tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75744737302492833062024-03-14T01:23:49.236-07:00ESTRELLA ALFONMagnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-38581772385668565892013-03-20T16:35:00.003-07:002013-03-20T16:42:13.441-07:00Mill of the Gods by Estrella Alfon<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Among us who lived in Espeleta – that street that I love, about whose people I keep telling tales – among us, I say, there was one named Martha, and she was the daughter of Pio and Engracia.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">To all of us, life must seem like a road given us to travel, and it is up to Fate, that convenient blunderer, whether, that road be broad and unwinding, or whether it shall be a tortuous lane, its path a hard and twisted mat of dust and stones. And each road, whether lane or avenue, shall have its own landmarks, that only the traveller soul shall recognize and remember, and remembering, continue the journey again. To Martha, the gods gave this for a first memory: a first scar.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">She was a girl of twelve, and in every way she was but a child. A rather dull child, who always lagged behind the others of her age, whether in study or in play. Life had been so far a question of staying more years in a grade than the others, of being told she would have to apply herself a little harder if she didn’t want the infants catching up with her. But that was so dismal thing. She had gotten a little bit used to being always behind. To always being the biggest girl in her class. Even in play there was some part of her that never managed to take too great a part – she was so content if they always made her “it” in a game of tag, if only they would let her play. And when she had dolls, she was eager to lend them to other girls, if they would only include her in the fascinating games she could not play alone.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">This was she, then. Her hair hung in pigtails each side of her face, and already it irked a little to have her dresses too short. She could not help in her mother’s kitchen, and could be trusted to keep her room clean, but she was not ready for the thing her mother told her one night when she was awakened from sleep.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">It was a sleep untroubled by dreams, then all of a sudden there was an uproar in the house, and she could hear her mother’s frenzied sobbing, and it was not sobbing that held as much of sorrow as it did of anger. She lay still for a while, thinking perhaps she was dreaming, until she could hear her father’s grunted answers to the half – understood things her mother was mouthing at him. Then there were sounds that was clearly the sound of two bodies struggling in terrible fury with each other. She stood up, and like a child, cried into the night. Mother?</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">She wailed the word, in her panic finding a little relief in her own wailing, Mother? And she heard her mother’s voice call her, panting out, saying, Martha, come quickly, come into this room!</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha got up and stood at the door of the room, hesitating about opening it, until her mother, the part of a terrible grasp, said Martha! So Martha pushed in the door, and found her mother and her father locked in an embrace in which both of them struggled and panted and had almost no breath left for words. Martha stood wide – eyed and frightened, not knowing what to do, just standing there, even though she had seen what it was they struggled for. A kitchen knife, blade held upwards in her mother’s hand. Her arms were pinioned to her sides by her husband, but her wild eyes, the frenzy with which she stamped her feet on his feet, and kicked him in the shins, and tried to bite him with her teeth, these were more terrible than the glint of that shining blade. It was her father who spoke to her saying urgently, Martha, reach for her knife, take it away. Yet Martha stood there and did not comprehend until her mother spoke, saying No, no; Martha, your father deserves to be killed. Then it was Martha who realized what she was to do, and slowly, hesitantly, she went near them, her fear of both of them in this terrible anger they now presented making her almost too afraid to reach up for the knife. But reach up she did, and with her child’s fingers, put her mother’s away from the weapon. And when she had it in her hands she did not know what to do with it, except look at it. It wasn’t a very sharp knife, but its blade was clean, and its hilt firm. And so she looked at it, until her father said. Throw it out of the window, Martha and without thinking, she went to a window, opened a casement and threw it away.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Then her father released her mother, and once her mother had gotten her arms free, she swung back her hand, and wordlessly, slapped him; slapped him once, twice, three times, alternating with her hands, on alternate cheeks, until her father said. That’s enough, Engracia. And saying so, he took her hands in his, led her resisting to the bed, and made her sit down.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">And Martha was too young to wonder that her father, who was a big man, should have surrendered to the repeated slapping from her mother who was a very small frail woman.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Her father said, “Aren’t you ashamed now Martha has seen?”</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">And immediately her mother screamed to him, “Ashamed? Me, ashamed? I’ll tell Martha about you!”</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Her father looked at Martha still standing dumbly by the window out of which she had thrown the knife, and said, “No, Aciang, she is just a child.” And to her: “Martha, go back to bed.”</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">But now her mother jumped up from the bed, and clutched at Martha, and brought her to bed with her. And deliberately without looking at Martha’s father, she said, Martha you are not too young to know. And so, the words falling from her lips with a terrible quiet, she told Martha. The words that were strange to her ears, Martha heard them, and listened to them, and looked from her mother to her father, and without knowing it, wetting her cheeks with her tears that fell. And then her mother stopped talking, and looking at her husband, she spat on him, and Martha saw the saliva spatter on the front of the dark shirt he wore. She watched while her father strode over them, and slowly, also deliberately, slapped her mother on the cheek. Martha watched his open palm as he did it, and felt the blow as though it had been she who had been hit. Then her father strode out of the room, saying nothing, leaving them alone.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">When her father had gone, Martha’s mother began to cry, saying brokenly to Martha, “It is that woman, that woman!” And making excuses to Martha for her father, saying it was never completely the man’s fault. And Martha listened bewildered, because this was so different from the venomous words her mother had told her while her father was in the room. And then her mother, still weeping, directed her to look for her father and Martha went out of the room.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Her father was not in the house. The night was very dark as she peered out of the windows to see is she could find him outside, but he was nowhere. So she went back to her mother, and told her she could not find her father. Her mother cried silently, the tears coursing down her cheeks, and her sobs tearing through her throat. Martha cried with her, and caressed her mother’s back with her hands, but she had no words to offer, nothing to say. When her mother at last was able to talk again, she told Martha to go back to bed. But it wasn’t the child that entered who went out of that room.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">And yet the terror of that night was not so great because it was only a terror half – understood. It wasn’t until she was eighteen, that the hurt of that night was invested with its full measure. For when she was eighteen, she fell in love. She was a girl of placid appearance, in her eyes the dreaming stolid night of the unawakened. She still was slow to learn, still not prone to brilliance. And when she fell in love she chose the brightest boy of her limited acquaintance to fall in love with. He was slightly older than herself, a little too handsome, a trifle too given to laughter. Espeleta did not like him; he was too different from the other young me n on the street. But Martha loved him. You could see that in the way she looked at him, the way she listened to him.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha’s pigtails had lengthened. She now wore her braids coiled on the top of her head like a coronet, and it went well with the placid features, the rather full figure. She was easily one of our prettier maidens. It was well that she was not too brilliant. That she did not have any too modern ideas. The air of shyness, the awkward lack of sparkling conversation suited her Madonna – like face and calm. And her seriousness with love was also part of the calm waiting nature. It did not enter her head that there are such things as play, and a game. And a man’s eagerness for sport. And so when she noticed that his attentions seemed to be wandering, even after he had admitted to a lot of people that they were engaged, she asked him, with the eager desperation of the inexperienced, about their marriage.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">He laughed at her. Laughed gently, teasingly, saying they could not get married for a long time yet; he must repay his parents first for all that they had done for him. He must first be sure to be able to afford the things she deserved. Well turned phrases he said his excuses with. Charming little evasions. And if she did not see through them while he spoke them, his frequent absences, where his visits had been as a habit; his excuses to stay away when once no amount of sending him off could make him stay away; these but made her see. And understand.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">And then the way neighbours will, they tried to be kind to her. For they could see her heart was breaking and they tried to say sweet things to her, things like her being far too good for him. And then they heard that he had married. Another girl. And they saw her grief, and thought it strange that a girl should grieve over an undeserving lover or so. She lost a little of the plumpness that was one of her charms. And into her eyes crept a hurt look to replace the dreaming. And Espeleta, with all the good people, strove to be even kinder to her. Watched her grief and pitied her. And told her that whatever mistakes she had committed to make her grieve so, to make her suffer so, they understood and forgave. And they did not blame her. But now that she had learned her lesson, she must beware. She knew her own father as much as they knew about him. And it was in the Fates that his sins must be paid for. If not by himself, then by whom but she who was begotten by him? So, didn’t she see? How careful she should be? Because you could, they said it to her gently, kindly, cruelly, because she could if she were careful, turn aside the vengeance of the implacable fates. And she believed them kind although she hated their suspicions. She believed them kind, and so she started, then, to hate her father. And that night long ago came back to her, and she wished she had not thrown that knife away.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Espeleta saw Martha turn religious. More religious than Iya Andia and Iya Nesia, who were old and saw death coming close, and wanted to be assured of the easing of the gates of heaven. Espeleta approved. Because Espeleta did not know what she prayed for. Because they saw only the downcast eyes under the light veil, the coil of shining hair as it bowed over the communion rail.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Yet Martha’s mother and father still lived together. They never had separated. Even after that night, when she was twelve years old and frightened, and she had called for him and looked for him and not found him. The next day he had come back, and between her mother and him there was a silence. They slept in the same bed, and spent the nights in the same room, and yet Martha and Espeleta knew he had another bed, another chamber. Espeleta praised Martha’s mother for being so patient. After Martha had fallen in love, when she began hating her father truly then also she began despising her mother.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">You did not know it to look at Martha. For her coil of braided hair was still there, and the shy way of speaking, and the charming awkwardness at conversation. And Martha made up her earlier lack of lustre by shining in her class now. She was eighteen and not through high school yet. But she made up for it by graduating with high honours. Espeleta clapped its hands when she graduated. Gave her flowers. Her mother and father were there, too. And they were proud. And to look at Martha, you would think she was proud too, if a little too shy still.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha studied nursing. And started having visitors in her mother’s house again. Doctors this time. Older men, to whom her gravity of manner appealed, and the innate good sense that seemed so patient in her quiet demeanour. Espeleta was now rather proud of Martha. She seemed everything a girl should be, and they cited her as an example of what religion could do. Lift you out of the shadow of your inheritance. For look at Martha. See how different she is from what should be her father’s daughter.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">But what they did not know was that all of these doctors Martha had to choose someone slightly older than the rest. And where the girl of eighteen that she had been almost a child unschooled, now she was a woman wise and wary. Where the other nurses knew this doctor only as someone who did not like their dances as much as the younger ones, who did not speak as lightly, as flippantly of love as the younger ones, Martha knew why he didn’t.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Between the two of them there had been, form the very start, a quick lifting of the pulse, an immediate quickening of the breath. From the very start. And where he could have concealed the secrets of life, he chose the very first time they were able to talk to each other, to tell her that he was not free. He had a wife, and whether he loved her or not, whether she was unfaithful to him or not, which she was, there had been the irrevocable ceremony to bind them, to always make his love for any other woman, if he ever fell in love again, something that must be hidden, something that might not see light.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">She was a woman now, Martha was. Wise and wary. But there is no wisdom, no weariness against love. Not the kind of deep love she knew she bore him. And as even she him, she found within herself the old deep – abiding secret hate. Against her father. Against the laws of man and church. Against the very fates that seemed rejoiced in making her pay for a sin she had not committed. She now learned of bitterness. Because she could not help thinking of that night, long ago, when her mother had sat on the bed, and in deliberate words told her just what kind of a father she had. It had been as though her mother had shifted on to her unwilling, unready shoulders the burden of the sorrows, the goad of the grief.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Espeleta, that was so quick to censure, and to condemn; even Espeleta had taken the situation in Martha’s house as something that could not be helped. And as long as there was no open strife, Espeleta made excuses for a thing that, they said, had been designed by Fate. Martha’s father came home. Acted, on the surface, the good husband. And since he was married to Martha’s mother, so must Martha’s mother bear it, and welcome him home again. Because she would rather he came home, then went to the other one, wouldn’t she? Espeleta cited heavenly rewards. For Martha’s mother. And Martha went to church regularly, and was a good nurse. And still called her father, Father.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">You have heard that one of course, about the mill of the gods, how they “grind exceedingly fine, and grind exceedingly slow.” Espeleta hadn’t heard that one, nor had Martha. But Espeleta of course would have a more winded version of it. Anyhow, one day at the hospital, Martha was attendant nurse at an emergency case. A man had been shot. There were three bullets through his chest, but he was still alive. Martha laughed queerly to herself, saying I must be dreaming, I am imagining that man has my father’s face.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">It was the doctor she loved who was in charge. With a queer dreaming feeling, she raised her eyes to meet his, and was shocked to see him drop his gaze, and over his face steal a twist as of pain, as of pity. They were instantly their efficient selves again, cloaking themselves in the impersonal masks of physician and nurse. It was as if he who lay there beneath their instruments and their probing fingers was any man, the way it could be any man. Not her father. But all while, training and discipline unavailing. Martha said to herself, but it is my father.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">He died on the table. He never gained consciousness. Martha drew the sheet over his face and form. And watched as they wheeled him out of the room. She still had the instruments to put away and the room to put in order. But this did not take long and when she went out into the corridor, she found her mother weeping beside the shrouded form on the wheeled table. There was a policeman beside her awkwardly trying with gruff words to console the little woman over her loss. Beside the policeman stood also the doctor, who passed an arm around the shoulder of Martha’s mother, saying simply, we tried to save him.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha joined them, knowing that she should be in tears, yet finding that she had none to shed. It would ease the tightness within her, would loosen the hard knot in her heart to cry. But you cannot summon tears when you feel no grief, and the pain you feel is not of sorrow but of the cruel justness of things. She could not even put her arms around her weeping mother. When the doctor told her that she would be excused from duty the rest of the day, that he would arrange it for her, she did not thank him. She did not say anything for indeed she no longer had any words, nor any emotions that required speech. Or should be given speech. For one cannot say, how right! How just! When one’s father has just died.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Her mother and she took a taxi together to accompany the hearse that took her father home. There was a crowd awaiting them. Espeleta in tears. Espeleta crying condolence and opprobrium in the same breath. It was from them – their good neighbours, their kind neighbours – that Martha learned how “God’s justice had overtaken the sinner.”</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Colon is not as intimate as Espeleta. For it is a long street and broad street. But where the railroad crosses it, the houses group together in intimate warmth and neighbourly closeness and its families live each other’s lives almost as meddlingly as Espeleta does. And is as avid for scandals as Espeleta is. Among the people in Martha’s house were some from Colon. And it was they who supplied the grimmer details, the more lucid picture.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">In that other woman’s house – and Martha did not even know the other woman’s name there had existed the stalemate state of affairs that had existed in Martha’s house. Only where in Martha’s house it had been a wife who was patient, in that other woman’s house it had been the husband who had bided his time. And yet the neighbours had thought he had not cared. For indeed he had seemed like a man blind and deaf, and if he raised his voice against his wife, it was not so they could hear it. Yet today, he had come home, after he had said he was going away somewhere. And had come upon Martha’s father in the house, and had, without saying anything, taken out his revolver, and shot at him.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha heard all these. And thought you know often life seems like an old – fashioned melodrama, guns and all. And yet the gun had not gone off. It had jammed, and Martha’s father had been able to run. And running, even as he seemed far enough from the house to be safe, the gun in the husband’s hand had come right again. The man had gone out in the street, aimed at the fleeing figure. That explained why the bullets had gone in through his back and out through his chest. They said that the street was spattered with blood and where he fell, there was a pool of gory red. The killer had surrendered himself at once. But everyone knew he would not pay with his life he had taken. For the woman was his wife and he had come upon them in his own home.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Martha stayed with the kind condolers only a while. She left her mother for them to comfort as best as they could. They would have praises like “The good God knows best;” they would have words like, “Your grief is ended, let your other grief commence.” She went to look at her father lying well arranged now in his bier. Already in spite of the manner of his death, there were flowers for him. Death had left no glare in the eyes that the doctor at the hospital had mercifully closed, over the features lingered no evidence of pain. And Martha said, Death was kind to you.</span></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="line-height: 20.796875px;" /></span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">In Martha’s room there hung a crucifix. Upon the crossed wood was the agonized Christ, His eyes soft and deep and tender, even in his agony. But as Martha knelt, and lighted her candles, and prayed, in her eyes was no softness, and on her lips no words appealing for pity for him who had died. There was only the glitter of a justice meted out at last, and the thankfulness for a punishment fulfilled. So she gave thanks, very fervent thanks. For now, she hoped, she would cease to pay.</span></span><br /><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Reference</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #ffe599; line-height: 20.796875px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Mill of the Gods" by Alfon, Estrella. Philippine Literature. Web. 121 March 2013. <http://gabrielslibrary.blogspot.com/2010/04/mill-of-gods-estrella-alfon.html></span>Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-88348101599171430622013-03-19T22:01:00.000-07:002013-03-19T22:05:53.707-07:00Links to Other Blogs and Websites<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">*Click to go to said links</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>STORIES</u></span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://gabrielslibrary.blogspot.com/2010/04/mill-of-gods-estrella-alfon.html" target="_blank">Mill of the Gods</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.oocities.org/phil_stories/alfon_magnificence.html" target="_blank">Magnificence</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/48740044/Rice-Estrella-Alfon" target="_blank">Rice</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>WEBSITES/BLOGS</u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
Estrella D. Alfon - Prolific Filipina Writer from Cebu<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://cbrainard.blogspot.com/2012/09/estrella-d-alfon-prolific-filipina.html" target="_blank">Travels (and more) with Cecilia Brainard</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.slideshare.net/nicoleartuz/estrella-alfon-life-and-works" target="_blank">Estrella Alfon - slideshare</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
Lit102 - Philippine Literature<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://lit102.blogspot.com/2007/08/servant-girl-by-estrella-alfon.html" target="_blank">Servant Girl Critique</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
Biography<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://cebubookclub.wordpress.com/2012/09/09/estrella-alfon-profile/" target="_blank">Estrella D. Alfon Biography</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
Life and Works of Estrella Alfon<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.studymode.com/essays/Life-And-Works-Of-Estrella-Alfon-1431589.html" target="_blank">Life and Works</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<br />Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-59729759459784399422013-03-19T20:09:00.000-07:002013-03-20T16:40:55.556-07:00CRITIQUE: Low Wall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEePUg6gcQU7PQr7k0EP8f8qg9-t7xStOzriWd2R-XRvvkrXwlnBB4n8loRXam-ahCKy5UEs04KECEPMI_b_eDE1JVcdjfskBLjoX3nLw-j1SNfnEDiEmx4u3-I-kRyroqbxZtmzEizfXO/s1600/1.1259808760.manila-suburbs-and-squatters-shacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEePUg6gcQU7PQr7k0EP8f8qg9-t7xStOzriWd2R-XRvvkrXwlnBB4n8loRXam-ahCKy5UEs04KECEPMI_b_eDE1JVcdjfskBLjoX3nLw-j1SNfnEDiEmx4u3-I-kRyroqbxZtmzEizfXO/s320/1.1259808760.manila-suburbs-and-squatters-shacks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The Story, Low Wall by Estrella Alfon talks about a girl told her story about her experience while she was taking a bath inside her home. She described her house with weak foundations and low walls. She talks about how difficult it was for them to take a bath because of the low walls for people came and tried to sneak on them. She describe the problems they had with the noise around their house for buildings and constructions were surrounding them and more and more infrastructures were leaving them behind.<br />
<br />
She then talks about an incident wherein she was taking a bath and caught a man watching her bathe. She scram and her mother came in and helped her change since she was filled with anger that she could not think straight. Her father came back with the man and with she guessed to be the man's father. She wanted to slap the man across the face but then seeing him infront of her with eyes filled with guilt and fear, she gave up and decided to let it go.<br />
<br />
In this story, Estrella Alfon shows the changes one experiences within the society. Since the girl was living in a house that was not urbanized or was not well-built, she felt the problems and difficulties that were rising because of the construction of buildings around their home and the changes in the society's attitudes and thinkings like changing the way she dressed.<br />
<br />
When she encounters the man who she caught watching her with she bathe, we can see how she changed her mind when she had the decision to punish the man. It can be said that she felt like she could not do anything anymore for she she felt pity for the man for she also blames herself for the reason why this man did the act.<br />
<br />
Over all, the story can be related to so many people. The feeling of getting left behind the fast changing society is so evident in people that they try their best to adjust to these different scenarios in life. The struggle that one encounters in order to keep up with their surroundings and the struggles that come with it along the way. Estrella Alfon was able to show a side of the society where people struggle to adjust to a more 'urban' or more 'industrialized' society.<br />
<br />
References:<br />
"Property owner's guide in how to eject squatters effectively". CGBP blog. 2011. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://globalbestpractices.blogspot.com/2011/05/property-owners-guide-on-how-to-eject.html><br />
<br />
"Low Wall" by Alfon, Estrella. Booksgoogle.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://booksgoogle.com.ph/book:-philippine+book+short+stories><br />
<br />
<br />Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-79653305006607534462013-03-19T10:53:00.002-07:002013-03-20T05:02:20.465-07:00CRITIQUE: Servant Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uxst32fOetNRshW8MquWpw7EQGc7AZtU3LikUnQRQ54fiEamrnvPKvjN09TkGxbaSS9vlug8Ook5Kt04NREl2Wy-ruaFPNMHzCkEXNcjNeiJC0b8cEDshpOlhapkSVIK7ZFHIyuEXsin/s1600/servant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uxst32fOetNRshW8MquWpw7EQGc7AZtU3LikUnQRQ54fiEamrnvPKvjN09TkGxbaSS9vlug8Ook5Kt04NREl2Wy-ruaFPNMHzCkEXNcjNeiJC0b8cEDshpOlhapkSVIK7ZFHIyuEXsin/s320/servant.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>
<br />
Estrella Alfon's Servant Girl talks about Rosa, an abused maid who longs for freedom, happiness and love. She was being maltreated by her mistress and was hoping that one day she would be able to be freed from all the abuse she was experiencing. Then one day, while she was out, carrying a basin on her head with her mistress' clothes, she accidentally slipped and fell causing for her ankle to swell. A man in his tartanilla stopped and helped her with her basin.<br />
<br />
After the incident, Rosa felt happy and somewhat in love with the cochero. Imagining him wanting him to see her and wanting him to hear her voice. She would sing aloud when her mistress was in an up mood so she would not be scolded and she would imagine how the cochero, even though he cannot see her, he would long for her voice. She would also imagine him passing her mistress' house while she was inside and so that was the reason why she could not see him. She pitied those who would mock her for she believed that she had an 'Angel' that took care of her when she was in distress.<br />
<br />
Then one day, she encounters a cochero who was recklessly riding his tarantilla. Due to her anger, she threw a stone and the cochero got angry. He threatened Rosa that he would bring her to the municipio but then she realized who it was. It was 'Angel' who was infront of her. She kept calling him Angel but he kept saying that that was not his name. He did not recognize Rosa until she mentioned the first time they encountered each other.<br />
<br />
After this incident, she then realized how much she was just imagining 'their love' and that all of it was not real. And that 'Angel', now his real name 'Pedro' did not think of anything when he helped Rosa when she was injured. And so Rosa went back to her mistress' house and continued on with her job.<br />
<br />
In this story, we can say that it can be related to so many real-life situations of those who are in the same position as Rosa. It tells us the sad reality of some of the people working under others who have a higher societal class than them. The abuses that one experiences is caused by the superior thinking of their 'masters'. Estrella Alfon's work shares the story of Rosa and her experiences being a maid under someone who abuses her. It captures the emotional roller coaster than she has; from the crying to the joy of having an 'Angel' then coming back to the state of mind of who she really is and what she is doing.<br />
<br />
The use of 'Angel' as Pedro's name before Rosa knew, symbolized even though it was just for a brief moment, the longing for happiness and freedom of Rosa. The way she imagined Angel seemed like he was also loning for her and that he was looking for a way to see and be with her again. Estrella Alfon was able to show how desperate Rosa felt in order to feel happiness. The thoughts and illusions that she was having was a simple way to get away from all the hardships that she was encountering day in and day out. It was a way for her to tell herself that she has it better among other people for they did not have an Angel that took care of them when they were in need. It was a reason for her to be happy.<br />
<br />
But then, at the end of the Estrella's story, it shows how her imagination took her to a place in her mind that did not exist. The sad truth that Angel or Pedro did not think of anything of his kind gesture to this woman brought her back to reality that what she was just imagining was just an illusion for her to get away from the abuses that she was experiencing inside her mistress' house.<br />
<br />
Estrella Alfon shows another sad side of a person is the same condition as Rosa. In reality, it can be said that there are people who, unfortunately, can relate to Rosa's experiences. The writer was able to show and share all the thoughts and emotions of Rosa throughout the entire story. This work o Estrella Alfon will surely bring you to a realization that even though it is hard to say, the reality is there is really cases like this all over the country and the world. This work will definitely get us reflecting on how we treat others.<br />
<br />
<br />
Reference (photo and story):<br />
"Servant girl" by Alfon, Estrella. Sushidog.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://sushidog.com/bpss/stories/servant.htm><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-9438532307620955612013-03-19T10:10:00.000-07:002013-03-20T04:52:49.657-07:00CRITIQUE: O Perfect Day<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-PH</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:0in;
mso-para-margin-left:.75in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
text-indent:.5in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdxYpEQuYeCqAeV3axP6KRpJLN-OLWTzKKHWMn3ZAwY9154hHrjrlKfM8SaMHBDL1ihDlZ3KJ5mmId6Er7mNgPzkl0HzjaZbNVz_YA6_2O56Hu7-y5B41ykQFQZa8iMBi5-FsL36LA8bhu/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdxYpEQuYeCqAeV3axP6KRpJLN-OLWTzKKHWMn3ZAwY9154hHrjrlKfM8SaMHBDL1ihDlZ3KJ5mmId6Er7mNgPzkl0HzjaZbNVz_YA6_2O56Hu7-y5B41ykQFQZa8iMBi5-FsL36LA8bhu/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h2>
<i><b>O PERFECT DAY</b></i></h2>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The story started at a bus as
they went home from their trip. It is about a very nice trip with their friends
and family. Well for others like Bebe it was not a very happy trip. There are
things that happened that made her sad. Like what happened to her and Kint. She
is also afraid of some things just like what happened to her when she was
young. Also she is like daydreaming about the vampire and other stuff. While the
others had their nice day she had a very different day. Her day wasn’t so nice.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
The story is well written. It is
like that you will feel that you are in that same place as where the author’s
is telling. You feel that you are in that place with the happy people around. For
her having this “perfect day” is not about being happy. Perfect day for her is
about feeling everything, laughing, being sad etc. She also spent time with the
loved ones like her family and friends. Even there is a conflict between her
and Klint. She feels that it is still a perfect day to look forward to the next
day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maybe like this story we should
learn to look at things in life in a different way. Maybe there are times that
our day isn’t right but we should look it the other way. Maybe this is a trial
in our life. We should be thankful for that day that we have and just be happy
and go on. Tomorrow will bring us our dreams and also our fears. Life is hard,
but just goes on and think positive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
I can say that her story is well written. Estrella Alfon received many Palanca Awards. She is a very good writer. She makes you feel that you are with her as she writes her stories about "Perfect Day". Maybe this is an old story or old setting but still it feels that you can see what she wants you to see as I read the story. After reading this book it made me feel to think positively about my day. Even how worst my day is, I just need to see the next day and what it holds. <br />
<br />
Reference:<br />
"O Perfect Day" by Alfon, Estrella. Booksgoogle.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://booksgoogle.com.ph/book:-philippine+book+short+stories></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-73166771151335078512013-03-19T07:56:00.002-07:002013-03-20T04:53:23.942-07:00CRITIQUE: Magnificence<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASQofboECuIZTWn4SSsuRumtc2PjfHIn4l4Au_2IxnAwhOWhG0N8wOt_s6nufmZxXCZIZznkz35nCTgY20MUqo52uj6CmPzF26CSVkFD05foyz6vUU-fNRD5WR25CQgFSMI8pXLJMzqcT/s1600/mother+and+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASQofboECuIZTWn4SSsuRumtc2PjfHIn4l4Au_2IxnAwhOWhG0N8wOt_s6nufmZxXCZIZznkz35nCTgY20MUqo52uj6CmPzF26CSVkFD05foyz6vUU-fNRD5WR25CQgFSMI8pXLJMzqcT/s200/mother+and+child.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h2>
<b><i>MAGNIFICENCE</i></b></h2>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The story is about the little girl who almost got molested
by his tutor. His name is Vicente. He is a conductor and volunteered as a tutor
for extra money. The father of the family is very busy he usually don’t talk
too much with the children. It is usually the mom who is there but then when it
is tutor time they are left by their mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the story of Estrella Alfon is well written. It
shows here in this story that sometimes you need to give more time for the
children. Maybe if the father is just more observant about the people around him
and not too busy with his job maybe he will notice something. For me this is
what Estrella Alfon wants to tells us. Let’s be observant with the people that
goes inside our hearts. There are people that will try to take advantage of us.
Like in this situation, they didn't even bother to check his background why he
seem so fond with the kids. Maybe he love the kids but is there something that
more that he wants. I can see the urge of the mother to slap Vicente. As a
mother she protected her daughter. She don’t let any mosquito bite her
daughter. Then this guy tried to molest her daughter. But then after that the
mother was still there. He really make sure that her daughter will feel well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Overall I can say that this is a good story. This can be
read by parents for them to realize that you need to maybe check on the people
that you trust your child with. You cannot trust everyone around you. Your children
are very precious. As a parent you want
them to be always safe with the people around. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Reference:<br />
"Servant girl." by Alfon, Estrella. Scribd.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://www.scribd.com/doc/34486874/Magnificence-Estrella-Alfon></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-73372547066222342222013-03-19T06:12:00.001-07:002013-03-20T04:54:00.061-07:00O Pefect Day by Estrella Alfon<br />
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">O PERFECT DAY</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Estrella D. Alfon</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">“You cannot write a story about today.”
Bebe was sitting on the seat beside me in the lurching bus that was taking us
home from Guadalupe. It was evening and there was a full moon. There were many
of us in the party.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Why can I not write about today? What happened
that would be so hard to write about?</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">“For one thing,” she said, “ we were very
happy. I try to read all your stores and they are never happy.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">But I can write about today. Very early
this morning, we went to the wharf to meet the boat that was bringing your
sister to us.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes,” Bebe said, “and we started being
very happy then.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We started being very happy then. How many
we were! There were my mother, and your mother, and your sister, Bingbing. Then
my brothers, Nene and Boy. That is the family. Of the others, there were
Asnsiang and her husband. And there was Luis, who is in love with your sister
Inday. And there was Kint.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">When we arrived at the wharf, there was
your father, too. And we waited, for the boat was late. Soon the sun was
glaring fiercely. It seems soon, because there was so much laughter to push
away the hours. Boy made a pretense of jumping into the sea and we cried, “ Oh
please don’t.”. The people looked to see what we were screaming at and then
smiled to ook at us. We laughed so. Because who would jump into the sea?
Certainly not Boy, who is fifteen and is in the throes of growing pains. We all
know he is in the grip of puppy love--- and for a girl older than himself. We
tease him so about it: about his sudden consciousness of neatness; the wave he
tries to put in his hair; his efforts to keep to the side of the road when we
are walking and <i>she </i> is with us; and about girls in general. He
tries to pretend he is angry, but how evident it always is that he only huge a
baskets on their backs, hung from their heads by straps of banana trunk fiber.
There are tomatoes, cheeky and colorful, in shallow woven trays on the heads of
children who have rolls of smoking tobacco in their mouths.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We come at short last to the cottage that
awaits us. Set at the foot of a hill; bamboo and nipa, unpainted, browned by
sun and rain. Torpedo, the keeper’s dog, chases some pigs away from the
cultivated plants and the rosebushes. There are chickens; and hens very jealous
of their chicks. There are green coconuts that await the splitting. And there
is a mango tree with its branches hanging low with clusters of green mangoes.
Boy finds a carabao lying placidly in the river. It is the keeper’s beast and
it knows Boy, so he clambers on its back, and now that animal is climbing
ponderously up the side of the hill, until Bebe screams that is should not be
ridden, pity the beast, it has just had a baby!</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">The keeper’s wife smooths out a mat and
brings out pillows, white-sheeted. We are so tired without eating; it is very
welcome to lie down and pat our stomachs. But someon suggest volleyball. There
is a court somewhere near; we can hear the smack of a ball being met by hands
and served and returned. There are men playing there, and we wait for them to finish their game. Then we take
sides--- all the women on this side; all the men on that side. We are so many
against them, and except for Inday, who captains all three (gosh!) of her
school’s teams, not one of us knows enough about the game to keep from chiding
the men because they serve hard balls, or because they toss the ball too far
out of our reach! But what is a game for except for shouting and jumping, even
if one never touches the ball at all!</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We played volleyball until the light grew
rather dim, and even then waited only because the ball fell plunk on to a cake
of carabao dung. </span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Someone brought out some <i>patadyongs </i>and we girls scurried into
what cover there was to change into them. Armed with dippers of coconut shell,
we went, Bingbing and I, to the riverbed where there was a well that we cleared
of moss and dipped into. There were wild bushes by the river’s bank, with many
flowers. We gathered these, and plucked their petals and sent them with the
water coursing away. How lovely they looked floating thus, petals of orange,
very small like confetti, many like stars. And then Bingbing, digging in the
well to make it deeper, said, “Come and see what I see.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Dusk was falling, but in the well,
nevertheless, the lightness of the heavens was very clear. I leaned over
Bingbing’s shoulder and watched my face among the clouds reflected in the
water; clouds that kept forever moving, so that now the well darkened, and now
lightened again. And then---I clasped my hands in delight, for while we watched
one star glimmered in the well. “Star light star bright, first star I’ve seen
tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” Bingbing
threw her head down and bent over so that her wet hair hung into the well, and
drops dripped from it and disturbed the image of the solitary star in the
water. Then the water cleared again, and now there were other early stars in
the sky. How early they were! Bingbing got up and went away.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I should be afraid. All around me there
are trees, and no the river there is now no person but myself, beside the cold
well, under the early stars. Bathing at night, or even at dusk had always held
a kind of fascinating terror for me. The cold water seems to envelope me in a
mantle that grips my limbs and prevents me from moving. A coldness creeps into
me that seems to reach my very bones and makes me shiver in chilled terror. I
remember how one night, with some friends of my mother, we went to Talisay in
our car, with Mother driving. I was a girl of twelve and I sat beside Mother in
the driver’s seat. The other matrons in the seat behind us were very gay, and I
joined in with their laughter. In Talisay, where there are swimming pools, we
asked the owner to fill a small pool for us. We changed into our bathing suits;
then we waited for the pool to fill until the moon was high. And the coconut
palms around the tank cast shadows of their leaves on the water. And then one
of our party announced that the pool was almost filled. We went into the water,
I staying in the shallow end. As soon as my body was wholly in the water, with
just my head out, I felt suddenly afraid, yet somehow, I didn’t want to get
out. Someone stood on the diving board, a slim mestiza, in a bathing suit that
for those days was very daring because it was white and molded her body like a
sheath. She poised herself, her body very straight, very white under the light
of the moon; her arms stretched out before her, her feet a tiptoe. She sprang
upl there was an arc of white through the air and a gentle cutting of the
water, and then she disappeared from view. I held my breath and waited for her
to come out, and when she did, she was near me, and my mother and the others
were clapping their hands.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">There was still that chilled terror with
me, but I gritted my teeth and bent my knees so that my head was covered by the
water, I was in the shallow end, yet somehow, with my head under the water and
my breath held, I had a sudden feeling I was alone in the world, in the pool,
that I was near to drowning and must hurry to save myself. I had only to stand
up, and my head would be out of the water, but some unreasonable panic
possessed me, and I thrashed my arms wildly about and opened my mouth to shout,
but I only drank in quantities of water; and then I had managed to stand up at
last, and I was breathing in hungry gasps of the cold air. There were my mother
and the others, out at the deep end, and they were laughing, and telling
stories, and daring each other to dive. But the feeling of being all alone
would not leave me, the feeling of danger from the water stayed with me, and I
grasped the iron railing that ran around the entire tank, swung myself out of
the water, and changed hurriedly into my clothes. But the chilliness never left
me. I wrapped myself in some towels but I could not drive away that awful
feeling of fear. All that night, I dreamed I was in the water, and my mother
woke me up once because I was screaming, and then in the morning, I was sick,
and the doctor said it was my lungs.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">That was so long ago. Here it was dark and
it was cold, and I was, I realized, afraid again. I poured some dippers full of
the water over myself. I imagined bogey men in the trees that clustered on the
banks, and when some chance winds made the bamboos creak, I thought it would be
someone calling to me, someone of the evil creatures that hide themselves and
prey on humans, like vampires, like witches--. I stood up quickly, left the
well, and ran to the others in the cottage. They were singing again, and
preparing a bamboo table out under the moon to eat our supper from. They seemed
so busy with their preparations, everything was so cheerful—the songs, the
moonlight, the food on the table--, that I laughed at myself and changed into
dry clothing, chiding my fancy for weaving such frightening thoughts.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We had no lights to eat by except a
solitary candle that someone found somewhere in the cottage. Usually the
keepers do not need light. This early, they are already in bed, all their
chores done. But there was light from the heavens and we saw well enough by
that. Our mothers began putting into the basket what things we must not leave
behind. We soon finished with supper and prepared ourselves for the walk to the
road, and the ride back home.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">There are no lights to walk by. There will
be mountains and there will be shadows. Ansiang whimpers we shall be so afraid.
But the keeper of the cottage gathers some withered coconut palm leaves, and
twists them into tight bundles, gives one to every boy in the party, and ligts
each torch from the precious candle. Kint keeps beside me, and Luis keeps
beside Inday. There is a sudden brilliance as the torches flare up; brilliance
that startles after the preceding dark. Te shadows move away, and draw up in
walls beyond the reach of our flares. Kint holds something in his hand that
looks lovely, a nosegay of white <i>kamuning
</i>flowers, and in their center, ringed around by their curling whiteness, a
single pink rose bud. Kint holds it out to me and says, “Picked it for you.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We raise our voices in song, through the
short walk to the road. There is more water in the river, and sometimes we
cannot help wetting our shoes. How ineffective is moonlight when there are so
many trees and mountains and your fears to cast their shadows!</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We are out on the road. We are in the
courtyard of the church. Behind the roof of a house, there appears a luminous
glow as of a fire rising up in flames. We point to it and wonder aloud what it
is. We do not have long to wait. The moon peeps over the roof, and we clap our
hands in delight. There are bamboo trees with turfs that look like giant
feathers when the moon’s glow is behind them; and coconut palms, their fronds
hanging demurely down, so that with a little fancy one can say they are maidens
casting their eues bashfully down before a suitor too bold.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Kint looks at the moon, and stamps out his
flare. He says, “ Do you remember?” I know what he has in mind: nights when we
used to walk to the pier and sit down and talk and sing; a whole crowd of us.
That was before he fell in love with me. When he did, he was barred from the
group and its singing, for he had committed a grievous breath of friendship. He
says, “ I am always asking do you remember, when there is nothing to remember!”
I look at him in silence, then before I know it, the cruel words have sprung
from my mouth. “Haven’t I shown you yet how bad I can be? Are you still in love
with me?” He turns his head away, and there is a fierceness about his mouth.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I walk away, feeling sorry for him. I
watch Luis sit on a big stone beside the church door. I watch his eyes follow
Inday about. And Inday keeps on singing and walking about among us, flinging
jokes at us, slinging off smart talk she must have learned in Manila. Inday’s
mother and my mother are talking together. I know them so well. Their talk will
be about me and Inday, and the others; about their hopes for us. They will
mention so many things they feel they can be proud of. They will have so many
dreams to tell about, and all through their words there will run their love for
us, their fear of anything happening to us. I go back to Kint and let him watch
me being careless with the flowers he has given me. I tell him of someone I
love very dearly. And he smiles at me and says he hopes I will be happy.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I sit down beside Luis and ask him not to
put his chin that way on his hand. But he says it is restful that way, and he
tries to join in the singing there is. The bus arrives and we take our seats in
it. Bebe sits beside me, and tells me I cannot write a story about today. There
is a moon in the sky. There are fragrances carried on the breeze. We pass a
cemetery and Ansiang points out the grace of her sister. There are so many
crosses, and they look so peaceful standing there in rows. My brother Nene
sings lustuly. But always Nene will be by himself; he and his jokes about women
and their defects, his apparent hardness to everything that one can cry about.
How hard it goes with a picture of him I have in my mind, when one day I saw
him taking a bath and he crossed himself before getting his head under shower.
My brother Boy, how big he is! Only yesterday I was boxing his ears and
bullying him.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I look at Kint and realize how I must have
hurt him… how I always have hurt him. A woman may feel triumphant about such
things but it will never be true that she is happy about them. There is Luis.
He will always love Inday too. Inday’s mother will always think of him or any
many unworthy because she loves Inday so much. Luis will always follow her
about and not speak to her, and dance with her but nit look into her eyes.
There are our mothers. They will always have such dreams of us, and we shall
always never quite fulfill them. They will always love us so much; it will
always hurt them to see us fall in love. Inday leads the singing. “Another
perfect day has gone away,” What peace that song breathes! Perfect day. Bebe
sings but she looks out of the bus window and watches the moon.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Today was perfect not just because it held
laughter; but because, like every other day, there were yesterdays to remember,
to cry about and to be glad about; and tomorrows to look forward to in fear and
hope.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
Reference:<br />
"O Perfect Day" by Alfon, Estrella. Booksgoogle.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://booksgoogle.com.ph/book:-philippine+book+short+stories></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-12602111656140583832013-03-19T06:11:00.000-07:002013-03-20T05:02:53.108-07:00Low Wall by Estrella Alfon<br />
<div class="paragraph2" style="text-align: left;">
LOW WALL </div>
<div class="paragraph2" style="text-align: left;">
by Estrella Alfon</div>
<div class="paragraph2" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I was taking a bath standing under the
cool clean water from the bathroom shower, soaping myself when I felt a small
missile hit my back and I saw a pellet of paper, such as little boys use to
load rubber slingshot, drop to the bathroom floor. Looking around me, and
looking up, I was just in time to see a pate lower itself, a man’s head quickly
disappear out of view behind the bathroom wall.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We had built our <i>barong-barong </i> in the days
immediately after the liberation. It had not mattered to us then, as it had not
to so many others by the fire left bereft what the <i>barong-barong</i> would be like. Enough to us that there would be a
roof over our heads, and walls to hide the wretched bareness of lives pulled
down to the veriest essentials by the liberation’s conflagration.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">It had quickly come out however, after a
while when other houses sprang up beside ours, some of them meaner, some of
them better than our own shack, than the shelter we now called home, and was in
some ways inadequate and wanting.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We had pulled the charred wood from the
ashes, their surface embers we had quickly hacked off to save the unburned core
of wood underneath and had made these serve for posts. The twisted tin too, the
blackened galvanized iron sheets; these too we had salvaged and of these
fashioned roofs and walls.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">When the rains came, the water leaked in
through the roof and wind drove the rain in through the flimsy,
nail-hole-pocked walls. A storm would rattle the whole structure, shake it like
a truckful of empty cans and when the dusts arose from the seared upheaved
streets, dust settled on food, and beds, and clothing inadequately protected by
low, jerry-built walls.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">For we had only salvaged the walls
standing of adobe stone, and on these posed slats of wood, for wood was dear,
and labor dearer and in those days, as you remember, money was not immediately
to be found ----- and so our <i>barong-barong
</i> had low walls.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Even the bathrooms. And so long as there
had been no structure erected behind us, it had seemed the low bathroom walls
were security enough from prying, peeking eyes.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">But an auto repair machinery shop began to
form in the back-lot. An enterprising Chinese had seen all the burned trucks
and engines that were left of what had once been a Japanese army garage--- and
from scavenging around for spare parts he could shine to a usefulness the
Chinese had progressed in business so that he now had a shop--- one of the
first repair shops in the city.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We had already dust and rain and heat to
complain about. We had to add now the noise of machines grinding, and people scraping
away the paint from vehicles, and other people spraying new paint on scraped
auto bodies the spray machine making dolorous whining sounds.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Men worked in the shop, and we therefore
quickly had peeping toms. They would hear the bathroom shower going, and they
quickly found out that that meant someone was taking a bath. My sister-in-law
was the first victim. She said she had seen someone peeking through a crack in
the adobe while she took a bath.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We cemented all the cracks in the adobe.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Then one of my brothers, home from camp,
caught sight of a hand one day clamped over the bathroom wall, its owner
probably readying himself for a lift. My brother rapped the hand smartly with a
piece of firewood lying by; we heard a pained yelp, and the scamper of feet.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We had to raise the bathroom wall. But my
father insisted on leaving an opening at top, for filing the wall up to the
roof would darken the bathroom too much.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We were of course, by all times, admitting
ourselves the defeated in this battle between peeping toms and our own outraged
modesties.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re fairly modern in our family. We go
about in shorts, and sometimes in bathing suits. Bare thighs and bare shoulders
and bare midriffs do not send any of us into hysterical oohs and aahs. And the
young of the family have always been allowed to watch their elders dressing and
undressing so that they could look upon the human body, ask what questions they
wished, and feel no abnormal curiosity.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">But there is something indecent in the
fact of being spied upom while you’re doing your ablutions that outrages the
very sensibilities. I know it made me fighting mad.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"> I
stood up on the toilet seat, looked out over the bathroom wall and surveyed the
machine-shop yard. Before I could prevent myself, I had shouted a few
invectives at a boy I spied sitting down on a dismantled automobile chassis.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I had seen the head of hair that had
lowered itself from peeking at me and it had been just the shock hair he had. I
strung together all the Tagalog words I had in the back of my mind for just
such emergencies as this, and flung them at him.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Everybody in the yard let their work drop
while they stared at my mixture of English, Tagalog, and Visayan swear words,
but the shocki-headed lad sat there and made no show that he had heard.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Then a Chinese boy also standing by nodded
his head at me, rolled his eyes at the lad and thus indicated himself as
witness that I had indeed placed my finger on the correct man.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">All the people in the house had gotten
wind of what was up. My mother gave me my clothes and had to literally take me
off the toilet seat and tell me which article of clothing to put on my by now
dried body.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">We ranged ourselves like a tribunal at the
iron-grilled window of the house as we waited for Papa to bring us the culprit.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">My palms actually itched with the desire
to slap his boob’s face.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">My ears tingled with the desire for
violence and my face felt flaming hot</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">When the lad came he was sandwiched
between my father whose nostrils seemed to flare with his anger, and a
meek-looking man in a dirty suit of <i>maong,</i>
who kept wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. The lad himself was a
sullen-looking creature. His face looked stony, and his hangdog air was not
repentant so much as sneering.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">As always, in cases like this, you get keyed
up to a moment, telling yourself what you’ll do when the moment comes. And yet
when the actual minute arrives, all of a sudden, you feel a change of heart.
That is what happened in this case.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">All of a sudden, I seemed to be removed
from this spot, this moment, this role. I watched as from a distance the
spectacle of myself, my brothers.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I rejected the thoughts in my head as
sentimental, saying to myself, the man is just putting on an act, those tears
are mere show.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">And yet I know the man was not acting. And
there would be other days, other people. And he would cry, but --- I looked
again at his son --- it would not improve that lad.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I felt guilty in my heart of some fault,
some vague shortcoming I had, that was responsible for that lad’s being what he
was, and what, I knew, he would surely be.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">I turned away from the father and the son.
I walked away. Looking back, I saw his face, his tears just drying, his eyes
looking aas though he would call me back.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
Reference:<br />
<span lang="EN-US">"Low Wall" by Alfon, Estrella. Booksgoogle.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://booksgoogle.com.ph/book:-philippine+book+short+stories></span></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-89452211801732213702013-03-19T03:45:00.001-07:002013-03-20T04:55:49.074-07:00Summary of Magnificence<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-PH</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:0in;
mso-para-margin-left:.75in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
text-indent:.5in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style> <![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
There is couple with a son and a daughter. Their parents have a good job. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They go to school. Their mother is a president in their village. In a meeting the man volunteered to be their tutor because he doesn’t do anything in the evening also for an extra job. His name is Vicente. He is a bus conductor. So he went to the house every night to teach the kids.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
He promised the kids to give them 2 pencils each. One night he gives the pencil to the kids. That time it was the "it". The children in this time want pencils. Vincent is nice to the children. He knows their wants. But when he gave the pencil, he gives 3 pencils for the girl and 2 for the boy. Their mother said to say thank you. The boy kissed Vicente but Vicente told him that boys don't kiss boys. Then the girl goes to Vicente to say thank you. He hugs her so tight and the girl started to get out of his too tight hug. The girl looks at Vicente with a little wonder on his face. The next day they were so proud and happy with their new pencils. They showed it to their friends in class. They also thought of asking Vicente for new pencils. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
In dinner they talked a little about Vicente but the father is busy reading something. He did not listen to what the mother said. The mother thinks that Vicente is fond of the children with the way he is treating them. That evening Vicente arrived earlier. The children are proud of the pencil. Their classmates are jealous with their new pencils given by Vicente. He asked the little boy to get him a glass of water. Then he put the girl on his lap. Then he let the girl write her homework. The little girl told him not to carry her because she is heavy. Vicente is perspiring, and his eyes are strange. Then the girl jumped out of his lap because she became afraid. Then their mom arrived. She rubs the girls back and told them to go upstairs. The mother slapped the man repeatedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vicente just accepts the entire slap that the mother gave him. Then he went out of the house. The mother closed the door. She gives a bath to the girl. Then she asked them to throw the pencil. Then she put her to sleep.<br />
<br />
<br />
Reference:<br />
"Magnificence." by Alfon, Estrella. Scribd.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://www.scribd.com/doc/34486874/Magnificence-Estrella-Alfon></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-88729980517308436872013-03-18T22:01:00.001-07:002013-03-20T04:56:38.991-07:00Magnificence by Estrella Alfon<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">MAGNIFICENCE</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Estrella D. Alfon</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There was nothing to fear, for the man was always
so gentle, so </span>kind. At night when the little girl and her
brother were bathed in the light of the big shaded bulb that hung over the
big study table in the</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">downstairs hall, the man would knock gently
on the door, and come in. he </span>would stand for a while just beyond the
pool of light, his feet in the circle <span lang="EN-US">of illumination, the rest of him in shadow.
The little girl and her brother </span>would look up at him where they sat at the
big table, their eyes bright in the bright light, and watch him come fully
into the light, but his voice soft, his manner slow. He would smell very
faintly of sweat and pomade, but the children didn’t mind although they did
notice, for they waited for him every evening as they sat at their lessons
like this. He’d throw his visored cap on the table, and it would fall down
with a soft plop, then he’d nod his head to say one was right, or shake it to
say one was wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It was not always that he came. They could
remember perhaps </span>two weeks when he remarked to their mother
that he had never seen two children looking so smart. The praise had
made their mother look over</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">them as they stood around listening to the
goings-on at the meeting of the </span>neighborhood association, of which their
mother was president. Two children, one a girl of seven, and a boy of
eight. They were both very tall</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">for their age, and their legs were the long
gangly legs of fine spirited colts. </span>Their mother saw them with eyes that held
pride, and then to partly glossover the maternal gloating she exhibited,
she said to the man, in answer to his praise, But their homework. They’re
so lazy with them. And the <span lang="EN-US">man said, I have nothing to do in the
evenings, let me help them. Mother </span>nodded her head and said, if you want to
bother yourself. And the thing rested there, and the man came in the
evenings therefore, and he helped solve fractions for the boy, and write
correct phrases in language for the little girl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In those days, the rage was for pencils.
School children always have rages going at one time or another. Sometimes for paper butterflies that are held on sticks, and whirr in the wind. The Japanese bazaars promoted a rage for those. Sometimes it is for little lead toys found in the folded waffles that Japanese confection-makers had such light hands with. At this particular time, it was for pencils. Pencils big but light in circumference not smaller than a man’s thumb. They were unwieldy in a child’s hands, but in all schools then, where Japanese bazaars clustered there
were all colors of these pencils selling for very low, but unattainable to a child budgeted at a baon of a centavo a day. They were all of five centavos each, and one pencil was not at all what one had ambitions for. In rages, one kept a collection. Four or five pencils, of different colors, to tie with strings near the eraser end, to dangle from one’s book-basket, to arouse the envy of the other children who probably possessed less.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Add to the man’s gentleness and his
kindness in knowing a child’s </span>desires, his promise that he would give
each of them not one pencil but two. And for the little girl who he said
was very bright and deserved more,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">who would get the biggest pencil he could
find.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">One evening he did bring them. The evenings
of waiting had </span>made them look forward to this final
giving, and when they got the pencils they whooped with joy. The little
boy had tow pencils, one green, one blue. And the little girl had three
pencils, two of the same circumference as the little boy’s but
colored red and yellow. And the third pencil, a jumbo size pencil really, was
white, and had been sharpened, and the little girl jumped up and down, and
shouted with glee. Until their mother called from down the stairs. What
are you shouting about? And they told her, shouting gladly, Vicente,
for that was his name. Vicente had brought the pencils he had promised them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thank him, their mother called. The little
boy smiled and said, </span>Thank you. And the little girl smiled, and
said, Thank you, too. But the man said, Are you not going to kiss me for
those pencils? They both came forward, the little girl and the little
boy, and they both made to kiss him but Vicente slapped the boy smartly on his
lean hips, and said, Boys do not kiss boys. And the little boy laughed
and scampered away, and then ran back and kissed him anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The little girl went up to the man shyly,
put her arms about his </span>neck as he crouched to receive her embrace,
and kissed him on the cheeks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The man’s arms tightened suddenly about the
little girl until the </span>little girl squirmed out of his arms, and
laughed a little breathlessly, disturbed but innocent, looking at the man
with a smiling little question of puzzlement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The next evening, he came around again. All
through that day, </span>they had been very proud in school showing
off their brand new pencils. All the little girls and boys had been
envying them. And their mother had finally to tell them to stop talking about
the pencils, pencils, for now that they had, the boy two, and the girl three,
they were asking their mother to buy more, so they could each have five, and
three at least in the jumbo size that the little girl’s third pencil
was. Their mother said, Oh stop it, what will you do with so many pencils, you
can only write with one at a time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And the little girl muttered under her
breath, I’ll ask Vicente for </span>some more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Their mother replied, He’s only a bus
conductor, don’t ask him for </span>too many things. It’s a pity. And this
observation their mother said to their father, who was eating his evening
meal between paragraphs of the</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">book on masonry rites that he was reading.
It is a pity, said their mother, </span>People like those, they make friends with
people like us, and they feel it is nice to give us gifts, or the children toys
and things. You’d think they wouldn’t be able to afford it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The father grunted, and said, the man probably
needed a new job, </span>and was softening his way through to him by
going at the children like that. And the mother said, No, I don’t
think so, he’s a rather queer young</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">man, I think he doesn’t have many friends,
but I have watched him with </span>the children, and he seems to dote on them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The father grunted again, and did not pay
any further attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vicente was earlier than usual that
evening. The children </span>immediately put their lessons down, telling
him of the envy of their schoolmates, and would he buy them more
please?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vicente said to the little boy, Go and ask
if you can let me have a glass of water. And the little boy ran away to comply,
saying behind him, But buy us some more pencils, huh, buy us more pencils, and
then went up to stairs to their mother.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vicente held the little girl by the arm,
and said gently, Of course </span>will buy you more pencils, as many as you
want.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And the little girl giggled and said, Oh,
then I will tell my friends, </span>and they will envy me, for they don’t have
as many or as pretty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vicente took the girl up lightly in his
arms, holding her under the armpits, and held her to sit down on his lap and he
said, still gently, What are your lessons for tomorrow? And the little girl
turned to the paper on the table where she had been writing with the jumbo
pencil, and she told him that that was her lesson but it was easy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then go ahead and write, and I will watch
you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Don’t hold me on your lap, said the little
girl, I am very heavy, you</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">will get very tired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The man shook his head, and said nothing,
but held her on his lap</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">just the same.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The little girl kept squirming, for somehow
she felt uncomfortable </span>to be held thus, her mother and father
always treated her like a big girl, she was always told never to act like a
baby. She looked around at</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vicente, interrupting her careful writing
to twist around.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">His face was all in sweat, and his eyes
looked very strange, and he </span>indicated to her that she must turn around,
attend to the homework she was writing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the little girl felt very queer, she
didn’t know why, all of a sudden she was immensely frightened, and she jumped
up away from Vicente’s lap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She stood looking at him, feeling that
queer frightened feeling, </span>not knowing what to do. By and by, in a
very short while her mother came down the stairs, holding in her hand a
glass of sarsaparilla, Vicente.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But Vicente had jumped up too soon as the
little girl had jumped </span>from his lap. He snatched at the papers
that lay on the table and held them to his stomach, turning away from the
mother’s coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The mother looked at him, stopped in her
tracks, and advanced </span>into the light. She had been in the shadow.
Her voice had been like a bell of safety to the little girl. But now she
advanced into glare of the light that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">held like a tableau the figures of Vicente
holding the little girl’s papers to </span>him, and the little girl looking up at him
frightenedly, in her eyes dark pools of wonder and fear and question.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The little girl looked at her mother, and
saw the beloved face </span>transfigured by some sort of glow. The
mother kept coming into the light, and when Vicente made as if to move away
into the shadow, she said, very</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">low, but very heavily, Do not move.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She put the glass of soft drink down on the
table, where in the </span>light one could watch the little bubbles go
up and down in the dark liquid. The mother said to the boy, Oscar, finish
your lessons. And turning to the</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">little girl, she said, Come here. The
little girl went to her, and the mother </span>knelt down, for she was a tall woman and
she said, Turn around. Obediently the little girl turned around,
and her mother passed her hands</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">over the little girl’s back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Go upstairs, she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The mother’s voice was of such a heavy
quality and of such awful </span>timbre that the girl could only nod her
head, and without looking at Vicente again, she raced up the stairs. The
mother went to the cowering man, and marched him with a glance out of
the circle of light that held the little boy. Once in the shadow, she
extended her hand, and without any opposition took away the papers that
Vicente was holding to himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She stood there saying nothing as the man
fumbled with his hands and </span>with his fingers, and she waited until he
had finished. She was going to open her mouth but she glanced at the boy
and closed it, and with a look</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and an inclination of the head, she bade
Vicente go up the stairs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The man said nothing, for she said nothing
either. Up the stairs went the man, and the mother followed behind. When they
had reached the upper landing, the woman called down to her son, Son, come up
and go to your room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The little boy did as he was told, asking
no questions, for indeed </span>he was feeling sleepy already.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As soon as the boy was gone, the mother
turned on Vicente. There </span>was a pause.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally, the woman raised her hand and
slapped him full hard in </span>the face. Her retreated down one tread of
the stairs with the force of the blow, but the mother followed him. With her
other hand she slapped him</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">on the other side of the face again. And so
down the stairs they went, the </span>man backwards, his face continually open to
the force of the woman’s slapping. Alternately she lifted her right
hand and made him retreat before her until they reached the bottom
landing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He made no resistance, offered no defense.
Before the silence and </span>the grimness of her attack he cowered,
retreating, until out of his mouth issued something like a whimper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The mother thus shut his mouth, and with
those hard forceful </span>slaps she escorted him right to the other
door. As soon as the cool air of the free night touched him, he recovered
enough to turn away and run,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">into the shadows that ate him up. The woman
looked after him, and </span>closed the door. She turned off the blazing
light over the study table, and went slowly up the stairs and out into the
dark night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">When her mother reached her, the woman,
held her hand out to </span>the child. Always also, with the terrible
indelibility that one associated with terror, the girl was to remember the
touch of that hand on her</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">shoulder, heavy, kneading at her flesh, the
woman herself stricken almost </span>dumb, but her eyes eloquent with that
angered fire. She knelt, She felt the little girl’s dress and took it off with
haste that was almost frantic, tearing at the buttons and imparting a terror to
the little girl that almost made her sob. Hush, the mother said. Take a bath
quickly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Her mother presided over the bath the
little girl took, scrubbed </span>her, and soaped her, and then wiped her
gently all over and changed her into new clothes that smelt of the clean
fresh smell of clothes that had</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">hung in the light of the sun. The clothes
that she had taken off the little </span>girl, she bundled into a tight wrenched
bunch, which she threw into the kitchen range.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Take also the pencils, said the mother to
the watching newly </span>bathed, newly changed child. Take them and
throw them into the fire. But when the girl turned to comply, the mother
said, No, tomorrow will do. And taking the little girl by the hand, she
led her to her little girl’s bed, made her lie down and tucked the covers
gently about her as the girl dropped off into quick slumber.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
End<br />
<br />
Reference:<br />
"Magnificence." by Alfon, Estrella. Scribd.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://www.scribd.com/doc/34486874/Magnificence-Estrella-Alfon></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-58056711880201429252013-03-18T21:54:00.002-07:002013-03-20T04:57:10.375-07:00Servant Girl by Estrella Alfon<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">SERVANT GIRL</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">by Estrella D. Alfon</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph1">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">ROSA</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> was scrubbing the clothes she was washing slowly. Alone in the
washroom of her mistress’ house she could hear the laughter of women washing
clothes in the public bathhouse from which she was separated by only a thin wall.
She would have liked to be there with the other women to take part in their
jokes and their laughter and their merry gossiping, but they paid a centavo for
every piece of soiled linen they brought there to wash and her mistress wanted
to save this money.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph1">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">A pin she had failed to remove from a
dress sank its point deep into her finger. She cried to herself in surprise
and squeezed the finger until the blood came out. She watched the bright red
drop fall into the suds of soap and looked in delight at its gradual mingling
into the whiteness. Her mistress came upon her thus and, shouting at her,
startled her into busily rubbing while she tried not to listen to the scolding
words.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">When her mistress left her, she fell to
doing her work slowly again, and sometimes she paused to listen to the talk in
the bathhouse behind her. A little later her mistress’ shrill voice told her to
go to the bathhouse for drinking water. Eagerly wiping her hands on her wet
wrap, she took the can from the kitchen table and went out quickly.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She was sweating at the defective town
pump when strong hands closed over hers and started to help her. The hands
pressing down on hers made her wince and she withdrew her hands hastily. The
movement was greeted by a shout of laughter from the women washing and <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> looked at them in surprise. The women said to each
other “<st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> does not like to be touched by
Sancho” and then slapped their thighs in laughter. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
frowned and picked up her can. Sancho made a move to help her but she thrust
him away, and the women roared again, saying “Because we are here, Sancho, she
is ashamed.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> carried the can away, her head angrily down, and Sancho followed
her, saying “Do not be angry,” in coaxing tones. But she went her slow way with
the can.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Her mistress’ voice came to her, calling
impatiently, and she tried to hurry. When she arrived, the woman asked her what
had kept her so long, and without waiting for an answer she ranted on, saying
she had heard the women joking in the bathhouse, and she knew what had kept the
girl so long. Her anger mounting with every angry word she said, she finally
swung out an arm, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she slapped <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s face.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She was sorry as soon as she realized what
she had done. She turned away, muttering still, while <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s
eyes filled with sudden tears. The girl poured the water from the can into the
earthen jar, a bitter lump in her throat, and thought of what she would do to
people like her mistress when she herself, God willing, would be “rich.” Soon
however, she thought of Sancho, and the jokes the women had shouted at her. She
thought of their laughter and Sancho following her with his coaxing tones, and
she smiled slowly.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Getting back to her washing, she gathered
the clothes she had to bleach, and piled them into a basin she balanced on her
head. Passing her mistress in the kitchen, she said something about going to
bleach the clothes and under her breath added an epithet. She had to cross the
street to get to the stones gathered about in a whitened circle in a neighbor’s
yard where she was wont to lay out the clothes. She passed some women hanging
clothes on a barbed-wire fence to dry. They called to her and she smiled at
them.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Some dogs chasing each other on the
street, she did not notice because the women were praising her for the
whiteness of the linen in the basin on her head. She was answering them that
she hadn’t even bleached them yet, when one of the dogs passed swiftly very
close to her. Looking down, she saw in wide alarm another dog close on the
heels of the first. An instinctive fear of animals made her want to dodge the
heedlessly running dog, and she stepped gingerly this way and that. The dog,
intent on the other it was pursuing, gave her no heed and ran right between her
legs as Rosa held on to the basin in frantic fear lest it fall and the clothes
get soiled. Her <i>patadiong</i> was tight in their wetness about her legs, and
she fell down, in the middle of the street. She heard the other women’s
exclamations of alarm and her first thought was for the clothes. Without
getting up, she looked at the basin and gave obscene thanks when she saw the
clothes still piled secure and undirtied. She tried to get up, hurrying lest
her mistress come out and see her thus and slap her again. Already the women
were setting up a great to do about what had happened. Some were coming to her,
loudly abusing the dogs, solicitousness on their faces. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
cried, “Nothing’s the matter with me.” Still struggling to get up, she noticed
that her wrap had been loosened and had bared her breasts. She looked around
wildly, sudden shame coloring her cheeks, and raised the wrap and tied it
securely around herself again.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She could stand but she found she could
not walk. The women had gone back to their drying, seeing she was up and
apparently nothing the worse for the accident. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
looked down at her right foot which twinged with pain. She stooped to pick up
the basin and put it on her head again. She tried stepping on the toes of her
right foot but it made her wince. She tried the heel but that also made her
bite her lip. Already her foot above the ankle was swelling. She thought of the
slap her mistress had given her for staying in the bathhouse too long and the
slap she was most certain to get now for delaying like this. But she couldn’t
walk, that was settled.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Then there came down the street a <i>tartanilla</i>
without any occupant except the <i>cochero</i> who rang his bell, but she
couldn’t move away from the middle of the street. She looked up at the driver
and started angrily to tell him that there was plenty of room at the sides of
the street, and that she couldn’t move anyway, even if there weren’t. The man
jumped down from his seat and bent down and looked at her foot. The basin was
still on <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s head and he took it from her,
and put it in his vehicle. Then he squatted down and bidding <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
put a hand on his shoulders to steady herself, he began to touch with gentle
fingers the swelling ankle, pulling at it and massaging it. They were still in
the middle of the street. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> looked around
to see if the women were still there to look at them but they had gone away.
There was no one but a small boy licking a candy stick, and he wasn’t paying
any attention to them. The <i>cochero</i> looked up at her, the sweat on his
face, saw her looking around with pain and embarrassment mingled on her face.
Then, so swiftly she found no time to protest, he closed his arms about her
knees and lifted her like a child. He carried her to his <i>tartanilla,</i>
plumped her down on one of the seats. Then he left her, coming back after a
short while with some coconut oil in the hollow of his palm. He rubbed the oil
on her foot, and massaged it. He was seated on the seat opposite <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s and had raised the injured foot to his thigh,
letting it rest there, despite <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s protest,
on his blue faded trousers. The basin of wet clothes was beside <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> on the seat and she fingered the clothing with
fluttering hands. The <i>cochero</i> asked her where she lived and she told
him, pointing out the house. He asked what had happened, and she recited the
whole thing to him, stopping with embarrassment when she remembered the
loosening of her <i>patadiong</i>and the nakedness of her bosom. How glad she
was he had not seen her thus. The <i>cochero</i> had finished with her foot,
and she slid from the seat, her basin on a hip. But he took it from her, asking
her to tell him where the bleaching stones were. He went then, and himself laid
out the white linen on the stones, knowing like a woman, which part to turn to
the sun.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">He came back after a while, just as <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> heard with frightened ears the call of her mistress.
She snatched the basin from the <i>cochero’s </i>hand and despite the pain
caused her, limped away.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She told her mistress about the accident.
The woman did not do anything save to scold her lightly for being careless.
Then she looked at the swollen foot and asked who had put oil on it. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> was suddenly shy of having to let anyone know about
her <i>cochero,</i> so she said she had asked for a little oil at the store and
put it on her foot herself. Her mistress was unusually tolerant, and <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> forgot about the slapping and said to herself this
was a day full of luck!</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">It was with very sharp regret that she
thought of her having forgotten to ask the <i>cochero</i> his name. Now, in the
days that followed, she thought of him, the way he had wound an arm around her
knees and carried her like a little girl. She dreamed about the gentleness of
his fingers. She smiled remembering the way he had laid out the clothes on
stones to bleach. She knew that meant he must do his own washing. And she ached
in tenderness over him and his need for a woman like her to do such things for
him—things like mending the straight tear she had noticed at the knee of his
trousers when her foot had rested on them; like measuring his <i>tartanilla</i>
seat cushions for him, and making them, and stringing them on his vehicle. She
thought of the names for men she knew and called him by it in thinking of him,
ever afterwards. In her thoughts she spoke to him and he always answered.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She found time to come out on the street
for a while, every day. Sometimes she would sweep the yard or trim the scraggly
hedge of viola bushes; or she would loiter on an errand for tomatoes or
vinegar. She said to herself, He dreams of me too, and he thinks of me. He
passes here every day wishing to see me. She never saw him pass, but she said
to herself, He passes just when I am in the house, that’s why I never see him.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Some <i>tartanilla</i> would pass, and if
she could, as soon as she heard the sound of the wheels, she looked out of a
window, hoping it would be Angel’s. Sometimes she would sing very loudly, if
she felt her mistress was in a good humor and not likely to object. She told
herself that if he could not see her, he would at least wish to hear her voice.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She longed no more to be part of the group
about the water tank in the bathhouse. She thought of the women there and their
jokes and she smiled, in pity, because they did not have what she had, some one
by the name of Angel, who knew how to massage injured feet back to being good
for walking and who knew how to lay out clothes for bleaching.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">When they teased her about Sancho, who
insisted on pumping her can full every time she went for drinking water, she
smiled at the women and at the man, full of her hidden knowledge about someone
picking her up and being gentle with her. She was too full of this secret joy
to mind their teasing. Where before she had been openly angry and secretly
pleased, now she was indifferent. She looked at Sancho and thought him very
rude beside… beside Angel. He always put his hands over hers when she made a
move to pump water. He always spoke to her about not being angry with the
women’s teasing. She thought he was merely trying to show off. And when one day
Sancho said, “Do not mind their teasing; they would tease you more if they knew
I really feel like they say I do,” she glared at him and thought him unbearably
ill-mannered. She spat out of the corner of her mouth, letting him see the
grimace of distaste she made when she did so, and seeing Sancho’s disturbed face,
she thought, If Angel knew, he’d strike you a big blow. But she was silent and
proud and unsmiling. Sancho looked after her with the heavy can of water held
by one hand, the other hand flung out to balance herself against the weight. He
waited for her to turn and smile at him as she sometimes did, but she simply
went her way. He flung his head up and then laughed snortingly.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US">’s mistress made her usual bad-humored sallies against her fancied
slowness. Noticing <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s sudden excursions
into the street, she made remarks and asked curious questions. Always the girl
had an excuse and her mistress soon made no further questions. And unless she
was in bad temper, she was amused at her servant’s attempts at singing.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">One night she sent the maid to a store for
wine. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> came back with a broken bottle
empty of all its contents. Sudden anger at the waste and the loss made her
strike out with closed fists, not caring where her blows landed until the girl
was in tears. It often touched her when she saw <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
crying and cowering, but now the woman was too angry to pity.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">It never occurred to <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
that she could herself strike out and return every blow. Her mistress was
thirtyish, with peaked face and thin frame, and <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>’s
strong arms, used to pounding clothes and carrying water, could easily have
done her hurt. But <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> merely cried and
cried, saying now and then <i>Aruy! Aruy!,</i> until the woman, exhausted by
her own anger left off striking the girl to sit down in a chair, curse loudly
about the loss of such good wine, and ask where she was going to get the money
to buy another bottle.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> folded her clothes into a neat bundle, wrapped them in her blanket,
and getting out her slippers, thrust her feet into them. She crept out of a
door without her mistress seeing her and told herself she’d never come back to
that house again.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">It would have been useless to tell her
mistress how the bottle had been broken, and the wine spilled. She had been
walking alone in the street hurrying to the wine store, and Sancho had met her.
They had talked; he begging her to let him walk with her and she saying her
mistress would be angry if she saw. Sancho had insisted and they had gone to
the store and bought the wine, and then going home, her foot had struck a sharp
stone. She had bent to hold a foot up, looking at the sole to see if the stone
had made it bleed. Her dress had a wide, deep neck, and it must have hung away
from her body when she bent. Anyway, she had looked up to find Sancho looking
into the neck of her dress. His eyes were turned hastily away as soon as she
straightened up, and she thought she could do nothing but hold her peace. But
after a short distance in their resumed walk home, he had stopped to pick up a
long twig lying on the ground. With deft strokes he had drawn twin sharp peaks
on the ground. They looked merely like the zigzags one does draw playfully with
any stick, but <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>, having seen him looking
into her dress while she bent over, now became so angry that she swung out and
with all her force struck him on the check with her open palm. He reeled from
the unexpected blow, and quickly steadied himself while <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place>
shot name after name at him. Anger rose in his face. It was nearly dark, and
there was no one else on the street. He laughed, short angry laughter, and
called her back name for name. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> approached
him and made to slap him again, but Sancho was too quick for her. He had
slipped out of her way and himself slapped her instead. The surprise of it
angered her into sudden tears. She swung up the bottle of wine she had held
tightly in one hand, and ran after the man to strike him with it. Sancho
slapped her arm so hard that she dropped the bottle. The man had run away
laughing, calling back a final undeserved name at her, leaving her to look with
tears at the wine seeping into the ground. Some people had come toward her
then, asking what had happened. She had stooped, picked up the biggest piece of
glass, and hurried back to her mistress, wondering whether she would be
believed and forgiven.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> walked down street after street. She had long ago wiped the tears
from her face, and her thoughts were of a place to sleep, for it was late at
night. She told herself she would kill Sancho if she ever saw him again. She
picked up a stone from the road, saying, I wish a cold wind would strike him
dead, and so on; and the stone she grasped tightly, saying, If I meet him now,
I would throw this at him, and aim so well that I would surely hit him.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She rubbed her arm in memory of the
numbing blow the man had dealt it, and touched her face with furious shame for
the slap he had dared to give her. Her fists closed more tightly about the
stone and she looked about her as if she expected Sancho to appear.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She thought of her mistress. She had been
almost a year in the woman’s employ. Usually she stayed in a place, at the
most, for four months. Sometimes it was the master’s smirking ways and evil
eyes, sometimes it was the children’s bullying demands. She had stayed with
this last mistress because in spite of her spells of bad humor, there were
periods afterward when she would be generous with money for a dress, or for a
cine with other maids. And they had been alone, the two of them. Sometimes the
mistress would get so drunk that she would slobber into her drink and mumble of
persons that must have died. When she was helpless she might perhaps have
starved if <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> had not forcibly fed her. Now,
however, thought of the fierce beating the woman had given her made <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> cry a little and repeat her vow that she would never
step into the house again.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Then she thought of Angel, the <i>cochero</i>
who had been gentle, and she lost her tears in thinking how he would never have
done what Sancho did. If he knew what had happened to her, he would come
running now and take her to his own home, and she would not have to worry about
a place to sleep this night. She wandered about, not stopping at those places
where she knew she would be accepted if she tried, her mind full of the
injustices she had received and of comparisons between Sancho and Angel. She
paused every time a <i>tartanilla</i> came her way, peering intently into the
face of the <i>cochero,</i> hoping it would be he, ready to break her face into
smiles if it were indeed. She carried her bundle on her arm all this while, now
clenching a fist about the stone she still had not dropped and gnashing her
teeth.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">She had been walking about for quite a
while, feeling not very tired, having no urgent need to hurry about finding
herself a place, so sharp her hopes were of somehow seeing her <i>cochero</i>
on the streets. That was all she cared about, that she must walk into whatever
street she came to, because only in that way would he see her and learn what
they had done to her.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Then, turning into a street full of stores
set side by side, she felt the swish of a horse almost brushing against her.
She looked up angrily at the <i>cochero’s</i> laughing remark about his whip
missing her beautiful bust. An offense like that, so soon after all her grief
at what Sancho had done, inflamed her into passionate anger, and mouthing a
quick curse, she flung the stone in her hand at the <i>cochero</i> on his seat.
It was rather dark and she did not quite see his face. But apparently she hit
something, for he suddenly yelled a stop at the horse, clambered down, and ran
back to her, demanding the reason for her throwing the stone. She exclaimed
hotly at his offense with the whip, and then looking up into his face, she
gasped. She gasped and said, “Angel!”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">For it was he. He was wearing a striped
shirt, like so many other people were wearing, and he had on the very same
trousers of dark blue he had worn when he massaged her foot. But he gazed at
her in nothing but anger, asking whether her body was so precious that she
would kill his horse. Also, why did she keep saying Angel; that was not his
name!</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">Rosa kept looking up at him not hearing a
word of his threats about taking her to the <i>municipio,</i> saying only
Angel, Angel, in spite of his protests that that was not his name. At last she
understood that the <i>cochero</i> did not even remember her and she realized
how empty her thoughts of him now were. Even his name was not Angel. She turned
suddenly to walk away from him, saying, “You do not even remember me.”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">The <i>cochero</i> peered at her face and
exclaimed after a while, “Oh yes! the girl with the swollen foot!” Rosa forgot
all the emptiness, forgot the sudden sinking of her heart when she had realized
that even he would flick his whip at a girl alone on the road, and lifted her
smiling face at him, stopping suddenly to tell him her foot had healed very
quickly. The <i>cochero</i> asked her after a while where she was going, and
she said breathlessly, without knowing just why she answered so, “I am going
home!” He asked no questions about where she had been, why she was so late. He
bade her ride in his vehicle, grandly saying he would not make her pay, and
then, with many a loud exclamation to his horse, he drove her to her mistress’
house.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> didn’t tell him what had happened. Nor anything about her dreams.
She merely answered the questions the <i>cochero</i> asked her about how she
had been. “With the grace of God, all right, thank you.” Once he made her a sly
joke about his knowing there were simply lots of men courting her. <st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> laughed breathlessly and denied it. She wished they
would never arrive, but they soon did. The <i>cochero</i> waited for her to get
out, and then drove off, saying “Don’t mention it” to her many thanks. She ran
after the <i>tartanilla</i> when it had gone off a little way, and asked,
running beside the moving vehicle, looking up into his face, “What is your
name?”</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<span lang="EN-US">The <i>cochero</i> shouted, without
stopping his horse, “Pedro” and continued to drive away.</span></div>
<div class="paragraph2">
<st1:place w:st="on"><span lang="EN-US">Rosa</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US"> went into the house without hesitation, forgetting all her vows
about never stepping into it again and wondering why it was so still. She
turned on the lights and found her mistress sleeping at a table with her head
cradled in her arms, a new wine bottle before her, empty now of all its
contents. With an arm about the thin woman’s waist, she half dragged her into
her bed. When the woman would wake, she would say nothing, remembering nothing.
<st1:place w:st="on">Rosa</st1:place> turned on the light in the kitchen and
hummed her preparations for a meal. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
End<br />
<br />
Reference:<br />
"Servant girl" by Alfon, Estrella. Sushidog.com. Web. 16 March 2013. <http://sushidog.com/bpss/stories/servant.htm></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-23195704326457790442013-03-13T20:33:00.000-07:002013-03-20T05:00:00.791-07:00List of Awards<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1940:</b> “Dear Esmeralda”, a collection of short stories, won
the Honorable Mention in the Commonwealth Literary Awards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1961-62:</b> She took home all the prizes as four of her one-act
plays won in the Arena Theater Play Writing Contest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1</span><sup style="text-indent: -0.25in;">st</sup><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> prize: “Losers Keepers”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2</span><sup style="text-indent: -0.25in;">nd</sup><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> prize: “Strangers”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3</span><sup style="text-indent: -0.25in;">rd</sup><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> prize: “Rice”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">4</span><sup style="text-indent: -0.25in;">th</sup><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> prize: “Beggars”</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1961:</b> Her work entitled “With Patches of Many Hues” won the
top prize in the Palanca Contest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1968:</b> “The Knitting Straw”, a short story, won 3<sup>rd</sup>
place in the Palanca Awards. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1974:</b> Her short story entitled “The White Dress” won 2<sup>nd</sup>
place in the Palanca Awards.<br />
<br />
References:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Estrella Alfon Life and Works." Slideshare.net. 2013. Web. 2 March 2013. </span>http://www.slideshare.net/nicoleartuz/estrella-alfon-life-and-works</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Scribe's Dossier: Estrella D. Alfon</span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">." </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">cebubookclub.wordpress.com. 2012. Web. 12 March 2013. https://www.google.com.ph/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=5&cad=rja&ved=0CFMQFjAE&url=http://cebubookclub.wordpress.com/2012/09/09/estrella-alfon-profile/&ei=_T5BUZzMBemWiQeL4YGoCg&usg=AFQjCNFcWwYK7TlTGqRbv1S85w09n61Hqw&sig2=VZzz2DnSuIanJHbwCaH8gA&bvm=bv.43287494,d.aGc</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24.53125px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574473730249283306.post-82125265441077436242013-03-13T20:04:00.005-07:002013-03-20T05:00:20.484-07:00Biography of Estrella Alfon<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">Estrella
Alfon was born in San Nicolas, Cebu City on March 27, 1917. She went to medical
school to finish her medicinal studies but when she was misdiagnosed for having
tuberculosis, she had to withdraw from her studies. She finished her education
with a degree in Associate of Arts instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">She became
the first and only female member of the Veronicans, a group of writers in the
1930s, prior to the Second World War, led by Francisco Arceuana and H.R.
Ocampo. They were recognized as the first group of Filipino writers who wrote almost
exclusively in English. She was named the most prolific Filipina writer prior
to World War II. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">Estrella
Alfon’s first story was “Grey Confetti” which was published in 1935. One of her
stories, Fairy Tale for the City, was condemned by the catholic League of the
Philippines for its being obscene. When she was brought to court for the trial,
some of her fellow writers stood by her but some did not and that hurt her
deeply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">She was
appointed professor of the Creative Writing at the University of the
Philippines, Manila despite having only an Associate of Arts degree. In 1940,
she won the Honorable Mention in the Commonwealth Literary Award for writing
her short story “Dear Esmeralda”. She took home all the awards in the Arena
Theater Play Writing Contest for four of her outstanding plays namely, “Losers
Keepers”, “strangers”, “Rice”, and “Beggar”. In 1961, she won the top prize in
the Palanca Contest for her story “With Patches of Many Hues”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">On December
28, 1983, during the awards night of the Manila Film Festival, she suffered a
heart attack which led to her death the same night. <span style="font-size: 22pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;">Reference: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Estrella Alfon Life and Works." Slideshare.net. 2013. Web. 2 March 2013. </span>http://www.slideshare.net/nicoleartuz/estrella-alfon-life-and-works</span></div>
Magnificent Fourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02520410004672827015noreply@blogger.com1