

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 22 of 30
the chandeliers. I remembered that, in our haste to be on hand for the asalto, Pete
and I had discouraged the members of the band from taking their suppers.
(34) “You’ve done us a great honor!” Josefina, the more buxom of the twins, greeted
the ladies.
(35) “Oh, but you have not allowed us to take you by surprise!” the ladies demurred
in a chorus.
(36) There were sighs and further protestations amid a rustle of skirts and the glitter
of earrings. I saw Aida in a long, flowing white gown and wearing an arch of
sampaguita flowers on her hair. At her command, two servants brought out a
gleaming harp from the music room. Only the slightest scraping could be heard
because the servants were barefoot. As Aida directed them to place the instrument
near the seats we occupied, my heart leaped to my throat. Soon she was lost among
the guests, and we played “The Dance of the Glowworms.” I kept my eyes closed
and held for as long as I could her radiant figure before me.
(37) Alicia played on the harp and then, in answer to the deafening applause, she
offered an encore. Josefina sang afterward. Her voice, though a little husky, fetched
enormous sighs. For her encore, she gave “The Last Rose of Summer;” and the
song
brought back snatches of the years gone by. Memories of solfeggio lessons eddied
about us, as if there were rustling leaves scattered all over the hall. Don Esteban
appeared. Earlier, he greeted the crowd handsomely, twisting his moustache to hide
a natural shyness before talkative women, He stayed long enough to listen to the
harp again, whispering in his rapture: “Heavenly. Heavenly...”

(38) By midnight, the merrymaking lagged. We played while the party gathered
around the great table at the end of the sala. My mind travelled across the seas to
the distant cities I had dreamed about. The sisters sailed among the ladies like two
great white liners amid a fleet of tugboats in a bay. Someone had thoughtfully
remembered __ and at last Pete Saez signaled to us to put our instruments away.
We walked in single file across the hail, led by one of the barefoot servants.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 23 of 30
(39) Behind us a couple of hoarse sopranos sang La Paloma” to the accompaniment
of the harp, but I did not care to find out who they were. The sight of so much silver
and china confused me. There was more food before us than I had ever imagined. I
searched in my mind for the names of the dishes but my ignorance appalled me. I
wondered what had happened to the boxes of food that the Buenavista ladies had
sent up earlier. In a silver bowl was something, I discovered, that appeared like
whole egg yolks that had been dipped in honey and peppermint. The seven of us in
the orchestra were all of one mind about the feast; and so, confident that I was with
friends, I allowed my covetousness to have its sway and not only struffed my mouth
with this and that confection but also wrapped up a quantity of those egg-yolk things
in several sheets of napkin paper. None of my companions had thought of doing the
same, and it was with some pride that I slipped the packet under my shirt. There, I
knew, it would not bulge.
(40) “Have you eaten?”
(41) I turned around. ¡t ‘was Aida. My bow tie seemed to tighten around my collar. T
mumbled something, I did not know what.
(42) “If you wait a little while till they’ve gone, I’ll wrap up a big package for you,” she
added.
(43) I brought a handkerchief to my mouth. I might have honored her solicitude
adequately and even relieved myself of any embarrassment; I could not quite believe
that she had seen me, and yet I was sure that she knew what I had done, and I felt
all ardor for her gone from me entirely.
(44) I walked away to the nearest door, praying that the damask curtains might hide
me in my shame. The door gave on to the veranda, where once my love had trod on
sunbeams. Outside it was dark, and a faint wind was singing at the background.
(45) With the napkin balled up in my hand, I flung out my arm to scatter the egg-yolk
things in the dark. I waited for the soft sound of their fall on the garden-shed roof.
Instead, I heard a spatter in the rising night tide beyond the stone fence. Farther
away glimmered the light from Grandmother’s window, calling me home.
(46) But the party broke up at one or thereabouts. We walked away with our
instruments after the matrons were done with their interminable goodbyes. Then, to
the tune of “Joy to the World,” we pulled the Progreso Street shopkeepers out of

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 24 of 30
their beds. The Chinese merchants were especially generous. When Pete divided
our collection under a street lamp, there was already a little glow of daybreak.
(47) He walked with me part of the way home. We stopped at the baker’s when I told
him that I wanted to buy with my own money some bread to eat on the way to
Grandmother’s house at the edge of the sea wall. He laughed, thinking it strange that
I should be hungry. We found ourselves alone at the counter; and we watched the
bakery assistants at work until our bodies grew warm from the oven across the door.
It was not quite five, and the bread was not yet ready.
Week 10
REGION V (Bicol Region)
Sarong Banggi
Sarong banggi
Sa higdaan
Nakadangog ako ning huni ning
Sarong gamgam
Sa luba ko katurungan
Bako kundí simong boses iyo palan.

Koro
Dagos ako bangon
Si sakuyan mata iminuklat
Kadtong. kadikluman
Ako nangalagkalag
Si sakong paghiling pasiring sa itaas
Simong lawog
Nahiling ko maliwanag.

The Legend of Mayon Volcano

(From a popular Albay story retold by Teresita E. Erastain)

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 25 of 30
(1) In the olden days there lived in Ibalona lovely maiden named Daragang
Magayon. She was the daughter of Rajah Makusog of Rawis and Dawani, who died
shortly after Magayon's birth.
(2) Daragang Magayon's beauty attracted many suitors from different tribes. Among
them was the haughty Pagtuga, the great hunter and powerful chieftain from Iriga,
who courted her by lavishing her father fabulous gifts.
(3) But Daragang Magayon did not love Pagtuga. She had given her heart to
Panganoron, the brave son of Rajah Karilaya of the far-off Tagalog region. He had
sa'ved her from death in the river one morning. She had gone to bathe in the Yawa
River which was swollen after a night of heavy rain. Balancing herself on a stone,
she slipped and fell into the water. She did not know how to swim, and she would
have been carried away by the swift current had Panganoron not come to her
rescue. He happened to be passing by, and when he heard the maiden's frantic cry
for help, he plunged into the river. In an instant, he was at her side. Then he tenderly
carried the frightened girl to dry land.
(4) Not long after, he spoke to her of his love. Daragang Magayon shyly admitted
that she had also fallen in love with him. This gave the youth courage to thrust his
spear at the foot of the stairs at Rajah Makusog's house.
(5) Realizing that his daughter loved the young man and wishing only happiness for
her, Makusog gave the couple his blessing. With great joy, Panganoron left for home
to prepare for the wedding.
(6) The news of the approaching wedding reached Pagtuga's ears in no time. He
was very angry. And he thought of a way to prevent the marriage. One day, when
Rajah Makusog went to the mountains to hunt, Pagtuga waylaid him and took him
captive.
(7) “I will set you free only if you give me Magayon for a wife,” Pagtuga told
Makusog.
(8) "The answer is not mine to give. Ask Magayon herself, said the Rajah.
(9) And so Daragang Magayon was brought before Pagtuga. Told that Makusog
would be put to death if she refused to be Pagtuga's bride, she tearfully consented to
marry him.
(10) "We shall be married in seven davs," said Pagtuga. And he ordered his people
to prepare for the wedding.
(11) Learning of this sudden turn of events, Panganoron abandoned his own
wedding preparations and hastily returned to Rawis with his brave warriors. In the
battle that ensued, Panganoron slew Pagtuga. But while Magayon was rushing
joyously to meet her beloved, a stray arrow caught her at the back. As Panganoron
held the dying maiden in his arms, he was struck dead by a spear hurled by Linog,

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 26 of 30
Pagtuga's henchman. Seing this, Makusog rushed at Linog and killed him with his
minasbad.
(12) Thus, what would have been a joyful occasion became a day of mourning as the
people buried their dead. Rajah Makusog himself dug the grave where he tenderly
laid the bodies of the lovers.
(13) Days after, the people saw the grave rise. As it grew higher, eventually
assuming the form of peerless cone, it was attended by muffed rumblings and
quakes. Then it spewed out red- hot boulders from its crater. Even now, it does so
from time to time. Old folks explain the phenomenon as Pagtuga, aided by Linog,
agitating the volcano to retrieve his gifts, which, following an ancient custom, were
buried with Magayon.
(14) On certain days, when the tip of the volcano is shrouded in mist and cloud, the
old folks say that Panganoron is kissing Magayon. When afterwards rain trickles
down the mountain slopes, they say that the raindrops are Panganoron's tears as he
cries over his lost love.
(15) The volcano's name has since been shortened to Mayon. Its majestic shape
lords over the lovely countryside of Albay.

Panay-Visayan Myth
(Tungkung Langit and Alunsina)

(1) One of the stories about the creation of the world, which the old people of
Panay, especially those living near the mountains, do not tire relating, tells that in
the beginning there was no sky or earth- only a bottomless deep and a world of
mist. Everything was shapeless and formless_ the earth, the sky, the sea, and the
air were almost mixed up. In a word, there was confusion.

(2) Then from the depťth of this formless void, there appeared two gods,
Tungkung Langit ("Pillar of the Sky) and Alunsina ("The Unmarried One"). Just
where these two deities came from, it was not known. However, it was related
that Tungkung Langit had fallen in love with Alunsina; and after so many years of
courtship, they got married and had their abode in the highest realm of the
ethereal space, where the water was constantly warm and the breeze was forever
cool. It was in this place where order and regularity first took place.

(3) Tungkung Langit was an industrious, loving, and kind god whose chief concern
was how to impose order over the whole confused set-up of things. He assumed
responsibility for the regular cosmic movement. On the other hand, Alunsina was
a lazy, jealous, and selfish goddess whose only work was to sit by the window of
their heavenly home and amuse herself with her pointless thoughts. Sometimes,

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 27 of 30
she would go down the house, sit down bya pool near their doorsteps, and comb
her long, jetblack hair all day long.

(4) One day, Tungkung Langit told his wife that he would be away from home for
some time to put an end to the chaotic disturbances in the flow of time and in the
position of things. However, despite this purpose Alunsina sent the breeze to spy
on Tungkung Langit. This made the latter very angry upon knowing about it.

(5) Immediately after his return from his trip, he called this act to her attention,
saying that it was ungodly of her to be jealous, there being no other creature
living in the world except the two of them. This reproach was resented by
Alunsina and a quarrel between them followed.

6) Tungkung Langit lost his temper. In his rage, he divested his wife of powers and
drove her away. He did not know where Alunsina went; she merely disappeared.

(7) Several days after Alunsina had left, Tungkung Langit felt very lonely. He
realized what he had done. Somehow, it was too late even to be sorry about the
whole matter. The whole place, once vibrant with Alunsina's sweet voice,
suddenly became cold and desolate. In the morning when he woke up, he would
find himself alone; and in the afternoon when he came home, he would feel the
same loneliness creeping deep in his heart because there was no one to meet him
at the doorstep or soothe the aching muscles of his arms.

(8) For months, Tungkung Langit lived in utter desolation. He could not find
Alunsina, try hard as he would. And so, in desperation, he decided to do
something in order to forget his sorrows. For months and months he thought. His
mind seemed pointless; his heart weary and sick. But he must do something
about his lonely world.

(9) One day, while he was sailing across the regions of the clouds, a thought came
to him. He would make the sea and the earth, and lo! The earth and the sea
suddenly appeared. However, the somber sight of the lonely sea and the barren
land irritated him. So he came down to earth and planted the ground with trees
and flowers. Then he took his wife's treasured jewels and scattered them in the
sky, hoping that when Alunsina would see them she might be induced to return
home. The goddess' necklace became the stars; her comb the moon and her
crown the sun. However, despite all these Alunsina did not come back.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 28 of 30
(10) Up to this time, the old folk say Tungkung Langit lives alone in his palace in
the skies. Sometimes, he would cry out his pent-up emotion and his tears would
fall down upon the earth. The people in Panay today say that rain is Tungkung
Langit’s tears. Incidentally, when it thunders hard, the old folk also say that it is
Tungkung Langit sobbing, calling for his beloved Alunsina to come back entreating
her so hard that his voice reverberates across the fields and countryside.

Ilonggo RIddles
(paktakon)

1 Ang puno buko-boko

Dahon daw abaniko,
Bunga daw parasko,
Perdegones ang liso. (Kapayas)
The trunk is full of nodes
Leaves like fans,
Fruits like large wine bottles
Pellets are the seeds. (Papaya)

2. May diotay nga kaban-kaban,

Naga-abri keg naga si man,
Ang sulod puro tul-an
Kon kaisa nagadunlan. (Baba)
There is a small chest
That opens and closes by itself
The contents are all bones
Sometimes it chokes. (Mouth)

Hiligaynon Proverbs
(Hurobaton)
1. Mauntay ang sanga nga linghod,
Ang gulang na, mautod.
A young saplirg is easily straightened,
But an old branch is brittle.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 29 of 30
2. Kon indi ikaw mag-antos,
Indi ka gid magsantos.
You can't be a saint,
If you don't sacrifice.

3. Ang obra indi makapatay,

Pero ang pagkasubo amo ang makapatay.
Work can't kill,
But worrying does.

Dandansoy
1
Dandansoy bayaan ta ikaw
Pauli takon sa Payaw
Ugaling kon ikaw hidlawon
Ang Payaw, imo lang lantawon.
11
Dandansoy kon imo apason
Bisan tubig dili ka magbalon
Ugaling kon ikaw uhawon
Sa dalan magbubunbubon.

LI 113: Survey of Philippine Literature in English

SOUTH EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, INC.

Page 30 of 30