Assignment in Philippine Literature

the yet deserted streets. the old house seemed

1.The Other Woman to loom bigger than the others in the
by Virgilio Samonte(Ilocos)
neighborhood, and it seemed to stand apart,
It is almost a month since my uncle died. Nana
squat and dark; light filtered through the closed
Cecilia, his widow, has made up with my maiden
or half opened windows of the other houses
aunt Cora, and now stays with her in San
where early breakfast fires were already
Nicolas. The suspicions -- for they proved to be
burning. The large, gnarled trunk of an acacia
mere suspicions after all -- she had entertained
tree beside it, rose like a phantom, its foliage
concerning Nana Cora and my late uncle, were
blotting out a portion of the sky overhead. i
dispelled at his death. I don't know the truth
knocked for what it seemed a long time on the
myself up to now. But I don't want to know. What
closed door, the sounds echoing hollowly within
matters now is that they are no longer young.
as though the house was a huge, empty shell
Loida, I learned some time ago, is gone from the
before I heard muffled footsteps coming down
old house in Laoag. She stayed there for some
the stairway. Light glimmered through the cracks
days after my uncle's burial, and no one could
of the door. The sliding bar was moved noisily
make her go away then. No one knows where
and then the door opened slowly, grating on the
she had gone. Anyway it does not matter. She
scattered pebbles on the cement floor.
does no t matter anymore.
The face that appeared in the partly opened
As for the old house, it now stands bleak and
door startled me momentarily. Where the upper
empty, except for the thick, gathering shadows
lip should have been was an inverted V-shape
and the inevitable dust; the bats hanging from
opening, framing a long and pointed yellow
the tattered eaves like the black patches; the
tooth. The lip cleft, with repulsively livid gums
mice scampering freely within ; cockroaches and
showing, went up in an angle to a flat nose; the
lizrds; and perhaps ghosts. The flower-laden
rest of the face was flat as though it had been
cadena de amor, draped heavily on the rotting
bashed in by repeated fists blows; and broad
bamboo fence surrounding it, it is a huge funeral
and square. Half-illuminated by the light of a
wreath around the deserted house.
candle on one side, it was hideous.
The same sense of desolation seemed to
It was only Loida, the harelip. I had not known
enshroud the old house even then, about a
that she was still staying with my aunt Cecilia.
month ago, when I arrived from the city. I had
Her black, beady eyes regarded me with anger
come ahead of my father after we received the
and suspicion. I told her my name.
wire from Nana Cecilia, saying that my uncle
"Where is your father?" she asked in a strange
was seriously ill, and that she needed my
nasal twang when she finally recognize me.
father's assistance.
"He'll come tomorrow," I said. I gestured
It was a cold grey dawn, and the clatter of the
impatiently, wanting to get in. I was shivering
calesa as it left me, sounded loud and sharp in
under my thin jacket in the cold.
She opened the door wider and turned
unspeaking, motioning me to follow, holding the
candle above her to one side. The brick-walled
first floor yawned emptily. There was only the
smell of dust, and when we went up the stairs
which faced the doorway, the banister left dusty
smudges on my fingers after I'd touch it. The
stairs creaked under our weight, a stale smell
following the wake of the silent figure in front of
me. It was almost as sold inside as it had been
outside.
There was a smell and look of disuse all around.
There were no curtains in the closed windows
no in the doorway leading to the sala, where the
dark shapes of the few chairs and a table
crouched in the darkness. They threw long,
tapering shadows on a dust-coated floor when
we went in. Shadows huddled close together in
the corners where the light chased them. In the
ceiling on one side, immediately above the room
where I thought my aunt stayed a soft light as of
another candle wavered, scaring out more
shadows. The door to the room was closed, but
in the silence the sound of harsh, difficult
breathing came from it. Loida gave the room a
brief, mute glance and went on.
I had expected one of my aunts to meet me, but
there was no one in the sala. Asleep, I thought.
Loida stopped before one of the rooms on the
other side and opened it and entered. I followed
her inside.
"Isn't this the room of Tata Manuel?" I asked. I
recognized his four poster with the ornately-
carved canopy. My words sounded loud and
hollow in the quiet room.
"He stays with your Nana Ceiling there," she
said, pointing to the dimly-lighted room.
I looked at her inquiringly. My aunt and my uncle
had separate rooms, and Nana Cora stayed with
my aunt Cecilia.
"She moved him there when he got worse," she
said. She sounded indignant.
"Worse? Is he really very ill?"
She shook her head. "I do not know, but he has
become very thin, and he coughs."
I had not known that she was devoted to my
uncle. There were actually tears in her eyes.
"You should tell your Nana to leave him alone,"
she said fiercely.
"Why? I asked. Her sudden change of manner
alarmed me.
"He is very sick and she sleeps with him."
"Oh, I thought -- but there's nothing wrong with
that. He needs her care."
"Nothing wrong," she repeated bitterly. I could
not understand her.
I thought she was going to say something more,
but she changed her mind and turned her back
on me abruptly and became silently. She
seemed to bristle with suppressed anger. She
went out after lighting another candle on the
windowsill, then came back with some sheets
and a fresh pillow. I watched her while in furious
haste she worked with the sheets on the bed.
"Where's the room of Nan Cora now?" I asked
after a while.
She did not answer immediately.
"Manang Cora stays in San Nicolas now," she
said crossly, when she finished making the bed.
I was surprised. I wanted to ask her why, but
she went out instantly, leaving me alone in the
room. I felt piqued. Her footfalls receded rapidly
as she went to some other part of the big house.
I was bothered by the absence of Nana Cora.
My father had sent me ahead thinking that with
Nana Cora in the house, Nana Cecilia would
have no need of him immediately. I put on the
light and lay down. Suddenly I felt very tired.
I woke up,having dozed off, feeling the presence
of another person in the room. The room was
already suffused with the full glow of the sun's
ray through the shuttered windows. Nana Cecilia
was standing in the doorway eyeing me coldly. I
sat up immediately.
She had on a loose, printed housedress which
looked stained and unwashed, stressing the
thinness and narrowness of her shoulders; her
veins appeared clear and blue under her
transparent, wrinkled wrists and hands. Her
graying hair was stringy, and tied carelessly with
a piece of cloth of an uncertain color. She
appeared slatternly and she smelled.
"Where is your father?" she demanded in a
cranked voice. I could not face her directly for
she stared at me with enormous, purple-ringed
eyes.
"He'll come tomorrow, Nana," I said.
"I did not call you here. Why did your father not
come?"
"He thought with Nana Cora here it would be
alright."
She straightened as though I'd slapped her, and
grew livid.
"Do not - do not mention that name in this
house, understand?" she almost shouted at me,
stepping forward.
I stood up, unable to comprehend. She
advanced and we stood face to face finally, the
redness in her cheeks drained away. She
cocked her head suddenly in a listening attitude,
as if she had heard something, and her eyes
rolled wildly.
"Your uncle," she said frantically, half running to
her room. I followed her but hesitated at the
door. A dank smell reached me.
The low beds had been pushed together side to
side. Beside the nearest bed my aunt knelt. On it
the recumbent form of my uncle could be seen,
covered up to his chest with blankets. Near the
foot of his bed, two new tapers burned before an
improvised altar. There was a bronze Christ
nailed on a black cross and back of it was a
large, glass-encased picture of the Blessed
Virgin. On either side of the picture was a vase
with cadena de amor flowers. There was also a
glass of water covered with cloth. The windows
were all closed. My aunt turned her head and
motioned me to stand at the foot of the bed
facing my uncle.
His eyes were sunken and staring and his bleak-
like nose appeared too large in his ghastly thin
face. His hands fluttered nervously on the
blankets, his breathing was slow and discordant.
He did not recognize me. In this house of
shadows, he looked like another shadow. His
appearance was a far cry from the lusty man
that we had known him to be. He already had
the ashen look of a corpse.
Healthy, he had possessed a vitality that was
insatiable. Servant girls and a succession of
mistresses alike were prey to his desires. My
aunt had taken Loida in the house as a
desperate measure, thinking that a harelip would
repel him. The state of penury in which they
existed was due to him for he was also a
gambler; lands been mortgaged or sold to
satisfy his lust and vice. Some had explained his
philandering - my father though thought it was
more a disease - by blaming my aunt for being
barren. Nana Cecilia, however, seemed to have
loved him all the more, and when he had
insisted on their having separate bedrooms,
having tired of her perhaps, she had acted
hysterical about it; but he had his way. In her
misery she had turned to Nana Cora, her
younger sister, who had left the house in San
Nicolas to keep her company.
I could not understand though why she had
raged when I mentioned Nana Cora. I wondered
again why Nana Cora was gone.
My aunt had taken hold of one of his hands and
was kneading it, making soothing, baby-like
sounds. The intimate, pitifully ardent look on her
face made me feel uncomfortable. He started
coughing weakly at first then more strongly,
each racking cough bringing a look of anguish in
his eyes, his thin frame shaking convulsively
under the covers. My aunt looked at me with
feverish eyes.
"Go out now!" she ordered with nervous
urgency.
I backed out instantly in relief, holding my breath
in the polluted air. Outside, the thought of Nana
Cora came back to confuse me. She must have
quarreled with Nana Cecilia, I thought, bu t why?
Why?
At noon I was served alone by Loida. She had
on a dress that looked well on her surprisingly
firm, young body, and not the loose, ill-fitting
native blouse and skirt that my aunt had usually
imposed on her servants, as a precaution
against my uncle's too discerning eyes. Her face
was as ugly as ever, and she watched me eat
with a proprietary air which I disliked. She did
not act like a servant.
My aunt ate all her meals in the room.
"Why doesn't she go out now and then? It's bad
her staying indoors like that for whole days," I
said when she told me about it.
"Tell her! She stays there all the time afraid to
leave him, and she drove away some women on
the neighborhood when they came here to offer
help. And she sleeps with him, sick as he is!"
She sounded bitter again, and contemptuous.
"After all, he is her husband!" I snapped,
incensed by her tone and by the unservant-like
manner in which she referred to my aunt.
She muttered something and flounced out of the
room. I was barely able to control my rage. I felt
an irresistible desire to shout at her. I wondered
why, if she disliked my aunt, she had not gone
away. Besides, I was certain that my aunt could
not afford to retain the services of a servant
anymore.
Later, I talked to her again, about Nana Cora.
"Look, Loida," I said as easily as I could. "Tell
me why Nana Cora went away, will you?"
She looked at me with a sulky expression, then
said sullenly, " They quarreled."
"Quarreled? What about?"
I could have wrung her neck, the way she
answered.
"Him!" she sneered.
In the afternoon, I took a calesa across the river
to San Nicolas. I left the old house
unobtrusively. A vague uneasiness grew steadily
within me as I kept thinking about what Loida
had said and its implication.
Nana Cora was puttering among the zinias and
cucharitas, which lined the walk leading to the
house, when I arrived. The house, though much
smaller than the old one in Laoag, had a neat
look about it, and the wire fence disclosed
disclosed a well-trimmed row of violets. Behind
the house I could see the top of the tamarind
tree I used to climb, laden with brownish-green
fruit.
She gave a start when she heard me call,
dropping the trowel from her hand. I strode with
the long steps to her side and touched on of her
dirt-stained hands to my forehead. She started
to cry suddenly. I could do nothing but hold her,
feeling the sting of tears in my own eyes.
"Forgive me, hijo, I am so weak..." she said
later.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, Nana," I said.
I put my arm across her shoulders and we
walked to the house. They were bony to my
touch, and she looked so small and old in her
dirt-soiled, faded dress, so defenseless, that I
felt a surge of pity for her. I had wanted to ask
her why she had left the old house, but I realized
that I would only be hurting her by bringing the
subject up.
"It is good to work, one forgets unpleasant
things," she said, when I remarked that she
should not work too hard. A sad, wistful look was
in her eyes.
At first, she talked slowly, but gradually, she
became less restrained, and we chatted
reminiscently for some time. There was,
however, an unmistakable sadness about her,
and she was careful I thought with misgiving, not
to mention Nana Cecilia and my uncle. I did
mention them either, for her sake.It was much
later, when I decided to go, that she asked me
about Nana Cecilia.How is your Nana Celing?
she asked hesitantly. I could not detect,
however, any coldness, in her tone or in her
mien; and when I lied that Nana Cecilia seemed
in good health she brightened perceptibly.She
did not ask after my uncle though. When I
looked after Id taken my ride, she was still
standing by the gate; in the distance she
appeared frail and forlorn. An intense feeling of
loathing for the sick man in the old house rushed
over me.The old church bell was ringing the
Angelus when I reach the old house. Only the
room where the sick man was staying lighted.I
met Loida coming from the kitchen with a glass
of water at the head of the stairway. There was
a scared look about her.Where have you
been? she asked, pausing before the sick
mans room.San Nicolas, I said.
She has been calling for you. The priest was
here.Is he dying? I asked quickly. I felt no
compassion whatsoever.No -No! Her eyes
widened and stared at me frenziedly.
The door to the room opened then. My aunt
stood framed in the doorway, the light of a gas
lamp streaming behind her. I felt, more than I
saw, the glare of her eyes on me. Her hair was
loose, and with the light at her back, seemed like
outspread, thin wires, glinting.
Where have you been, loco? she inquired in a
strident voice, and there was a panickyquality to
it.Loida walked noiselessly behind her to the
room with the hasty steps.
I went to San Nicolas! I said.San Nicolas! she
repeated angrily. Did you come here only to
disappear when I needed you?
I thought you would need help from Nana
Cora.
What? What did you say?
I repeated what I said.
You had no right to do that, understand? No
right! she shrieked.
In the growing dusk and in the gloomy stillness
of the house, her voice was piercing. She shook
with fury, her arms held by her sides with
clenched hands, while she bent forward
mouthing obscenities.All my life, she
continued, dropping her voice to a savage,
tremulous whisper, all my life, I have had to put
up with whores. Your uncle is a weak man and I
could do nothing to stop it. I could not tolerate it,
understand! I will not have any whore in this
house after him! He is all mine now! Understand!
ALL MINE!
Then I heard the scream behind her, and it
came again and again, rising to high-pitched,
eerie crescendo, then breaking and rising again,
higher, eerier filled with a deep and
uncontrollable grief. The house seemed to jump
alive with echoes of it. My aunt, arrested in her
speech, flung herself madly into the room. I
dashed right after her.
Loida was holding the inert form of the man who
was my uncle in her arms, her split mouth
opened grotesquely, screaming, while tears
flowed down her face. The mans eyes were
open and sightless, his mouth hung agape.
Bruja! Release him! my aunt screamed at her.
She tried to pull away the lifeless body from the
wailing woman, but she could not. Then, fiercely,
she struck her with successive, resounding
slaps, crying insanely for her to release him.
While the lamplight shone in her upraised,
gaping face, the nasal twang in her voice crazier
than ever, saliva flying from her mouth, Loida
shrilled back:
No, No! I will not! He is mine, too! He loved me!
He loved me!
Summaryz:::Manuel possessed a vitality that
was insatiable. His healthy, younger years were
marked by a succession of mistresses. Even
servant girls were prey to his desires. Cecilia,
the wife had taken Loida, the harelip as a
househelp in a desperate hope that she would
repel him. His philandering caused the state of
penury in which they existed. So it was
surprising how even with his intended
imperfections, Cecilia seemed to have loved him
even more.
Loida had been with the couple since. She
possessed a face which to a stranger would
most likely be described as hideous. The cleft
lip, with repulsively livid gums went up in an
angle to a flat nose framed in an equally flat face
as though it had been bashed in by repeated fist
blows.
Now Manuel is dying, his appearance a far cry
from the lusty man he was once known to be
and he has the ashen look of a corpse. Cecilia
cares for him and she seldom goes out his
room. For Cecilia, Manuel has finally became
hers.
Loida on the other hand had adopted an
unservantly attitude. Suspicious of strangers and
guests, she doesn''t bother to hide her bitterness
at the thought of Cecilia alone caring for Manuel
and sleeping in a room with him. She seems to
bristle with suppressed anger and moves around
doing her chores in furious haste.
In one of those rare times when Cecilia went out
of the room, Loida screamed repeatedly. Her
screams sent Cecilia back to the room where
she saw Loida holding the inert form of Manuel,
screaming while tears flowed down her face, THEME:
saliva flying from her mouth that he is hers too,
that he loved her. SURVIVAL

MESSAGE OF THE STORY:

2.Cactus TEACH US TO BE STRONG, IN EVERY

TRIALS AND CIRCUMSTANCES THAT WE
By Tita Lacambra-Ayala(ilocos Norte) MAY FACE AND ENCOUNTER

Excuse the cactus

thirsting on the sill 3. The Quarrel

excuse it's quills Andres Cristobal Cruz

stuck out : Andres Cristobal Cruz was born in Dagupan

City, Pangasinan. He holds a degree in Bachelor
they're only an attempt of Arts major in English at the University of the
Philippines. He joined the staff of Liwayway
at self-defense.
Publishing after his graduation. He was chosen
See how it bleeds one of the Ten Outstanding Young Men (TOYU)
for his contributions to Philippine Literature. He
to fossils the old sand received the Republic Cultural Heritage Award in
1964 for his short stories. His selection The
itself looking to be such Quarrel won first prize in 1952-53 Carlos
Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature.
a fussy fossil.
He portrayed the character of his wife, Nina as a
Not quite futile.
good housewife and a fast housekeeper.
However as good as she was, she often got into
conflict with their landlady because of her
It should require inhuman attitude toward the couple.

some sort of guile It is a Short Story, which is a kind of Prose.

Short Story is an artistic form of prose fiction
some genius which centered on a single main incident whose
aim is to produce a single dominant impression.
to subsist on suns
Its qualities are economy, compression, brevity
ome lake of sand and emphasis.

(have both for free!) Elements or Ingredients of Prose

and come out looking 1. Characters/Characterization

freshly green, Nina- a good housewife and fast housekeeper

(juicy even) Ismael- a good husband

as if in spite of Missis Smith-cruel lady

as if in fun. 2. Setting
Apartment Sentence Outline

3. Plot I. Ismael had nightmare

a. Beginning Action 1. With a half shut eyes he tried in his mind to

Ismael had a nightmare and her wife comfort
him and they did not sleep until morning came.
On the second floor, Mrs. Smith, their landlady
was up there and had her rheumatism, the
couple talked about Mrs. Smith.
b. Rising Action
As usual Mrs. Smith was barking out order to the
men who were to take out her jeeps for the
routes. Imael had his breakfast and they talkd
about of what they are facing. The mother of
Nina decided to live her daughter with Ismael
when she found out about the baby that Nina
going to have, while listening to the music
through the radiophono that they bought after
their child died.
c. Conflict
Mrs. Smith came in by the backdoor, her care
tapping against the polished rungs of the low
stairs, and asking for the rent because it was
due on that day, but Nina and Ismael apologized
for they cannot pay for the rent and they are
asking for an extension. But Mrs. Smith insisted
that they should pay, and she did not listen to
any reasons of the couple.
make out other things of the objects in the still
dim room.
2. He heard the first trip dragging itself in the
distance, leaving three tortured shrill whistle
blasts and the irregular rumbling of iron wheels
to echo in whose consciousness lay listening.
II. The couple backfight Mrs. Smith.
1. Shes not very old nor very ugly Ismael
said forty or forty-five?
2. I wonder if her husband still remember
her, Nina said in a sarcastic voice.
III. The jeeps of Mrs. Smith
1. Ismael stood out in the sunlight , wiping his
face with a towel in his mind reciting the word
Too much.
2. He could hear the jeeps warning up on the
small street in front of the Accessoria.
3. As usual Mrs. Smith barking out orders to
the men who were to take out her jeeps for the
routes.
IV. Ismael had its breakfast

d. Climax 1. He likes the eggs to be his breakfast.

Until it came to physical hurting between Nina 2. He took up the clean shirt lying on the
and Mrs. Smith, all the people around them already made up bed.
appeared.
3. He smiled, Nina was such a fast
e. Denouement housekeeper.

Mrs. Smith realized what she did to the couple, V. Mrs. Smith asking for the rent
in a violent way just only to pay the rent.
1. Nina apologized and seconded by Ismael
f. End for they dont have yet the mone.

D. Theme 2. Mrs. Smith insisted.

Quarrel 3. Mrs. Smith start to have her oral

defamation.
4. Mrs. Smith realized her violence approach Interpretation:
to the couple.
At 1st stanza of the poem, it expresses
4. Ink that the ink if it will not remove on his bottle, it is
useless.
Guillermo Castillo(Pangasinan)
At 2nd stanza, when the ink is poured
I into a white paper it has already its life but it
cannot be understood.
Ink
At 3rd stanza, but if the ink will put into
Bottled in a glass prism
pen, it can already expressed, clearly
Meaningless in itself interpretation of what the holder of the pen want
to write.
Black and mute without a language

Silent but strongly-urged

To speak

Ink

Chance-impressed on white

Inarticulate unintelligible chaotic

Welcome on the bareness of white

But still foreign

Excommunicate

But ink

Pen-lifted pen-impressed

On blank white paper

Will-ordered

Interprets intensifies clarifies

Expresses

Life