Philippine Literature

1 Lesson 1 Introduction [pic] It gives nostalgic feelings and enjoyment to re-examine the comedies, tragedies and inspiration of the beautiful Filipino poems, stories, essays and plays. Going over them is a very wonderful experience. It enables you to magnify your appreciation of literary selections and see the role they play in society and even grow and evolve through your literary journey. Objectives: At the end of the lesson, you should be able to: 1. State the meaning of literature; 2. Discuss the importance of literature; 3.

Appreciate the extent of literature in all aspects of human environment; 4. Familiarize yourselves with the types of literature; Compare and contrast the four literary genres 1. 1 Topic – What is Literature? Literature seems too difficult to embrace to people who are indifferent to it. However, it continues to grow and stay because of its significance and value to man. Literature is an art of self-expression. Literally, it means “an acquaintance with letters” as in the first sense given in the Oxford English Dictionary. In Latin “littera” means an individual written character.

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It represents a language or people; culture or tradition, passion and dignified thoughts. It introduces us to new world of experience. It records the experience of man. It imitates and interprets life through language. Everything that is written is literature. Importance of Literature Literature molds man as a total human being, sympathetic, aware and sensitive. It educates and entertains. When we read literature, we are informed of events that beset our environment and the fictitious characters and colorful events amuse us.

Literature leads us to understand the life of man. It is important to us because it speaks to us and it affects us. Even when literature is seemingly ugly, it is still beautiful. It enlivens human interest and enriches and colors our imagination. It is an expression of thought, feeling, emotions and attitudes towards life. It shapes our minds that make us changed individuals. Literature shapes man not only as nurses, engineers, accountants, teachers, doctors, computer specialists, information technologists, etc. ut as man, his personality, his views and ideas count. Literature entails reading. In order to appreciate a literary piece, you may follow some guidelines to follow in reading. You have to read with purpose, not just for the story. For example: If the story is recreational, it should always be interesting and provide pleasure, but you should know how to read for more than just pleasure. You should read with a purpose. You should be able to avoid reading selections and television or video presentations that tackle details of sin, crime and violence.

If you pursue it, do it with a good purpose. Individual titles should be evaluated with careful regard to the positive principles set forth in Ellen White’s writings which make the readers experience peace of mind and a reassurance of soul, which tends toward sensible, moral, and compassionate living, and that the titles can satisfy the deepest yearnings of the human heart. You should be able to discriminate between the best and the inferior literature.

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. (Phil 4:8) 1. 2 Types of Literature Types of Literature Literature falls into two major types: oral and written. Oral literature includes ballads, myth, jokes, folktales and fables; whereas written source has drama, novel, poetry and nonfictional literature. Kinds of Literature according to Structure

Poetry — is an artistic piece of philosophical, personal, imaginative or inspirational nature that is laid out in lines. Prose — is a literary piece that is written without metrical structure. Literature is classified as fictional and non-fictional. Fictional literature is simply defined as a product of one’s imaginative mind. It can be a drama, short story, novel, myth, folktale and poetry. Non-fictional literature  is opposite to fiction as it  comes out of one’s personal experiences, a true and factual account of varying information. It comprises the interesting facts with analysis and illustrations.

It includes autobiography, biography, essay, literary criticism, journal, newspaper, diary, magazine, etc. Literary Genres (Forms) This module-workbook sums up four literary genres or forms: poem, short story, essay and drama. Poem Poem is a composition written in verses having standard measurements and written with a higher intensity of artistic beauty. William Wordsworth puts it as “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings in tranquility. ” The poet employs the following in constructing a poem; diction that includes denotation and connotation of words, imagery, symbolism, figurative language, rhythm and rhyme.

These are explained in the lessons that follow. Interpreting poems is not easy. Poems are difficult to understand. It is very important that we need to use literary approaches and historical backgrounds in reading this literary form. Poems are classified into three: lyric, narrative and dramatic. Lyric poem refers to short poems which express the personal thoughts or emotions of the poet. It can be a song, ode, elegy or sonnet. It is intended to be sung. Narrative poem tells a story. It can be a ballad or an epic. Dramatic poetry is a theatrical dialogue performed on stage.

It can be a tragedy, comedy, melodrama or tragicomedy. Short Story Short story is a small commercial fiction, true or imaginary, and smaller than a novel. It is composed with an easy beginning illustrated in its exposition, a conflict that holds the problem to be solved in the selection, a concrete theme that presents the subject matter of the story, some dialogs and actions that picture the rising action and climax, an ends with a resolution. They are oral and short-lived which have gossip, joke, fable, myth, parable, hearsay and legend. However, short stories are now written for appreciation and evaluation.

Essay Essay is a literary composition that presents the author’s point of view about any particular topic in a detailed way. Essay has simple way of narrating the main subject; therefore, they are descriptive, lengthy, subject-oriented and comparative. Different types of essay: Personal essay, expository essay type, response essay, process essay, persuasive essay, argumentative essay, critical essay type, interview essay, reflective essay type, evaluation, observation essay, comparison type of essay, application essay, compare and contrast essay and narrative essay type. 2 Lesson 2 – Short Story 2. Short Story – Meaning and Elements SHORT STORY A short story is a short piece of fiction containing elements described in the chart on these pages. It is a prose that  has one unit of place, time and action. It is a “bite size” version of a novel. You can finish reading it in just one sitting. It is written by someone with serious artistic intentions who hopes to broaden, deepen, and sharpen your awareness of life. It brings you into the real world enabling you to understand the difficulties of life and to  empathize with others. The short story has eight elements to help you understand and enjoy reading it.

These elements are plot and structure, character and characterization, theme, setting, point of view, tone and style, symbol, allegory and fantasy, humor and irony. SHORT STORY ELEMENTS 1. Plot and Structure Plot-  It is a reflection of motivation and causation. It is the sequence of incidents or events through which an author constructs a story. The plot is not merely the action itself, but the way the author arranges the action toward a specific end (structure). Structure – It defines the layout of the work. It presents how e ach event causes or leads to the next. pic]The plot has the following elements: conflict, exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and resolution. Conflict –It is where plot is often created. It is a controlling impulse in a connected pattern of causes and effects. It is a maor element of plot because it arouses curiosity, causes doubt, creates tension and produces interest. Remember that if there is no tension there is no interest. Great stories do have a conflict. Conflict is classified into external and internal. An external conflict is one between a character and an outside force, such as another character, nature, society, or fate.

An internal conflict takes place within the mind of a character who is torn between opposing feelings or between different courses of action. This is also called dilemma a conflict within or for one person. Most plots develop in five stages Exposition introduces the story’s characters, setting, and conflict. Rising action occurs as complications, twists, or intensifications of the conflict occur. Climax is the emotional high point of the story. It is the most exciting part of the story. Falling action is the logical result of the climax. Resolution presents the final outcome of the story.

It may be happy, unhappy or indeterminate. 1. Character and Characterization Character is a verbal representation of a human being. Every story needs characters: people, animals, or any other creatures. The character is either a protagonist “the good guy” or antagonist “the bad guy”. A character is also classified as: flat, round, stock, static or developing. Types of Characters Flat Character usually has one or two predominant traits. The character can be summed up in just a few lines. Example : A father who is strict  from the beginning to the end of the story.

Round Character is complex and many faceted; has the qualities of real people. Example: In the story, he is a father, a goon, an executive, etc. Static Character is a character that remains essentially the same throughout. Example:  The daughter who remains a baby from start to finish. Developing Character is a character that undergoes a significant change during the story. There are three conditions that regulate change: Example: A daughter, who suffers from the beginning, strives hard to better her life and become rich, helps her parents and becomes happy at the end, or vice-versa. . It must be consistent with the individual’s characterization as dramatized in the story. 2. It must be sufficiently motivated by the circumstances in which the character is placed. 3. The story must offer sufficient time for the change to take place and still be believable. Characterization is the quality of the character which is disclosed through actions, descriptions, both personal and environmental, dramatic statements and thoughts, statements by other characters and statements by the author speaking as storyteller, or observer. Example: Character: Sonia , the protagonist

Characterization – tall, with fair complexion, with long hair, happy, humble, obedient, studious, etc. 1. Setting The setting of a story is its overall context- where, when and in what circumstances the action occurs. Setting as Place- The physical environment where the story takes place. The description of the environment often points towards its importance. Setting as Time- Includes time in all of its dimensions. To determine the importance, ask, “what was going on at that time? ” Setting as Cultural Context (Condition)- Setting also involves the social circumstances of the time and place.

Consider historical events and social and political issues of the time. Effects of Setting- Creates atmosphere, gives insight to characters, and provides connections to other aspects of the story. Example :  In this paragraph  from a short narrative: … For Cindy Mae who is now a mother of two , back on the farm when she was still a child with her parents is what it makes the terrible things that happened during the war – the things she, Leo, Homer , Fae and the others had to do – all worthwhile. It is where she belongs. Setting: Place – home in the farm Time – during her childhood

Cultural Context (Condition) – war 1. Point of View (POV) Point of view is simply who is telling the story. It is the speaker, narrator, persona or voice created by the author to tell the story. To determine POV , ask “who is telling the story”, and “how much do they know? ” Point of view depends on two factors: 1. Physical situation of the narrator as an observer 2. Speaker’s intellectual and emotional position • First person = I, we • Second person = You (uncommon) • Third person = He, she, they (most common) • Point of view may be: – Dramatic/objective = strictly reporting Omniscient = all-knowing – Limited omniscient = some insight Example:  In this paragraph from a short narrative: … For Cindy Mae who is now a mother of two , back on the farm when she was still a child with her parents is what it makes the terrible things that happened during the war – the things she, Leo, Homer , Fae and the others had to do – all worthwhile. It is where she belongs. Point of View: Omniscient 1. Theme Theme is the central idea or message of a story, often a perception about life or human nature. Stated themes are directly presented in a story.

Implied themes must be inferred by considering all the elements of a story and asking what message about life is conveyed. Theme:   life experience of a child during a calamity like the war 1. Tone and Style Tone is the method by which writers and speakers reveal attitudes or feelings. Example: … For Cindy Mae who is now a mother of two , back on the farm when she was still a child with her parents is what it makes the terrible things that happened during the war – the things she, Leo, Homer , Fae and the others had to do – all worthwhile. It is where she belongs.

Tone: nostalgic, misses her childhood days Style is the manner in which an author uses words, constructs sentences, incorporates non-literal expressions, and handles rhythm, timing, and tone. When you are asked to discuss style, you are being asked to describe how or explain why the words, sentences, and imaginative comparisons are effective in terms of what is being created. Diction is central to an author’s style. It includes vocabulary or the choice of words and syntax. 1. Vocabulary- Choice of words a. Simple words- Everyday word choice. (“She was sick for a long   time. ) b.

Complex words- Flexing intellectual muscle (“Garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of                                    that neighborhood. ) c. Concrete words- Things we can touch, see, etc. (Jeans, book, flowers, car, telephone,) d. Abstract words- Words that express intangible ideas (freedom, heritage, marriage, something) 2. Syntax- arrangement of words, their ordering, grouping and placement within phrases, clauses, and sentences. Back to the example episode, the style used by the author is he use of simple words in straight sentences. 1.

Symbolism , Allegory and Fantasy Symbolism and allegory are modes that expand meaning. Symbol creates a direct, meaningful equation between a specific object, scene, character, or action and  ideas, values, persons or ways of life. Symbols may be: 1. Cultural (universal) when they are known by most literate people: Examples:  white dove, color black, etc. 2. Contextual (authorial) when they are created by the author and are private. Allegory is a symbol that is complete and self-sufficient. Example is: “Young Goodman Brown” “Juan dela Cruz” Uncle Sam” More examples of allegory: 1.

Fable – It is a story about animals that posses human traits. 2. Parable – It is an allegory with moral or religious bent. Example are Biblical stories. 3. Allusion is the use of other culturally well-known works from the Bible, Greek and Roman mythology, famous art, etc. Fantasy- A nonrealistic story that transcends the bounds of known reality. 1. Humor and Irony Humor and irony, like many other elements, are intended to create an emotional impact on the reader. We must FEEL the truth of a story not just understand it. Irony is when things work out the opposite to what they’re supposed to, or expected to

Example: … Brother learns that one brother is supposed to love and protect another brother, especially when that other brother needs protection. The irony is that he learns this only after he loses his brother… Humor is a difficult to define but because some humor theorists say that humor is a literary element of surprise, humor can be safely defined as a literary element of surprise or be surprised without threat or promise. Threat or promise. In humor, you must have an expectation of how the world works. When something happens contrary to that expectation, you are surprised. Example:

Why didn’t the chicken cross the road? Because there was a KFC on the other side! GUIDELINES FOR READING SHORT STORY You read a short story for enjoyment and understanding. You appreciate a short story if you are equipped with the necessary skills and techniques in reading it. Below is a simple guideline for you to read this kind of prose. First  Reading –  Determine what is happening, where, what, who is involved, or the major characters of the story –  Make a record of your reactions and responses – Describe characterizations, events, techniques and ideas Second Reading – Trace developing patterns Write expanded notes about characters, situations,  actions – Write paragraph describing your reactions and thoughts – Write down questions that arise as you read (in the margins) 2. 2 “How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife” by Manuel Arguilla How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife By Manuel E. Arguilla She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. SHe was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth. [pic] “You are Baldo,” she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder.

Her nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high on her right cheek. “And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much. ” She held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum. I laid a hand on Labang’s massive neck and said to her: “You may scratch his forehead now. ” She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns.

But she came and touched Labang’s forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily. My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her. “Maria—” my brother Leon said. He did not say Maring.

He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind I said ‘Maria’ and it was a beautiful name. “Yes, Noel. ” Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way. “There is Nagrebcan, Maria,” my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west. She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said quietly. “You love Nagrebcan, don’t you, Noel? Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel. We stood alone on the roadside. The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang’s white coat, hich I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire. He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly in answer. “Hitch him to the cart, Baldo,” my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with him a big uncertainly, and I saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders. “Why does he make that sound? ” she asked. “I have never heard the like of it. ” “There is not another like it,” my brother Leon said. I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him. ” She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang’s neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high up on her right cheek. “If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous. ” My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them.

I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say “Labang” several times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top. She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away. Give me the rope, Baldo,” my brother Leon said. “Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything. ” Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears. She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. er eyes were on my brother Leon’s back; I saw the wind on her hair. When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around. “What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo? ” my brother Leon said. I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went—back to where I had unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields.

High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires. When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly: “Who told you to drive through the fields tonight? ” His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig. “Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the camino real? His fingers bit into my shoulder. “Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong. ” Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said: “And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and the calesa. ” Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, “Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now? ” He laughed and added, “Have you ever seen so many stars before? “

I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man’s height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang’s coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart. “Look, Noel, yonder is our star! Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky. “I have been looking at it,” my brother Leon said. “Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan? ” “Yes, Noel,” she said. “Look at it,” she murmured, half to herself. “It is so many times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach. ” “The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke. ” “So it is, Noel,” she said, drawing a long breath. “Making fun of me, Maria? “

She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon’s hand and put it against her face. I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart between the wheels. “Good boy, Baldo,” my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart sant. Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart. Have we far to go yet, Noel? ” she asked. “Ask Baldo,” my brother Leon said, “we have been neglecting him. ” “I am asking you, Baldo,” she said. Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly: “Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home—Manong. ” “So near already. ” I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything.

Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was ‘Sky Sown with Stars’—the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again. Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows.

Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes. “But it is so very wide here,” she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly. “You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don’t you? ” My brother Leon stopped singing. “Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here. ” With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired.

In a little while we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real. “—you see,” my brother Leon was explaining, “the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields because—but I’ll be asking Father as soon as we get home. ” “Noel,” she said. “Yes, Maria. ” “I am afraid. He may not like me. ” “Does that worry you still, Maria? ” my brother Leon said. “From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered, gentlest man I know. We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said “Hoy! ” calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels.

I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother’s hand were: “Father… where is he? ” “He is in his room upstairs,” Mother said, her face becoming serious. His leg is bothering him again. ” I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them. There was no light in Father’s room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me.

He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking. “Did you meet anybody on the way? ” he asked. “No, Father,” I said. “Nobody passes through the Waig at night. ” He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair. “She is very beautiful, Father. ” “Was she afraid of Labang? ” My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders. “No, Father, she was not afraid. ” “On the way—” “She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang. ” “What did he sing? ” “—Sky Sown with Stars…

She sang with him. ” He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father’s voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside. The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in. “Have you watered Labang? ” Father spoke to me. I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn. “It is time you watered him, my son,” my father said.

I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom. 3 Lesson 3 Mood in a Short Story Introduction Have you ever done something you knew you shouldn’t have done and gotten away with it? Think about how you have felt about that experience. This lesson will present you how emotions and feelings help you enjoy and understand a short story. 3. 1 Mood [pic]Mood is the feeling or atmosphere that an author creates in a literary work from the reader.

The writer uses many devices to create mood, including images, dialogue, setting, and plot. The mood can suggest an emotion, such as fear or joy; it can also suggest the quality of a setting, such as gloom or airiness. For example, if an author described marriage separation as sad, lonely and disgust, a pensive mood would have been created. Often, a writer creates a mood at the beginning of a work and then sustains the mood throughout. Sometimes, however, the mood of the work changes dramatically. Below are lines that suggest feelings or emotions. The feeling or emotion evoked in you is called mood. The death of a loved family member. Winning a championship game in some sport following several losing seasons. Waking after a full night of sleep and remembering that the entire day is free to do exactly as one pleases. Waking from two hours of sleep and remembering that one must explain the car’s shattered front windshield to ones parents. In this set of examples, note the darkened words. They are examples of word words that suggest mood. 1. 1. A child is terrified of a huge, menacing dog that is chained up next to the sidewalk where the child must walk. 2. 2.

A child is so excited when s/he learns s/he will be going on a vacation to Disneyland World in two days. 3. 3. An adult watching a TV show that his/her children chose to watch is bored. 4. 4. A furious teenager is walking toward a bedroom after being grounded. ? 3. 2 “The Wedding Dance” by Amador Daguio [pic] The Wedding Dance Amador T. Daguio Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the head-high threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepping inside, then pushed the cover back in place.

After some moments, during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness. “I’m sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it. ” The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of falling waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she didn’t know how long. The sudden rush of the rich sounds when the door opened was like a sharp gush of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With his fingers, he stirred the covered smoldering embers and blew into them. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pinewood on them, then full round logs as big as his arms. The room brightened. “Why don’t you go out,” he said, “and join the dancing women? ” He felt a pang inside of him, because what he said was really not the right thing to say and because the woman did not talk or stir. You should join the dancers,” he said, “as if–as if nothing has happened. ” He looked at the woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. The stove fire okayed with strange moving shadows and light upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness was not because of anger or hate. “Go out—go out and dance. If you really don’t hate me for the separation, go out and dance. One of the men will see you dance well, he will like your dancing; he will marry you. Who knows but that, with him, you will be luckier than you were with me? ” “I don’t want any man,” she said sharply. I don’t want any other man. ” He felt relieved that, at last, she talked: “you know very well that I don’t want any other woman, either. You know that, don’t you? Lumnay, you know it, don’t you? ” She did not answer him. “You know it, Lumnay, don’t you? ” he repeated. “Yes, I know,” she said weakly. “It is not my fault,” he said, feeling relieved. “You cannot blame me; I have been a good husband to you. ” “Neither can you blame me,” she said. She seemed about to cry. “You, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say against you. ” He set some of the burning wood in place. It’s only that a man must have a child. Seven harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have waited long. We should have another chance, before it is too late for both of us. ” This time, the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the blanket more snuggle around herself. “You know that I have done my best,” she said. “I have prayed to Kabuniyan much. I have sacrificed many chickens in my prayers. ” “Yes, I know. ” “You remember how angry you were once when you came home from your work in the terrace because I butchered one of our pigs without your permission?

I did it to appease Kabuniyan, because, like you, I wanted so much to have a child. But what could I do? ” “Kabuniyan does not see fit for us to have a child,” he said. He stirred the fire. The sparks rose through the crackles of the flames. The smoke and soot went up to the ceiling. Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo flooring in pace. She tugged at the rattan flooring. Each time she did this, the split bamboo went up and came down with a slight rattle. The gongs of the dancers clamorously called in her ears through the walls.

Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat, paused before her, looked at her bronzed and study face, then turned to where the jars of water stood, piled one over the other. Awiyao took a coconut cup and dipped it in the top jar and drank. Lumnay had filled the jars from the mountain creek early that evening. “I came home,” he said, “because I didn’t not find you among the dancers. Of course, I am not forcing you to come, if you don’t want to join my wedding ceremony. I came to tell you that Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can never become as good as you are.

She is not as strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning water jars, not as good in keeping a house clean. You are one of the best wives in the whole village. ” “That has not done my any good, has it? ” she said. She looked at him lovingly. She almost seemed to smile. He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and came closer to her. He held her face between his hands and looked longingly at her face. The next day, she would not be his anymore. She would go back to her parents. He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor again and looked at her fingers as they tugged softly at the split bamboo floor. This house is yours,” he said. “I built it for you. Make it your own. Live in it as long as you wish. I will build another house for Madulimay. ” “I have no need for a house,” she said slowly. “I’ll go to my own house. My parents are old. They will need help in the planting of the beans, in the pounding of the rice. ” “I will give you the field that I dug out of the mountain during the first year of our marriage,” he said. “You know I did it for you. You helped me to make it for the two of us. ” “I have no use for any field,” she said. He looked at her, then turned away and became silent. They were silent for a long time. Go back to the dance,” she said finally. “It is not right for you to be here. The will wonder where you are, and Madulimay will not feel good. Go back to the dance. ” “I would feel better if you could come and dance—for the last time. The gangsas are playing. ” “You know I cannot. ” “Lumnay,” he said tenderly. “Lumnay, if I did this, it is because of my need for a child. You know that life is not worth living without a child. They have mocked me behind my back. You know that. ” “I know it,” she said. “I will pray that Kabuniyan will bless you and Madulimay. ” She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly, and sobbed.

She thought of the seven harvests that had passed, the high hopes they had in the beginning of their new life, the day he took her away from her parents across the roaring river, on the other side of the mountain, the trip up the trail which they had to climb, the steep canyon which they had to cross—the waters boiled in her mind in foams of white and jade and roaring silver; the waters rolled and growled, resounded in thunderous echoes through the walls of the steep cliffs; they were far away now but loud still and receding; the waters violently smashed down from somewhere on the tops of the other ranges, and they looked carefully at the buttresses of rocks they had to step on—a slip would have meant death. They both drank of the water then rested on the other bank before they made the final climb to the other side of the mountain. She looked at his face with the fire playing upon his features—hard and strong, and kind. He had a sense of lightness in his way of saying things which often made her and the village people laugh. How proud she had been of his humor. The muscles were taut and firm, bronze and compact in their hold upon his skull—how frank his bright eyes were.

She looked at his body that carved out of the mountains five fields for her; his wide and supple torso heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were heaving; his arms and legs flowed down in fluent muscles—he was strong and for that she had lost him. She flung herself upon his knees and clung to them. “Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband,” she cried, “I did everything to have a child,” she said passionately in a hoarse whisper. She took away the blanket that covered her. “Look at me,” she cried. “Look at my body. Then it was full of promise. It could dance; it could work fast in the field; it could climb the mountains fast. Even now, it is firm, full. But, Awiyao, Kabuniyan never blessed me. Awiyao, Kabuniyan is cruel to me. Awiyao, I am useless. I must die. ” It will not be right to die,” he said gathering her in his arms. Her whole warm naked breast quivered against his own; she clung now to his neck, and her head lay upon his right shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of gleaming darkness. “I don’t care about the fields,” she said. “I don’t care about the house. I don’t care for anything but you. I’ll never have another man. ” “Then, you’ll always be fruitless. ” “I’ll go back to my father, I’ll die. ” “Then you hate me,” he said. “If you die, it means you hate me. You do not want me to have a child. You don’t want my name to live on in our tribe. ” She was silent. “If I do not try a second time,” he explained, “it means I’ll die.

Nobody will get the fields that I have carved out of the mountains; nobody will come after me. ” “If you fail—if you fail this second time—,” she said thoughtfully. Then her voice was a shudder. “No—no, I don’t want you to fail. ” “If I fail,” he said, “I’ll come back to you. Then both of us will die together. Both of us will vanish from the life of our tribe. ” The gongs thundered through the walls of their house, sonorous and faraway. “I’ll keep my beads,” she said. “Awiyao, let me keep my beads,” she half-whispered. “You will keep the beads. They come form far-off times. My grandmother said they came from way up North, from the slant-eyed people across the sea. You keep them, Lumnay. They are worth twenty fields. “I’ll keep them because they stand for the love you have for me,” she said. “I love you. I love you and have nothing to give. ” She took herself away from him, for a voice was calling out to him from outside. “Awiyao! Awiyao! O Awiyao! They are looking for you at the dance! ” “I am not in a hurry. ” “The elders will scold you. You had better go. ” “Not until you tell me that it is all right with you. ” “It is all right with me. ” He clasped her hands. “I do this for the sake of the tribe,” he said. “I know,” she said. He went to the door. “Awiyao! ” He stopped, as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain, he turned to her. Her face was in agony.

It was pained him to leave. She had been wonderful to him. What was it that made man wish for a child? What was it in life, in the work in the fields, in the planting and harvest, in the silence of the night, in the communing of husband and wife, in the whole life of the tribe itself, that made man wish for the laughter and speech of a child? Suppose he changed his mind? Why did the unwritten law demand, anyway, that a man, to be a man, must have a child to come after him? And if he was fruitless—but he loved Lumnay. It was like taking away half of his life to leave her like this. “Awiyao,” she said, and her eyes seemed to smile in the light. “The beads! ”

He turned back and walked to the farthest corned of their room, to the trunk where they kept their worldly possessions—his battle-ax and his spear points, her betel nut box and her beads. He dug out from the darkness the beads, which had been given to him by his grandmother, to give to Lumnay on the day of their marriage. He went to her, lifted her head, put the beads on, and tied them in place. The white and jade and deep orange obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly clung to him clung to his neck, as if she would never let him go. “Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard! ” she gasped, and she closed her eyes and buried her face in his neck The call for him from the outside repeated; her grip loosened and he hurried out into the night. Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then, she went to the door and opened it.

The moonlight struck her face; the moonlight spilled itself upon the whole village. She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas coming to her through the caverns of the other houses. She knew that all the houses were empty; that the whole tribe was at the dance. Only she was absent. And yet, was she not the best dancer in the village? Did she not have the most lightness and grace? Could she not, alone among all the women, dance like a bird tripping for grains on the ground, beautifully timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the men praise her supple body, and the women envy the way she stretched her hands like the wings of the mountain eagle now and then as she danced? How long ago did she dance at her own wedding?

Tonight, all the women who counted, who once danced in her honor, were dancing now in honor of another whose only claim was that, perhaps, she could give her husband a child. “It is not right. It is not right! ” she cried. “How does she know? How can anybody know? It is not right,” she said. Suddenly, she found the courage. She would go to the dance. She would go to the chief of the village, to the elders, to tell them it was not right. Awiyao was hers; nobody could take him away from her. Let her be the first woman to complain, to denounce the unwritten rule that a man may take another woman. She would break the dancing of the men and women.

She would tell Awiyao to come back to her. He surely would relent. Was not their love as strong as the river? She made for the other side of the village where the dancing was. There was a flaming glow over the whole place a great bonfire was burning. The gangsas clamored more loudly now, and it seemed they were calling to her. She was near, at last. She could see the dancers clearly now. The men leaped lithely their gangsas as they circled the dancing women decked in feast garments and beads, tripping on the ground like graceful birds, following their men. Her heart warmed to the flaming call of the dance; strange heat in her blood welled up, and she started to run.

But the flaming brightness of the bonfire commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her approach? She stopped. What if somebody had seen her coming? The flames of the bonfire leaped in countless sparks, which spread, rose like yellow points, and died out in the night. The blaze reached out to her like a spreading radiance. She did not have the courage to break into the wedding feast. Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground, away from the village. She thought of the new clearing of beans which Awiyao and she had started to make only four moons before. She followed the trail above the village. When she came to the mountain stream, she crossed it carefully.

Nobody held her hands, and the stream water was very cold. The trail went up again, and she was in the moonlight shadows among the trees and shrubs. Slowly, she climbed the mountain. When Lumnay reached the clearing, she could see from where she stood the blazing bonfire at the edge of the village, where the dancing was. She could hear the far-off clamor of the mountain. The sound did not mock her; they seemed to call far to her, speak to her in the language of unspeaking love. She felt the pull of their clamor, almost feeling that they were telling to her their gratitude for her sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound to her like many gangsas.

Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she had known long ago—a strong, muscular boy carrying his heavy loads of fuel logs down the mountains to his home. She had met him one day as she was on her way to fill her clay jars with water. He had stopped at the spring to drink and rest; and she had made him drink the cool mountain water from her coconut shell. After that, it did not take him long to decide to throw his spear on the stairs of her father’s house in token on his desire to marry her. The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing moonlight. The wind began to sough and stir the leaves of the bean plants. Lumnay looked for a big rock on which to sit down.

The bean plants now surrounded her, and she was lost among them. A few more weeks, a few more months, a few more harvests—what did it matter? She would be holding the bean flowers, soft in texture, silken almost, but moist where the dew got into them, silver to look at, silver on the light blue blooming whiteness, when the morning comes. The stretching of the bean pods full length from the hearts of the wilting petals would go on. Lumnay’s fingers moved a long time among the growing bean pods. 3. 3 Activities Read the story “The Wedding Dance” by Amador Daguio. Read the story and observe the mood used by the author in developing his story. Then do the ollowing exercises: 1. List five evidences  (word, phrase or sentence) that express  the mood of the story. 2. 4 Lesson 4 Character and Setting in a Short Story 3. Introduction 4. Making decisions among the young is very critical and hazardous. It is during youth that most actions are done hastily and aggressively especially to those who are not so exposed to varied experiences. This lesson will show you how a young man who grows  in the rural area who has not seen the hardship of life makes a haste decision that gives him a great lesson in life. You will also find out how it feels to stay in the barrio with less exposure to the adversities of life. 5. 4. Character and Setting 6. [pic] 7. Character 8. Creating  characters is an art in the craft of storytelling. Characters especially the developing ones take you on a journey. One of the keys to understand a short story is its characters. They act out from the beginning to the end for the fulfillment of some issues of human need as they engage the attention of the readers. When the author introduces his characters, he sees to it that the characters are focus of the story. 9. For example, if courage is the main issue in a story, the storyteller can set a character into an environmentdesigned to compel them to act. That’s how a story’s promise is made visible.

It establishes both why charactersact and why the readers should care. 10. Readers want to believe how the characters can accomplish. That is how the readers believe in themselves too. When the protagonist experiences pain and hurt, success and happiness in the story, the readers also feel the same way. The author should be very careful in creating his characters because they are used by the readers as their models and acquire the characteristics presented by these characters. 11. For example, in Romeo and Juliet, Romeo and Juliet are created to be strong-willed characters in love with the idea of love. They are characters who refuse to allow anything, even death, to be obstacles to their love proving itself.

By their actions, they bring this story about love to life in a way readers have enjoyed for centuries. Because their actions arise from the story’s dramatic purpose, they manifest the story’s movement to fulfillment. 12. Once the storyteller understands the role their characters serve for an audience, they can better perceive why such characters should be introduced in a particular manner. It is very important for the storyteller to introduce characters to sink in who the characters are and what issues they have to resolve. In short story, it is very convenient for the writer to use only one or two main characters in a scene so that the readers can clearly identify with and understand the issues of the character.

The characters that are instrumental in advancing the story are given prominent introduction and those that do not have dramatic purpose are introduced for a later time. 13. Setting 14. The setting is an element that authors use to  influence the reader’s imagination. It tells us what time of day it is, what the weather is like and where the story is located. The setting uses details to bring the story alive – these details are based on the five senses. These five senses enable you to imagine the story if you can hear it, see it, taste it, smell it and touch. Setting plays an important role in the success of stories. Three examples of this importance can be explained through “How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife”. The setting used in that story sets the reader’s mood.

A good writer’s depiction of setting puts the reader right into the story. In that story, “How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife”, Nagrebcan, the hometown of Leon affects the humble and simple character of Leon and Baldo, This setting is vital to the story because the place – the wide fields, papaya plants, singing birds, etc. become the characters’ especially Maria’s basis of showing a reserved, friendly and plain character. The ideas, customs and beliefs, sights and sounds are hints for the reader to identify the setting. 15. 4. 2 “Footnote to Youth” by Jose Garcia Villa 16. [pic] 17. Footnote to Youth 18. Jose Garcia Villa 19. The sun was salmon and hazy in the West.

Dodong thought to himself he would 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 import as it would mark a climacteric  in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, but a thought came to him 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. 20. The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthly smell. Many slender soft worms emerged from the furrows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil.

A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled clammily over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where it fell, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young anymore. 21. Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and gave it a tap on his 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 with him to the shed. He placed bundles of grass before it and the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest. 22. 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, the down on his upper lip already 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. 23. 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 foe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought wild young dreams of himself and Teang. 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. 24. Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscles of his arms. Dirty. This field work was healthy, invigorating, but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek. 25. Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray undershirt 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. 26. It was dusk when he reached home.

The petroleum lamp on the ceiling already was lighted and the low unvarnished square table was set for supper. His parents and he sat downon the floor around the table to eat. Dodong ate fish and rice, but he did not partake of the fruit. The bananas wee overripe and when one held them they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of caked sugr, 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 parents. 27. Dodng’s mother removed his dishes when they were through, and went out to the batalan to wash them. She walked with slow but careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes out, but he was tired and now fet 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. 28. His father remained in the room, sucking 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. 29. Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what he had to say, and over wih he had done so much thinking.

He had said it without any effort at all and without self-consciousness. Dodong felt relieved and looked at his father expectantly. A decrescent moon outside shed its feeble light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father looked old now. 30. “I am going to marry Teang,” Dodong said. 31. His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth. The silence became intense and cruel, and dodong wished his father would suck that troublous tooth again. Dodong was uncomfortable and then became angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anyting. 32. “I will marry Teang,” Dodong repeated. “I will marry Teang. ” 33.

His father kept gazing at him in inflexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat. 34. “I asked her last night to marry me and she said…yes. I want your permission. I…want…it. ” There was impatient clamor in his voice, an exciting protest at his coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sounds it made broke dully the night stillness. 35. “Must you marry, Dodong? ” 36. Dodong resented his father’ question; his father himself had married. Dodong made a quick impassioned essay in his mind about selfishness, but later he got confused. 37. “You are very young, Dodong. ” 38. I’m… seventeen. ” 39. “That’s  very young to get married at. ” 40. “Tell your mother,” his father said. 41. “You tell her, tatay. ” 42. “Dodong, you tell your inay. ” 43. “You tell her. ” 44. “All right, Dodong. ” 45. “You will let me marry, teang? ” 46. “Son, if that is our 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. 47. Dodong was immensely glad he had asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father. For a while he even felt sorry for himabout the diseased tooth. Then he confined his mind to dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dreams… 48. * * * 49.

Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely, so that his camiseta was 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 seemed to cage him, to compress his thought with severe tyranny. Afraid also of Teang. Teang was giving birth in the house; she gave screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that, she seemd to have rebuking him. He began to wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth did not cry. 50.

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…”your son,” people would soon be telling him. “Your son, Dodong. ” 51. Dodong felt tired standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his nfeet close together. He looked at his calloused toes. Suppose he had ten children…what made him think that? What was the matter with him? God! 52. He heard his mother’s voice from the house. 53. “Come up, Dodong. Its over. ” 54. Of a sudden he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her.

Somehow he was ashamed to his motherof his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust dirt off his kundiman shorts. 55. “Dodong. ” His mother called again. “Dodong. ” 56. He turned to look again and this time saw his father beside his mother 57. “It’s a boy,” his father said. He beckoned dodong to come up. 58. Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. What a moment for him. His parents’ eyes seemed to pierce him through and he felt limp. He wanted to hide from them, to run away. 59. “Dodong, you come up. You come up, “ his mother said. 60. Dodong did not want to come up and stayed in the sun. 61. Dodong, Dodong. ” 62. “I’ll … come up. ” 63. Dodong traced tremolous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parents’ eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty and untrue. He felt like crying. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him. 64. His father thrust his hand in his and gripped it gently. 65. “Son,” his father said. 66. And his mother, “Dodong…” 67. How kind were their voices. They flowed into him, making him strong. 68. “Teang? ” Dodong said. 69. “She’s sleeping. But you go in…” 70.

His father led him to the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his girl wife, asleep on the papag with her black hair soft around her face. He did not want her to look that pale… 71. Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stay wisp of hair that touched her lips, but again that feeling of embarrassment came over him and before his parents he did not want to be demonstrative. 72. The hilot was wrapping the child. Dodong heart it cry. The thin voice pierced him queerly. He could not control the swelling happiness in him. 73. “You gave him to me. You gave him to me,” Dodong said. 74. 75. * * * 76. Blas was not Dodong’s only child. Many more children came.



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