Once upon a time, in a village called Hannanga, a boy was born to the couple named Amtalao and Dumulao. He was named Aliguyon. He was an intelligent, eager young man who wanted to learn many things, and indeed, he learned many useful things, from the stories and teachings of his father. He learned how to fight well and chant a few magic spells. Even as a child, he was a leader, for the other children of his village looked up to him with awe.
Upon leaving childhood, Aliguyon betook himself to gather forces to fight against his father’s enemy, who was Pangaiwan of the village of Daligdigan. But his challenge was not answered personally by Pangaiwan. Instead, he faced Pangaiwan’s fierce son, Pumbakhayon. Pumbakhayon was just as skilled in the arts of war and magic as Aliguyon. The two of them battled each other for three years, and neither of them showed signs of defeat.
Their battle was a tedious one, and it has been said that they both used only one spear! Aliguyon had thrown a spear to his opponent at the start of their match, but the fair Pumbakhayon had caught it deftly with one hand. And then Pumbakhayon threw the spear back to Aliguyon, who picked it just as neatly from the air.
At length Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon came to respect each other, and then eventually they came to admire each other’s talents. Their fighting stopped suddenly. Between the two of them they drafted a peace treaty between Hannanga and Daligdigan, which their peoples readily agreed to. It was fine to behold two majestic warriors finally side by side.
Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon became good friends, as peace between their villages flourished. When the time came for Aliguyon to choose a mate, he chose Pumbakhayon’s youngest sister, Bugan, who was little more than a baby. He took Bugan into his household and cared for her until she grew to be most beautiful. Pumbakhayon, in his turn, took for his wife Aliguyon’s younger sister, Aginaya. The two couples became wealthy and respected in all of Ifugao.
Having completed his studies in Europe, young Juan Crisóstomo
Ibarra y Magsalin came back to the Philippines after a 7-year absence. In his
honor, Don Santiago de los Santos "Captain Tiago" a family friend,
threw a welcome home party, attended by friars and other prominent figures. One
of the guests, former San Diego curate Fray Dámaso Vardolagas, belittled and
slandered Ibarra.
The next day, Ibarra visits María Clara, his betrothed, the
beautiful daughter of Captain Tiago and affluent resident of Binondo.
Their long-standing love was clearly manifested in this meeting, and María
Clara cannot help but reread the letters her sweetheart had written her before
he went to Europe. Before Ibarra left for San Diego, Lieutenant Guevara,
a Civil Guard, reveals to him the incidents
preceding the death of his father, Don Rafael Ibarra, a rich hacendero of
the town.
According to Guevara, Don Rafael was unjustly accused of
being a heretic, in addition to being a subversive — an allegation brought
forth by Dámaso because of Don Rafael's non-participation in the Sacraments,
such as Confession and Mass.
Fr. Dámaso's animosity towards Ibarra's father is aggravated by another
incident when Don Rafael helped out in a fight between a tax collector and a
child, with the former's death being blamed on him, although it was not
deliberate. Suddenly, all those who thought ill of him surfaced with additional
complaints. He was imprisoned, and just when the matter was almost settled, he
died of sickness in jail.
Revenge was not in Ibarra's plans, instead he carried
through his father's plan of putting up a school, since he believed education
would pave the way to his country's progress (all throughout the novel, the
author refers to both Spain and the Philippines as two different countries but
part of the same nation or family, with Spain seen as the mother and the
Philippines as the daughter). During the inauguration of the school, Ibarra
would have been killed in a sabotage had Elías — a mysterious man who had
warned Ibarra earlier of a plot to assassinate him — not saved him. Instead the
hired killer met an unfortunate incident and died.
After the inauguration, Ibarra hosted a luncheon during
which Fr. Dámaso, gate-crashing the luncheon, again insulted him. Ibarra
ignored the priest's insolence, but when the latter slandered the memory of his
dead father, he was no longer able to restrain himself and he lunged at Dámaso,
prepared to stab him for his impudence. Consequently, Dámaso excommunicated Ibarra,
taking this opportunity to persuade the already-hesitant Tiago to forbid his
daughter from marrying Ibarra. The friar wanted María Clara to marry Linares,
a Peninsular who just arrived from Spain.
With the help of the Governor-General, Ibarra's excommunication
was nullified and the Archbishop decided to accept him as a member of the Church once again.
Soon, a revolt happened and the Spanish officials and friars
implicated Ibarra as its mastermind. Thus, he was arrested and detained. As a
result, he was disdained by those who became his friends.
Meanwhile, in Capitán Tiago's residence, a party was being
held to announce the upcoming wedding of María Clara and Linares. Ibarra, with
the help of Elías, took this opportunity to escape from prison. Before leaving,
Ibarra spoke to María Clara and accused her of betraying him, thinking she gave
the letter he wrote her to the jury. María Clara explained that she would never
conspire against him, but that she was forced to surrender Ibarra's letter to
Father Salvi, in exchange for the letters written by her mother even before
she, María Clara, was born.
María Clara, thinking Ibarra had been killed in the shooting
incident, was greatly overcome with grief. Robbed of hope and severely
disillusioned, she asked Dámaso to confine her to a nunnery. Dámaso reluctantly
agreed when she threatened to take her own life, demanding, "the nunnery
or death!" Unbeknownst
to her, Ibarra was still alive and able to escape. It was Elías who had taken
the shots.
It was Christmas Eve when Elías woke up in the forest
fatally wounded. It is here where he instructed Ibarra to meet him. Instead,
Elías found the altar boy Basilio cradling his already-dead mother, Sisa. The
latter lost her mind when she learned that her two sons, Crispín and Basilio,
were chased out of the convent by the sacristan mayor on suspicions of stealing
sacred objects.
Elías, convinced he would die soon, instructs Basilio to
build a funeral pyre and burn his and Sisa's bodies to ashes. He tells Basilio
that, if nobody reaches the place, he was to return later and dig as he would find
gold. Elías further tells Basilio to take the gold he finds and go to school.
In his dying breath, he instructed Basilio to continue dreaming about freedom
for his motherland with the words:
I shall die without seeing the dawn break upon my
homeland. You, who shall see it, salute it! Do not forget those who have
fallen during the night.
Elías died thereafter.
In the epilogue, it was explained that Tiago became addicted
to opium and was seen to frequent the opium house in Binondo to satiate his
addiction. María Clara became a nun when Salví, who had lusted after her from
the beginning of the novel, regularly used her to fulfill his lust. One stormy
evening, a beautiful insane woman was seen at the top of the convent crying and
cursing the heavens for the fate it had handed her. While the woman was never
identified, it is insinuated that the said woman was María Clara.
Main characters:
Crisostomo Ibarra
Maria Clara
Padre Damaso
Capitan Tiago
Pilosofo Tasyo
Elias
Sisa
Dona
Victorina
Reflection
“Footnote to the youth”
The
Footnote to the youth a novel of Jose Garcia Villa. This story is about of a
young boy named Dodong who want to married his lover that named Teang that both
of them were at the young age. He never thinks what a result of getting married
in young age. They got a many children but later on teang regret that why she
get married in early age because they can’t support a financial of their family.
Blas a son of Dodong also wanted to marry Tona at the young age Dodong can’t
say “NO” because he also do that in his young age he let blas to marry even though
he knows how hard to get married early. For me in today’s society it is also
like that I see the young girls who get married early or they get pregnant but
at the end they regret that why they get married early because most of them decided
to separate because of money problem that they can’t sustain the needs of their
family. All of that is a result of
getting married at the young age that they never think what happened in the
future. There are also time that we can’t control our self to make a decision
that we never think and I’am also like that sometime because I’m making a
decision that never think even though my parents is not agree to my decision
because they know that it is not good for me but still I do it. But the
important thing is we learn our mistake to make a decision that we never think
a lot of times. I can say that making a decision without thinking is not good
we should think first that what happened in the future.
Think First!
Indolence of the Filipinos
By Jose Rizal
La Indolencia de
los Filipinos, more popularly known in its English version, "The Indolence
of the Filipinos," is a exploratory essay written by Philippine national
hero Dr. Jose Rizal, to explain the alleged idleness of his people during the
Spanish colonization.
SUMMARY
The Indolence of
the Filipinos is a study of the causes why the people did not, as was said,
work hard during the Spanish regime. Rizal pointed out that long before the
coming of the Spaniards, the Filipinos were industrious and hardworking. The
Spanish reign brought about a decline in economic activities because of certain
causes:
First,the establishment of the Galleon Trade cut off all previous
associations of the Philippines with other countries in Asia and the Middle
East. As a result, business was only conducted with Spain through Mexico.
Because of this, the small businesses and handicraft industries that flourished
during the pre-Spanish period gradually disappeared.
Second, Spain also
extinguished the natives’ love of work because of the implementation of forced
labor. Because of the wars between Spain and other countries in Europe as well
as the Muslims in Mindanao, the Filipinos were compelled to work in shipyards,
roads, and other public works, abandoning agriculture, industry, and commerce.
Third, Spain did not protect the people against foreign invaders and pirates.
With no arms to defend themselves, the natives were killed, their houses
burned, and their lands destroyed. As a result of this, the Filipinos were
forced to become nomads, lost interest in cultivating their lands or in
rebuilding the industries that were shut down, and simply became submissive to
the mercy of God.
Fourth, there was a crooked system of education, if it was to
be considered and education. What was being taught in the schools were repetitive
prayers and other things that could not be used by the students to lead the
country to progress. There were no courses in Agriculture, Industry, etc.,
which were badly needed by the Philippines during those times.
Fifth, the
Spanish rulers were a bad example to despise manual labor. The officials
reported to work at noon and left early, all the while doing nothing in line
with their duties. The women were seen constantly followed by servants who
dressed them and fanned them – personal things which they ought to have done
for themselves.
Sixth, gambling was established and widely propagated during
those times. Almost everyday there were cockfights, and during feast days, the
government officials and friars were the first to engage in all sorts of bets and
gambles.
Seventh, there was a crooked system of religion. The friars taught the
naive Filipinos that it was easier for a poor man to enter heaven, and so they
preferred not to work and remain poor so that they could easily enter heaven
after they died.
Lastly, the taxes were extremely high, so much so that a huge
portion of what they earned went to the government or to the friars. When the
object of their labor was removed and they were exploited, they were reduced to
inaction. Rizal admitted that the Filipinos did not work so hard because they
were wise enough to adjust themselves to the warm, tropical climate. “An hour’s
work under that burning sun, in the midst of pernicious influences springing
from nature in activity, is equal to a day’s labor in a temperate climate.”
Footnote
to Youth
by: Jose Garcia Villa
The sun was salmon and hazy in
the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang
when he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and led it
to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant about saying it, he wanted his
father to know what he had to say was of serious importance as it would mark a
climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, but a thought
came to him that his father might refuse to consider it. His father was a
silent hardworking farmer, who chewed areca nut, which he had learned
to do from his mother, Dodong’s grandmother.
He wished as he looked at her that
he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework.
I will tell him. I will tell
it to him.
The ground was broken up into
many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender
soft worm emerged from the further rows and then burrowed again deeper into the
soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled
clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the
worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where into the air, but
thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young anymore.
Dodong unhitched the carabao
leisurely and fave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head
to look at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and
the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He placed bundles of grass
before it and the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without
interest.
Dodong started homeward thinking
how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did. He
was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then down on his upper lip was
dark-these meant he was no longer a boy. He was growing into a man – he
was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it, although he
was by nature low in stature.
Thinking himself man – grown,
Dodong felt he could do anything.
He walked faster, prodded by the
thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he
dismissed it cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and
then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought wild young dreams of
himself and Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black
eyes and straight glossy hair.How desirable she was to him. She made him
want to touch her, to hold her. She made him dream even during the day.
Dodong tensed with desire and
looked at the muscle of his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy
invigorating, but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back
the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek.
Must you marry, Dodong?”
Dodong resented his father’s
question; his father himself had married early.
Dodong stripped himself and laid
his clothes, a gray under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the
grass. Then he went into the water, wet his body over and rubbed at it
vigorously.He was not long in bathing, then he marched homeward again. The
bath made him feel cool.
It was dusk when he reached home. The
petroleum lamp on the ceiling was already lighted and the low unvarnished
square table was set for supper. He and his parents sat down on the floor
around the table to eat. They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did
not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held
the,, they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of caked
sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it. He got another piece
and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parent.
Dodong’s mother removed the
dishes when they were through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong
wanted to help her carry the dishes out. But he was tired and now, feld
lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help
his mother in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone.
His father remained in the room,
sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him, again. Dodong knew, Dodong
had told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was
afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to Dodong, but Dodong guessed
it. Afterward, Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth, he
would be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his
father.
Dodong said while his mother was
out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what we had to
say, and over which he head said it without any effort at all and without
self-consciousness. Dodong felt relived and looked at his father
expectantly. A decresent moon outside shed its feebled light into the
window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father look old
now.
“I am going to marry Teang,”
Dodong said.
His father looked at him silently
and stopped sucking the broken tooth, The silenece became intense and
cruel, and Dodong was uncomfortable and then became very angry because his
father kept looking at him without uttering anything.
“I will marry Teang,” Dodong
repeated. “I will marry Teang.”
His father kept gazing at him in
flexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat.
I asked her last night to marry
me and she said… “Yes. I want your permission… I… want… it…” There
was an impatient clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at his coldness, this
indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles
one by one, and the little sound it made broke dully the night stillness.
“Must you marry, Dodong?”
Dodong resented his father’s
question; his father himself had married early.Dodong made a quick impassioned
essay in his mind about selfishness, but later, he got confused.
“You are very young, Dodong.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“That’s very young to get married
at.”
“I… I want to marry… Teang’s a good
girl…
“Tell your mother,” his father
said.
“You tell her, Tatay.”
“Dodong, you tell your Inay.”
“You tell her.”
“All right, Dodong.”
“All right, Dodong.”
“You will let me marry Teang?”
“Son, if that is your wish… of
course…” There was a strange helpless light in his father’s eyes. Dodong
did not read it. Too absorbed was he in himself.
Dodong was immensely glad he has
asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father, for a while, he
even felt sorry for him about the pain I his tooth. Then he confined his
mind dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dreams…
***
Dodong stood in the sweltering
noon heat, sweating profusely so that his camisetawas damp. He was
still like a tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him
not to leave the house, but he had left. He wanted to get out of it
without clear reason at all.He was afraid, he felt afraid of the house. It
had seemingly caged him, to compress his thoughts with severe tyranny. He
was also afraid of Teang who was giving birth in the house; she face screams
that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that. He
began to wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some
women, when they gave birth, did not cry.
In a few moments he would be a
father. “Father, father,” he whispered the word with awe, with
strangeness. He was young, he realized now contradicting himself of nine
months ago. He was very young… He felt queer, troubled, uncomfortable.
Dodong felt tired of standing. He
sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his
calloused toes. Then he thought, supposed he had ten children…
The journey of thought came to a
halt when he heard his mother’s voice from the house.
Some how, he was ashamed to his
mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had
taken something not properly his.
“Come up, Dodong. It is
over.”
Suddenly, he felt terribly
embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow, he was ashamed to his mother of
his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he has taken
something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust off
his kundimanshorts.
“Dodong,” his mother called
again. “Dodong.”
He turned to look again and this
time, he saw his father beside his mother.
“It is a boy.” His father
said. He beckoned Dodong to come up.
Dodong felt more embarrassed and
did not move. His parent’s eyes seemed to pierce through him so he felt
limp. He wanted to hide or even run away from them.
“Dodong, you come up. You
come up,” his mother said.
Dodong did not want to come up. He’d
rather stayed in the sun.
“Dodong… Dodong.”
I’ll… come up.
Dodong traced the tremulous steps
on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His
heart pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parent’s eyes. He
walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty
and untru. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted
to burst. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted
somebody to punish him.
“Son,” his father said.
And his mother: “Dodong..”
How kind their voices were. They
flowed into him, making him strong.
“Teanf?” Dodong said.
“She’s sleeping. But you go
in…”
His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong
saw Teang, his wife, asleep on the paper with her soft black hair around her
face. He did not want her to look that pale.
Dodong wanted to touch her, to
push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips. But again that
feeling of embarrassment came over him, and before his parent, he did not want
to be demonstrative.
The hilot was wrapping
the child Dodong heard him cry. The thin voice touched his heart. He
could not control the swelling of happiness in him.
“You give him to me. You
give him to me,” Dodong said.
***
Blas was not Dodong’s only child. Many
more children came. For six successive years, a new child came along. Dodong
did not want any more children. But they came. It seemed that the
coming of children could not helped. Dodong got angry with himself
sometimes.
Teang did not complain, but the
bearing of children tolled on her. She was shapeless and thin even if she
was young. There was interminable work that kept her tied up. Cooking,
laundering. The house. The children. She cried sometimes,
wishing she had no married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him
to dislike her. Yet, she wished she had not married. Not even Dodong
whom she loved. There had neen another suitor, Lucio older than Dodong by
nine years and that wasw why she had chosen Dodong.Young Dodong who was only
seventeen. Lucio had married another. Lucio, she wondered, would she
have born him children? Maybe not, either. That was a better lot. But
she loved Dodong… in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask
questions and somebody to answer him. He wanted to be wise about many
thins.
Life did not fulfill all of
Youth’s dreams.
Why must be so? Why one was
forsaken… after love?
One of them was why life did not
fulfill all of the youth’ dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was
forsaken… after love.
Dodong could not find the answer. Maybe
the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth. Youth
must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet.
Dodong returned to the house,
humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know little wisdom but was denied
it.
When Blas was eighteen, he came
home one night, very flustered and happy.Dodong heard Blas’ steps for he could
not sleep well at night. He watched Blass undress in the dark and lie down
softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong
called his name and asked why he did not sleep.
You better go to sleep. It
is late,” Dodong said.
Life did not fulfill all of
youth’s dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after love?
“Itay..” Blas called softly.
Dodong stirred and asked him what
it was.
“I’m going to marry Tona. She
accepted me tonight.
“Itay, you think its over.”
Dodong lay silent.
I loved Tona and… I want her.”
Dodong rose from his mat and told
Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard where everything was still
and quiet.
The moonlight was cold and white.
“You want to marry Tona, Dodong
said, although he did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The
life that would follow marriage would be hard…
“Yes.”
“Must you marry?”
Blas’ voice was steeled with
resentment. “I will mary Tona.”
“You have objection, Itay?” Blas
asked acridly.
“Son… non…” But for Dodong, he do
anything. Youth must triumph… now. Afterward… It will be life.
As long ago, Youth and Love did
triumph for Dodong… and then life.
Dodong looked wistfully at his
young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Filipino Writers List of Filipino Writers Francisco Arcellana Francisco Balagtas Lualhati
Bautista Carlos Bulosan Cecilia Manguerra Brainard Linda Ty Casper Ingrid Chua-Go Gilda Cordero-Fernando Zoilo Galang N. V. M.
Gonzalez Jessica Hagedorn Nick Joaquin F. Sionil José José Rizal Alejandro R. Roces Bienvenido
Santos Edilberto K. Tiempo Kerima Polotan Tuvera
May Day
Eve
By Nick
Joaquin
The old
people had ordered that the dancing should stop at ten o’clock but it was
almost midnight before the carriages came filing up the departing guests, while
the girls who were staying were promptly herded upstairs to the bedrooms, the
young men gathering around to wish them a good night and lamenting their ascent
with mock signs and moaning, proclaiming themselves disconsolate but
straightway going off to finish the punch and the brandy though they were quite
drunk already and simply bursting with wild spirits, merriment, arrogance and
audacity, for they were young bucks newly arrived from Europe; the ball had
been in their honor; and they had waltzed and polka-ed and bragged and
swaggered and flirted all night and where in no mood to sleep yet--no, caramba,
not on this moist tropic eve! not on this mystic May eve! --with the night
still young and so seductive that it was madness not to go out, not to go
forth---and serenade the neighbors! cried one; and swim in the Pasid! cried
another; and gather fireflies! cried a third—whereupon there arose a great
clamor for coats and capes, for hats and canes, and they were a couple of
street-lamps flickered and a last carriage rattled away upon the cobbles while
the blind black houses muttered hush-hush, their tile roofs looming like
sinister chessboards against a wile sky murky with clouds, save where an evil
young moon prowled about in a corner or where a murderous wind whirled,
whistling and whining, smelling now of the sea and now of the summer orchards
and wafting unbearable childhood fragrances or ripe guavas to the young men
trooping so uproariously down the street that the girls who were desiring
upstairs in the bedrooms catered screaming to the windows, crowded giggling at
the windows, but were soon sighing amorously over those young men bawling
below; over those wicked young men and their handsome apparel, their proud
flashing eyes, and their elegant mustaches so black and vivid in the moonlight
that the girls were quite ravished with love, and began crying to one another
how carefree were men but how awful to be a girl and what a horrid, horrid
world it was, till old Anastasia plucked them off by the ear or the pigtail and
chases them off to bed---while from up the street came the clackety-clack of
the watchman’s boots on the cobble and the clang-clang of his lantern against
his knee, and the mighty roll of his great voice booming through the night,
"Guardia serno-o-o! A las doce han dado-o-o.
And it
was May again, said the old Anastasia. It was the first day of May and witches
were abroad in the night, she said--for it was a night of divination, and night
of lovers, and those who cared might peer into a mirror and would there behold
the face of whoever it was they were fated to marry, said the old Anastasia as
she hobble about picking up the piled crinolines and folding up shawls and
raking slippers in corner while the girls climbing into four great poster-beds
that overwhelmed the room began shrieking with terror, scrambling over each
other and imploring the old woman not to frighten them.
"Enough,
enough, Anastasia! We want to sleep!"
"Go
scare the boys instead, you old witch!"
"She
is not a witch, she is a maga. She is a maga. She was born of Christmas
Eve!"
"St.
Anastasia, virgin and martyr."
"Huh?
Impossible! She has conquered seven husbands! Are you a virgin,
Anastasia?"
"No,
but I am seven times a martyr because of you girls!"
"Let
her prophesy, let her prophesy! Whom will I marry, old gypsy? Come, tell
me."
"You
may learn in a mirror if you are not afraid."
"I
am not afraid, I will go," cried the young cousin Agueda, jumping up in
bed.
"Girls,
girls---we are making too much noise! My mother will hear and will come and
pinch us all. Agueda, lie down! And you Anastasia, I command you to shut your
mouth and go away!""Your mother told me to stay here all night, my
grand lady!"
"And
I will not lie down!" cried the rebellious Agueda, leaping to the floor.
"Stay, old woman. Tell me what I have to do."
"Tell
her! Tell her!" chimed the other girls.
The old
woman dropped the clothes she had gathered and approached and fixed her eyes on
the girl. "You must take a candle," she instructed, "and go into
a room that is dark and that has a mirror in it and you must be alone in the
room. Go up to the mirror and close your eyes and shy:
Mirror,
mirror, show to me him whose woman I will be. If all goes right, just above
your left shoulder will appear the face of the man you will marry." A
silence. Then: "And hat if all does not go right?" asked Agueda.
"Ah, then the Lord have mercy on you!" "Why." "Because
you may see--the Devil!"
The
girls screamed and clutched one another, shivering. "But what
nonsense!" cried Agueda. "This is the year 1847. There are no devil
anymore!" Nevertheless she had turned pale. "But where could I go,
hugh? Yes, I know! Down to the sala. It has that big mirror and no one is there
now." "No, Agueda, no! It is a mortal sin! You will see the
devil!" "I do not care! I am not afraid! I will go!" "Oh,
you wicked girl! Oh, you mad girl!" "If you do not come to bed,
Agueda, I will call my mother." "And if you do I will tell her who
came to visit you at the convent last March. Come, old woman---give me that
candle. I go." "Oh girls---give me that candle, I go."
But
Agueda had already slipped outside; was already tiptoeing across the hall; her
feet bare and her dark hair falling down her shoulders and streaming in the
wind as she fled down the stairs, the lighted candle sputtering in one hand
while with the other she pulled up her white gown from her ankles. She paused
breathless in the doorway to the sala and her heart failed her. She tried to
imagine the room filled again with lights, laughter, whirling couples, and the
jolly jerky music of the fiddlers. But, oh, it was a dark den, a weird cavern
for the windows had been closed and the furniture stacked up against the walls.
She crossed herself and stepped inside.
The
mirror hung on the wall before her; a big antique mirror with a gold frame
carved into leaves and flowers and mysterious curlicues. She saw herself approaching
fearfully in it: a small while ghost that the darkness bodied forth---but not
willingly, not completely, for her eyes and hair were so dark that the face
approaching in the mirror seemed only a mask that floated forward; a bright
mask with two holes gaping in it, blown forward by the white cloud of her gown.
But when she stood before the mirror she lifted the candle level with her chin
and the dead mask bloomed into her living face.
She
closed her eyes and whispered the incantation. When she had finished such a
terror took hold of her that she felt unable to move, unable to open her eyes
and thought she would stand there forever, enchanted. But she heard a step
behind her, and a smothered giggle, and instantly opened her eyes.
"And
what did you see, Mama? Oh, what was it?" But Dona Agueda had forgotten
the little girl on her lap: she was staring pass the curly head nestling at her
breast and seeing herself in the big mirror hanging in the room. It was the
same room and the same mirror out the face she now saw in it was an old
face---a hard, bitter, vengeful face, framed in graying hair, and so sadly
altered, so sadly different from that other face like a white mask, that fresh
young face like a pure mask than she had brought before this mirror one wild
May Day midnight years and years ago.... "But what was it Mama? Oh please
go on! What did you see?" Dona Agueda looked down at her daughter but her
face did not soften though her eyes filled with tears. "I saw the
devil." she said bitterly. The child blanched. "The devil, Mama?
Oh... Oh..." "Yes, my love. I opened my eyes and there in the mirror,
smiling at me over my left shoulder, was the face of the devil." "Oh,
my poor little Mama! And were you very frightened?" "You can imagine.
And that is why good little girls do not look into mirrors except when their
mothers tell them. You must stop this naughty habit, darling, of admiring
yourself in every mirror you pass- or you may see something frightful some
day." "But the devil, Mama---what did he look like?" "Well,
let me see... he has curly hair and a scar on his cheek---" "Like the
scar of Papa?" "Well, yes. But this of the devil was a scar of sin, while
that of your Papa is a scar of honor. Or so he says." "Go on about
the devil." "Well, he had mustaches." "Like those of
Papa?" "Oh, no. Those of your Papa are dirty and graying and smell
horribly of tobacco, while these of the devil were very black and elegant--oh,
how elegant!" "And did he speak to you, Mama?" "Yes… Yes,
he spoke to me," said Dona Agueda. And bowing her graying head; she wept.
"Charms
like yours have no need for a candle, fair one," he had said, smiling at
her in the mirror and stepping back to give her a low mocking bow. She had
whirled around and glared at him and he had burst into laughter. "But I
remember you!" he cried. "You are Agueda, whom I left a mere infant
and came home to find a tremendous beauty, and I danced a waltz with you but
you would not give me the polka." "Let me pass," she muttered
fiercely, for he was barring the way. "But I want to dance the polka with
you, fair one," he said. So they stood before the mirror; their panting
breath the only sound in the dark room; the candle shining between them and
flinging their shadows to the wall. And young Badoy Montiya (who had crept home
very drunk to pass out quietly in bed) suddenly found himself cold sober and
very much awake and ready for anything. His eyes sparkled and the scar on his
face gleamed scarlet. "Let me pass!" she cried again, in a voice of
fury, but he grasped her by the wrist. "No," he smiled. "Not
until we have danced." "Go to the devil!" "What a temper
has my serrana!" "I am not your serrana!" "Whose, then?
Someone I know? Someone I have offended grievously? Because you treat me, you
treat all my friends like your mortal enemies." "And why not?"
she demanded, jerking her wrist away and flashing her teeth in his face.
"Oh, how I detest you, you pompous young men! You go to Europe and you
come back elegant lords and we poor girls are too tame to please you. We have
no grace like the Parisiennes, we have no fire like the Sevillians, and we have
no salt, no salt, no salt! Aie, how you weary me, how you bore me, you
fastidious men!" "Come, come---how do you know about us?"
"I
was not admiring myself, sir!" "You were admiring the moon
perhaps?" "Oh!" she gasped, and burst into tears. The candle
dropped from her hand and she covered her face and sobbed piteously. The candle
had gone out and they stood in darkness, and young Badoy was
conscience-stricken. "Oh, do not cry, little one!" Oh, please forgive
me! Please do not cry! But what a brute I am! I was drunk, little one, I was
drunk and knew not what I said." He groped and found her hand and touched
it to his lips. She shuddered in her white gown. "Let me go," she
moaned, and tugged feebly. "No. Say you forgive me first. Say you forgive
me, Agueda." But instead she pulled his hand to her mouth and bit it - bit
so sharply in the knuckles that he cried with pain and lashed cut with his
other hand--lashed out and hit the air, for she was gone, she had fled, and he
heard the rustling of her skirts up the stairs as he furiously sucked his
bleeding fingers. Cruel thoughts raced through his head: he would go and tell
his mother and make her turn the savage girl out of the house--or he would go
himself to the girl’s room and drag her out of bed and slap, slap, slap her
silly face! But at the same time he was thinking that they were all going to
Antipolo in the morning and was already planning how he would maneuver himself
into the same boat with her. Oh, he would have his revenge, he would make her
pay, that little harlot! She should suffer for this, he thought greedily,
licking his bleeding knuckles. But---Judas! He remembered her bare shoulders:
gold in her candlelight and delicately furred. He saw the mobile insolence of
her neck, and her taut breasts steady in the fluid gown. Son of a Turk, but she
was quite enchanting! How could she think she had no fire or grace? And no
salt? An arroba she had of it!
"...
No lack of salt in the chrism At the moment of thy baptism!" He sang aloud
in the dark room and suddenly realized that he had fallen madly in love with
her. He ached intensely to see her again---at once! ---to touch her hands and
her hair; to hear her harsh voice. He ran to the window and flung open the
casements and the beauty of the night struck him back like a blow. It was May,
it was summer, and he was young---young! ---and deliriously in love. Such a
happiness welled up within him that the tears spurted from his eyes. But he did
not forgive her--no! He would still make her pay, he would still have his
revenge, he thought viciously, and kissed his wounded fingers. But what a night
it had been! "I will never forge this night! he thought aloud in an awed
voice, standing by the window in the dark room, the tears in his eyes and the
wind in his hair and his bleeding knuckles pressed to his mouth.
But,
alas, the heart forgets; the heart is distracted; and May time passes; summer
lends; the storms break over the rot-tipe orchards and the heart grows old;
while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till
the mind becomes too crowded, too confused: dust gathers in it; cobwebs
multiply; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory
perished...and there came a time when Don Badoy Montiya walked home through a
May Day midnight without remembering, without even caring to remember; being
merely concerned in feeling his way across the street with his cane; his eyes
having grown quite dim and his legs uncertain--for he was old; he was over
sixty; he was a very stopped and shivered old man with white hair and mustaches
coming home from a secret meeting of conspirators; his mind still resounding
with the speeches and his patriot heart still exultant as he picked his way up
the steps to the front door and inside into the slumbering darkness of the
house; wholly unconscious of the May night, till on his way down the hall,
chancing to glance into the sala, he shuddered, he stopped, his blood ran
cold-- for he had seen a face in the mirror there---a ghostly candlelight face
with the eyes closed and the lips moving, a face that he suddenly felt he had
been there before though it was a full minutes before the lost memory came
flowing, came tiding back, so overflooding the actual moment and so swiftly
washing away the piled hours and days and months and years that he was left
suddenly young again; he was a gay young buck again, lately came from Europe; he
had been dancing all night; he was very drunk; he s stepped in the doorway; he
saw a face in the dark; he called out...and the lad standing before the mirror
(for it was a lad in a night go jumped with fright and almost dropped his
candle, but looking around and seeing the old man, laughed out with relief and
came running.
"Oh
Grandpa, how you frightened me. Don Badoy had turned very pale. "So it was
you, you young bandit! And what is all this, hey? What are you doing down here
at this hour?" "Nothing, Grandpa. I was only... I am only ..."
"Yes, you are the great Señor only and how delighted I am to make your
acquaintance, Señor Only! But if I break this cane on your head you maga wish
you were someone else, Sir!" "It was just foolishness, Grandpa. They
told me I would see my wife."
"Wife?
What wife?" "Mine. The boys at school said I would see her if I
looked in a mirror tonight and said: Mirror, mirror show to me her whose lover
I will be.
Don
Badoy cackled ruefully. He took the boy by the hair, pulled him along into the
room, sat down on a chair, and drew the boy between his knees. "Now, put
your cane down the floor, son, and let us talk this over. So you want your wife
already, hey? You want to see her in advance, hey? But so you know that these are
wicked games and that wicked boys who play them are in danger of seeing
horrors?"
"Well,
the boys did warn me I might see a witch instead."
"Exactly!
A witch so horrible you may die of fright. And she will be witch you, she will
torture you, she will eat
your heart
and drink your blood!"
"Oh,
come now Grandpa. This is 1890. There are no witches anymore."
"Oh-ho,
my young Voltaire! And what if I tell you that I myself have seen a witch.
"You?
Where?
"Right
in this room land right in that mirror," said the old man, and his playful
voice had turned savage.
"When,
Grandpa?"
"Not
so long ago. When I was a bit older than you. Oh, I was a vain fellow and
though I was feeling very sick that night and merely wanted to lie down
somewhere and die I could not pass that doorway of course without stopping to
see in the mirror what I looked like when dying. But when I poked my head in
what should I see in the mirror but...but..."
"The
witch?"
"Exactly!"
"And
then she bewitch you, Grandpa!"
"She
bewitched me and she tortured me. l She ate my heart and drank my blood."
said the old man bitterly.
"Oh,
my poor little Grandpa! Why have you never told me! And she very horrible?
"Horrible?
God, no--- she was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen! Her eyes were
somewhat like yours but her hair was like black waters and her golden shoulders
were bare. My God, she was enchanting! But I should have known---I should have
known even then---the dark and fatal creature she was!"
A
silence. Then: "What a horrid mirror this is, Grandpa," whispered the
boy.
"What
makes you slay that, hey?"
"Well,
you saw this witch in it. And Mama once told me that Grandma once told her that
Grandma once saw the devil in this mirror. Was it of the scare that Grandma
died?"
Don
Badoy started. For a moment he had forgotten that she was dead, that she had
perished---the poor Agueda; that they were at peace at last, the two of them,
her tired body at rest; her broken body set free at last from the brutal pranks
of the earth---from the trap of a May night; from the snare of summer; from the
terrible silver nets of the moon. She had been a mere heap of white hair and
bones in the end: a whimpering withered consumptive, lashing out with her cruel
tongue; her eye like live coals; her face like ashes... Now, nothing--- nothing
save a name on a stone; save a stone in a graveyard---nothing! was left of the
young girl who had flamed so vividly in a mirror one wild May Day midnight,
long, long ago.
And
remembering how she had sobbed so piteously; remembering how she had bitten his
hand and fled and how he had sung aloud in the dark room and surprised his
heart in the instant of falling in love: such a grief tore up his throat and
eyes that he felt ashamed before the boy; pushed the boy away; stood up and
looked out----looked out upon the medieval shadows of the foul street where a
couple of street-lamps flickered and a last carriage was rattling away upon the
cobbles, while the blind black houses muttered hush-hush, their tiled roofs
looming like sinister chessboards against a wild sky murky with clouds, save
where an evil old moon prowled about in a corner or where a murderous wind
whirled, whistling and whining, smelling now of the sea and now of the summer
orchards and wafting unbearable the window; the bowed old man sobbing so
bitterly at the window; the tears streaming down his cheeks and the wind in his
hair and one hand pressed to his mouth---while from up the street came the
clackety-clack of the watchman’s boots on the cobbles, and the clang-clang of
his lantern against his knee, and the mighty roll of his voice booming through
the night:
"Guardia
sereno-o-o! A las doce han dado-o-o!"
Plot Summary
As Don Badoy Montoya visited his old home at Intramuros, Manila, memories of his youth came back. He recalled how he fell in love with Agueda, a young woman who resisted his advances. Agueda learned that she would be able to know her future husband by reciting an incantation in front of a mirror. As she recited the words: "Mirror, mirror, show to me him whose woman I will be," Agueda saw Badoy . Badoy and Agueda got married. However, Don Badoy learned from his grandson that he was described by Doňa Agueda (through their daughter) as a "devil". In return, Don Badoy told his grandson that every time he looks at the mirror, he only sees a "witch" (Agueda). Don Badoy ponders on love that had dissipated. The truth was revealed, Badoy and Agueda had a "bitter marriage", which began in the past, during one evening in month of May in 1847. the tragedy of the story is Badoy's heart forgot how he loved Agueda in the past. They were not able to mend their broken marriage because their love was a "raging passion and nothing more".
The major characters in May Day Eve Badoy Agueda Anastasia Agueda's daughter Voltaire Badoy's grandson
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