The Story of the Sun and the Moon

Once, long ago, before the People came from beneath the Earth, the land was not the same as it is now. There was no Moon and the Sun was alone in the sky. The Sun was lonely, and would wander day and night through the sky. Always was the Sun searching for someone to be his friend, his companion. One day, the Sun wandered farther north than he ever had before, and there he saw a Glacier resting between two Mountains. The sun thought the glacier was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

And so it was that the Sun came to the north more often and spent many days watching the Glacier from the cover of the Mountains and the horizon. The Sun was clever but he could not hide forever, and the Mountains soon told the Glacier that he was hiding from her and watching from a distance. The Sun was ashamed and began to run away, fearing the Glacier would be mad at him. To his surprise, the Glacier was not mad and called out to the Sun, "Come closer, so that I may see you as well." But the Sun was bright and hard to look at. The Mountains told her to climb upon their backs so that she could see better. Still, she could not clearly see the face of the Sun, and so she leaped to him in the heavens and became the Moon.

The Sun made a home for them in the heavens and there the Moon and the Sun danced together, and they were happy. The Sun had never been more full of joy. He had found his mate, and was no longer lonely. He beamed down upon all the earth and sung his love. In this way, they lived a long time, but one day the Moon was not as happy as she usually was.

"Why are you not happy", asked the Sun?"

"I love you, and I like dancing through the sky with you, but I am homesick for the Mountains and their firm embrace. I am going to return to them."

"I am sorry my love", replied the Sun, "but you can not return. You are no longer the glacier that you once were. You are now the Moon and cannot return to the Mountains."

Her reply was filled with tears, "I shall try to return anyway, do not think I love the Mountains anymore than I love you, this is something I must do."

"I understand, and I will not let you leave my heart", said the Sun, "every day you try to return to the mountains, I will follow. When you decide that you no longer wish to search for the Mountains I will be behind you, waiting with my heart open for you. Whenever you feel you cannot continue, turn around and return to me."

When the People came from beneath the Earth they saw the Sun and they watched as it followed the Moon. Every day they watched as the Moon continued her quest searching for the Mountains of her youth, and the Sun followed. The Sun has never stopped following the Moon, and he never will.

Wedding Dance by Amador Daguio

Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the headhigh threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped inside, then pushed the cover back in place. After some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness.

"I'm sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it."

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of falling waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she did not know how long. There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With bare fingers he stirred the covered smoldering embers, and blew into the stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine on them, then full round logs as his arms. The room brightened.

"Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the dancing women?" He felt a pang inside him, because what he said was really not the right thing to say and because the woman did not stir. "You should join the dancers," he said, "as if--as if nothing had happened." He looked at the woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. The stove fire played with strange moving shadows and lights
upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness was not because of anger or hate.

"Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't hate me for this separation, go out and dance. One of the men will see you dance well; he will like your dancing, he will marry you. Who knows but that, with him, you will be luckier than you were with me."

"I don't want any man," she said sharply. "I don't want any other man."

He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You know very well that I won't want any other woman either. You know that, don't you? Lumnay, you know it, don't you?"

She did not answer him.

"You know it Lumnay, don't you?" he repeated.

"Yes, I know," she said weakly.

"It is not my fault," he said, feeling relieved. "You cannot blame me; I have been a good husband to you."

"Neither can you blame me," she said. She seemed about to cry.

"No, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say against you." He set some of the burning wood in place. "It's only that a man must have a child. Seven harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have waited too long. We should have another chance before it is too late for both of us."

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the blanket more snugly around herself.

"You know that I have done my best," she said. "I have prayed to Kabunyan much. I have sacrificed many chickens in my prayers."

"Yes, I know."

"You remember how angry you were once when you came home from your work in the terrace because I butchered one of our pigs without your permission? I did it to appease Kabunyan, because, like you, I wanted to have a child. But what could I do?"

"Kabunyan does not see fit for us to have a child," he said. He stirred the fire. The spark rose through the crackles of the flames. The smoke and soot went up the ceiling.

Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo flooring in place. She tugged at the rattan flooring. Each time she did this the split bamboo went up and came down with a slight rattle. The gong of the dancers clamorously called in her care through the walls.

Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat, paused before her, looked at her bronzed and sturdy face, then turned to where the jars of water stood piled one over the other. Awiyao took a coconut cup and dipped it in the top jar and drank. Lumnay had filled the jars from the mountain creek early that evening.

"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find you among the dancers. Of course, I am not forcing you to come, if you don't want to join my wedding ceremony. I came to tell you that Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can never become as good as you are. She is not as strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning water jars, not as good keeping a house clean. You are one of the best wives in the
whole village."

"That has not done me any good, has it?" She said. She looked at him lovingly. She almost seemed to smile.

He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and came closer to her. He held her face between his hands and looked longingly at her beauty. But her eyes looked away. Never again would he hold her face. The next day she would not be his any more. She would go back to her parents. He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor again and looked at her fingers as they tugged softly at the split bamboo floor.

"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you. Make it your own, live in it as long as you wish. I will build another house for Madulimay."

"I have no need for a house," she said slowly. "I'll go to my own house. My parents are old. They will need help in the planting of the beans, in the pounding of the rice."

"I will give you the field that I dug out of the mountains during the first year of our marriage," he said. "You know I did it for you. You helped me to make it for the two of us."

"I have no use for any field," she said.

He looked at her, then turned away, and became silent. They were silent for a time.

"Go back to the dance," she said finally. "It is not right for you to be here. They will wonder where you are, and Madulimay will not feel good. Go back to the dance."

"I would feel better if you could come, and dance---for the last time. The gangsas are playing."

"You know that I cannot."

"Lumnay," he said tenderly. "Lumnay, if I did this it is because of my need for a child. You know that life is not worth living without a child. The man have mocked me behind my back. You know that."

"I know it," he said. "I will pray that Kabunyan will bless you and Madulimay."

She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly, and sobbed.

She thought of the seven harvests that had passed, the high hopes they had in the beginning of their new life, the day he took her away from her parents across the roaring river, on the other side of the mountain, the trip up the trail which they had to climb, the steep canyon which they had to cross. The waters boiled in her mind in forms of white and jade and roaring silver; the waters tolled and growled,
resounded in thunderous echoes through the walls of the stiff cliffs; they were far away now from somewhere on the tops of the other ranges, and they had looked carefully at the buttresses of rocks they had to step on---a slip would have meant death.

They both drank of the water then rested on the other bank before they made the final climb to the other side of the mountain.

She looked at his face with the fire playing upon his features---hard and strong, and kind. He had a sense of lightness in his way of saying things which often made her and the village people laugh. How proud she had been of his humor. The muscles where taut and firm, bronze and compact in their hold upon his skull---how frank his bright eyes were. She looked at his body the carved out of the mountains
five fields for her; his wide and supple torso heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were heaving; his arms and legs flowed down in fluent muscles--he was strong and for that she had lost him.

She flung herself upon his knees and clung to them. "Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband," she cried. "I did everything to have a child," she said passionately in a hoarse whisper. "Look at me," she cried. "Look at my body. Then it was full of promise. It could dance; it could work fast in the fields; it could climb the mountains fast. Even now it is firm, full. But, Awiyao, I am useless. I must die."

"It will not be right to die," he said, gathering her in his arms. Her whole warm naked naked breast quivered against his own; she clung now to his neck, and her hand lay upon his right shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of gleaming darkness.

"I don't care about the fields," she said. "I don't care about the house. I don't care for anything but you. I'll have no other man."

"Then you'll always be fruitless."

"I'll go back to my father, I'll die."

"Then you hate me," he said. "If you die it means you hate me. You do not want me to have a child. You do not want my name to live on in our tribe."

She was silent.

"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it means I'll die. Nobody will get the fields I have carved out of the mountains; nobody will come after me."

"If you fail--if you fail this second time--" she said thoughtfully. The voice was a shudder. "No--no, I don't want you to fail."

"If I fail," he said, "I'll come back to you. Then both of us will die together. Both of us will vanish from the life of our tribe."

The gongs thundered through the walls of their house, sonorous and faraway.

"I'll keep my beads," she said. "Awiyao, let me keep my beads," she half-whispered.

"You will keep the beads. They come from far-off times. My grandmother said they come from up North, from the slant-eyed people across the sea. You keep them, Lumnay. They are worth twenty fields."

"I'll keep them because they stand for the love you have for me," she said. "I love you. I love you and have nothing to give."

She took herself away from him, for a voice was calling out to him from outside. "Awiyao! Awiyao! O Awiyao! They are looking for you at the dance!"

"I am not in hurry."

"The elders will scold you. You had better go."

"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

"It is all right with me."

He clasped her hands. "I do this for the sake of the tribe," he said.

"I know," she said.

He went to the door.

"Awiyao!"

He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain he turned to her. Her face was in agony. It pained him to leave. She had been wonderful to him. What was it that made a man wish for a child? What was it in life, in the work in the field, in the planting and harvest, in the silence of the night, in the communing with husband and wife, in the whole life of the tribe itself that made man wish for the laughter and speech of a child? Suppose he changed his mind? Why did the unwritten law demand, anyway, that a man, to be a man, must have a child to come after him? And if he was fruitless--but he loved Lumnay. It was like taking away of his life to leave her like this.

"Awiyao," she said, and her eyes seemed to smile in the light. "The beads!" He turned back and walked to the farthest corner of their room, to the trunk where they kept their worldly possession---his battle-ax and his spear points, her betel nut box and her beads. He dug out from the darkness the beads which had been given to him by his grandmother to give to Lumnay on the beads on, and tied them in place. The white and jade and deep orange obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly clung to him, clung to his neck as if she would never let him go.

"Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard!" She gasped, and she closed her eyes and huried her face in his neck.

The call for him from the outside repeated; her grip loosened, and he buried out into the night.

Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then she went to the door and opened it. The moonlight struck her face; the moonlight spilled itself on the whole village.

She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas coming to her through the caverns of the other houses. She knew that all the houses were empty that the whole tribe was at the dance. Only she was absent. And yet was she not the best dancer of the village? Did she not have the most lightness and grace? Could she not, alone among all women, dance like a bird tripping for grains on the ground, beautifully
timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the men praise her supple body, and the women envy the way she stretched her hands like the wings of the mountain eagle now and then as she danced? How long ago did she dance at her own wedding? Tonight, all the women who counted, who once danced in her honor, were dancing now in honor of another whose only claim was that perhaps she could give her
husband a child.

"It is not right. It is not right!" she cried. "How does she know? How can anybody know? It is not right," she said.

Suddenly she found courage. She would go to the dance. She would go to the chief of the village, to the elders, to tell them it was not right. Awiyao was hers; nobody could take him away from her. Let her be the first woman to complain, to denounce the unwritten rule that a man may take another woman. She would tell Awiyao to come back to her. He surely would relent. Was not their love as strong as the
river?

She made for the other side of the village where the dancing was. There was a flaming glow over the whole place; a great bonfire was burning. The gangsas clamored more loudly now, and it seemed they were calling to her. She was near at last. She could see the dancers clearly now. The man leaped lightly with their gangsas as they circled the dancing women decked in feast garments and beads, tripping on the ground like graceful birds, following their men. Her heart warmed to the flaming call of the dance; strange heat in her blood welled up, and she started to run. But the gleaming brightness of the bonfire commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her approach?
She stopped. What if somebody had seen her coming? The flames of the bonfire leaped in countless sparks which spread and rose like yellow points and died out in the night. The blaze reached out to her like a spreading radiance. She did not have the courage to break into the wedding feast.

Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground, away from the village. She thought of the new clearing of beans which Awiyao and she had started to make only four moons before. She followed the trail above the village.

When she came to the mountain stream she crossed it carefully. Nobody held her hand, and the stream water was very cold. The trail went up again, and she was in the moonlight shadows among the trees and shrubs. Slowly she climbed the mountain.

When Lumnay reached the clearing, she cold see from where she stood the blazing bonfire at the edge of the village, where the wedding was. She could hear the far-off clamor of the gongs, still rich in their sonorousness, echoing from mountain to mountain. The sound did not mock her; they seemed to call far to her, to speak to her in the language of unspeaking love. She felt the pull of their gratitude for her
sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound to her like many gangsas.

Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she had known long ago-- a strong, muscular boy carrying his heavy loads of fuel logs down the mountains to his home. She had met him one day as she was on her way to fill her clay jars with water. He had stopped at the spring to drink and rest; and she had made him drink the cool mountain water from her coconut shell. After that it did not take him long to decide to throw his spear on the stairs of her father's house in token on his desire to marry her.

The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing moonlight. The wind began to stir the leaves of the bean plants. Lumnay looked for a big rock on which to sit down. The bean plants now surrounded her, and she was lost among them.

A few more weeks, a few more months, a few more harvests---what did it matter? She would be holding the bean flowers, soft in the texture, silken almost, but moist where the dew got into them, silver to look at, silver on the light blue, blooming whiteness, when the morning comes. The stretching of the bean pods full length from the hearts of the wilting petals would go on.

Lumnay's fingers moved a long, long time among the growing bean pods.

THE LITTLE FROG AND THE SMALL POND

Once upon a time, a young frog was having a wonderful time in a small pond beside a large pond. She was hopping and croaking to her heart’s content.

Everyone in the small pond would call out to her in friendship. Even the fishes and snakes were her friends. Her parents and her family loved her so much.

One day, she hopped and hopped and finally landed on the crack of a boulder.

She crawled and hopped her way to the top and saw all the splendor of the big pond.

Calling down to her family, she said, I’m going to hop my way to the big pond.

All of her family called back in fear, no, no! The pond is so big. You will only get lost and you don’t know what lies ahead.

Happy and full of adventure, the young frog ventured into the big pond. For a while she got awed by the splendor of the big trees, the floating water lilies, the smell of the dew on the lush greenery. However as time passed, she hopped and croaked but found no friends.

The big fishes snubbed her. The snakes hissed at her. At one time a big alligator passed by and she cowered in fright. Finally she sat down at the side of the pond and said, This pond is not for me.

A beautiful woodpecker overheard her and said, I am here, I can be your friend.For a time, the little frog was happy because the woodpecker was a very good friend.

One day, the little frog said to her friend, I miss my family, my friends in the little pond. Do you think I could go back?

The woodpecker answered, Whatever your heart desires, you can do. Do you really want to go home?

With tears in her eyes, the little frog nodded. You can always visit me there, can you?

The woodpecker answered, Yes I can and I will.

The little frog, hopped and hopped and, after so much hopping, finally landed in the small pond.

I remember being told this short fable when I was in the grades but I changed the ending, to suit what I want to share today.

Instead of the frog puffing and puffing with pride until finally bursting, I twisted the story to allow the frog to go home and even allowed the frog to find a kind friend. Why?

People in a way, at one time or another, like the frog, want to seek another milieu. We look out of our tiny windows and see a great big wide world outside.

Seeing the other sights many of us venture to another milieu where, ( if we are lucky) we get assimilated and accepted. The unlucky ones are tolerated, critized and snubbed. There are times however when even the unlucky ones are blessed with kindhearted friends who accept us for who we are. Others who are wise return to their ponds ,treasuring the kindness of the new friends, enriched in the wisdom that life in the small pond is ten times better than the large pond where friendships are studied, measured and even quartered.

I’m not saying that it is not good to venture out of one’s milieu. Many times it is. But one has to be armed with the realization that it can be a harsh world outside and that survival of the fittest in a highly materialistic and competitive world is the rule of the game.

The big pond can be full of alligators, large snakes and even big unfriendly fishes.

Perhaps awareness of what one has, what one needs to be happy and what stuff one is made of, is what is necessary before venturing into the unknown.

As I watch with a writer’s eye the many unhappy people who are trying to keep up with the Joneses, or the many others who are trying so hard in a world alien to them, I feel sad because no one needs a bigger pond.

One can venture outside one’s world, enjoy the outside world, meet many beautiful woodpeckers and then go back to one’s world secure in the thought that one’s small pond is home where love, loyalty, true friendship and care exist.

What about the beautiful woodpeckers? They are God’s gift to beautiful frogs too. Remember in the fable, there wasn’t a mean bone in the little frog. She was a happy one, full of life, open-eyed for adventure. She grew up in the big pond and realized that the blessings of the little pond was what really made her happy. Her woodpecker was the gold she found and treasured!

thanks for reading

regards jayke_pinoy_ako_e

IBONG ADARNA STORY (English Version)

King Fernando of Berbania had three sons, Pedro, Diego and Juan of whom the last was the favorite. He so loved Juan that when one night he dreamed that his two children conspired against their youngest brother, the king became so frightened that he fell sick with a malady, which none of the physicians of the kingdom were able to cure. Persons were not lacking, however, who would advise him that bird Adarna was the one living being in the world which could restore to him his lost health and tranquility. Acting on this advice, he sent out his oldest son Pedro to look for this coveted animal. After days of wandering through the dense forests and extensive thickets, he came to a tree of diamond, at the foot of which he fell down tired and thirsty. He never suspected that it was this very tree in which the famous bird was accustomed to pass the night; and when the night was setting and the Adarna flung into the air the first of its seven songs, his melody was so softly sweet that Pedro was lulled into a profound sleep. After emitting its seventh melody for the night, the bird defecated on the sleeping prince who was thereby converted into a stone.

When Pedro had not returned after the lapse of one year, the now weakening king asked

his second son Diego also to launch out in search of the same bird. Diego underwent the same vicissitudes and hardships and came to exactly the same fate as Pedro - converted into a stone at the foot of the enchanted tree. At last Juan, the youngest and most favored son was sent forth, after his elder brothers in search of the treacherous bird. Juan, however, had the fortune to meet on his way an old hermit who was impressed by the virtues and good manners of the young prince, and knowing the mission on which he embarked, put him on guard against the treacheries, intrigues and cunning of the famous bird. First, he provided him with a knife and a lemon, warning him that if he wanted to free himself from the irresistible drowsiness induced by the seven melodies of the Adarna, he had to open on his body seven wounds and distil into them the juice of the lemon. The pain caused by this might prevent him from sleeping. Next, the hermit warned him to avoid any defecation that might fall from the bird after it sung its seven songs, so that he would not suffer the fate of his brothers. Lastly, he told him that after finishing his seventh song the famous bird would fall sleep and that the prince should take advantage of this occasion to take him prisoner. The hermit gave him a golden cord to tie the bird when caught and two pails of water to pour over his two petrified brothers which would bring them back to life. Juan did as was bidden and soon found himself in possession of the desired bird and on his way back to his home country with his two brothers, Pedro and Diego.

On the way, however, being envious that Juan had obtained what they were not able to do, the two older brothers conspired between themselves to do away with him. Pedro suggested that they should kill him but Diego, who was less brutal, convinced Pedro that it was sufficient to beat him, which they did. After beating Juan to whom they owed their lives, they left him unconscious in the middle of the road as the two brothers continued on their way to the palace. Once there, they presented themselves to their fathers as the ones who actually caught the Adarna. To their surprise, the bird refused to sing for the king in the absence of Prince Juan and the monarch did not get well. It was also fortunate that the old hermit who guided Juan to the Adarna found him stretched out helpless on the road, after curing him of his wounds the prince could returned safely to his father's kingdom. It was then that the bird, out of sheer contentment, burst into a harmonious song recounting the history of its capture. The song cured the king but angered him greatly to learned of his two son's treachery towards Don Juan. The monarch, blinded by his ire, decreed the death of his two elder sons; but Juan with a noble heart interceded for them as always and once again reigned in the kingdom peace and merriment.But on a certain night when Juan fell asleep while guarding the Adarna bird in its golden cage, his two elder brothers again entered into conspiracy with one another to put him in the bad graces of their father by releasing the bird from its cage. Juan, ashamed of what he thought was his fault, slipped out of the palace and started to go in search of the famous bird. King Fernando hurriedly ordered Pedro and Diego to start pursuit of the bird and Juan. After an extensive search the bird was not found but the 3 brothers finally encountered each other near an incredibly deep well. They decided to explore it instead of returning to the palace for the fear of the ire of their father. Pedro, the eldest, was the first to descend by means of a cord lowered by the two brothers who remained above; but he had scarcely gone a third of the way when he felt afraid and gave sign for his two brothers to pull him out of the well. Presently, Diego was let down but he too could not go farther down than half of the way. When it was Juan's turn to go he allowed himself to be let down to the lowest depths of the cistern.There the prince discovered two enchanted palaces, the first being occupied by Princess Juana who informed him she was being held prisoner by a giant, and the second by Princess Leonora, also the prisoner of a large seven-headed serpent. After killing the giant and the serpent, the prince tugged on the cord and soon came up to the surface of the earth with the two captive princesses, whom his two brothers soon wanted to take away from him. Diego desired Princess Juana for himself and Pedro wanted Princess Leonora. Before the parting, however, Leonora discovered that she left her ring in the innermost recesses of the well. Juan voluntarily offered to take it for her but when he was half way down, the two brothers cut the rope he was descending causing him to fall to the bottom of the well.Not long after this, wedding bells were rung in the palace. Diego married Princess Juana but Princess Leonora before casting her lot with Prince Pedro requested her marriage to him delayed for a term of seven years because she might still have a chance to unite herself with Don Juan. Don Juan, thanks to Leonora's enchanted ring found in the well, could avail himself of the help of a wolf which cured him of his wounds, fix his dislocations, and bring him to the medicinal waters of the Jordan, and took him out of the well. Already torn of all hope of ever finding the Adarna, Don Juan resolved to return to the Kingdom. But to his confusion, he was unable to find his way. No one could tell him precisely which was the way that would lead him to the kingdom of his father. He came across the Adarna who told him that he should forget about Leonora because Maria Blanca is better than her and Don Juan forgot about Leonora. The Adarna told Don Juan that Maria Blanca could be found in Reyno de los Cristales. He came across three hermits none of whom could give him the necessary information. The last of these consulted all the of the animals from the surrounding areas, but none of them could tell the prince the direction towards Reyno de los Cristales. But the king of all these animals, a swiftly soaring eagle, having compassion for his troubles, offered to take the prince to wherever he desired. After an epic flight the prince and the eagle came to a distant crystal lake on whose shores they landed to rest from their long and tiresome flight. Then the eagle related to his companion the secrets of the crystal lake. This was the bathing place where, in certain hours of the day, the three daughters of the most powerful and most feared king of the surrounding regions used to dive into the water and swim; and for this reason it was not proper for the prince to commit any indiscretion if he desired to remain and see the spectacle of the bath. Don Juan remained and when the hour of the bathing arrived he saw plunging into the pure crystal water the figures of the three most beautiful princesses whom his sinful eyes had ever seen. He then secretly hid and kept one of the princesses dresses. When the princess noticed the theft, her two sisters had already gone. The prince hurriedly ran to her and on his knee begged her pardon and placed at her feet her stolen dress and at the same time poured forth the most ardent and tender professions of love. Pleased by his gentleness and gallant phrases, the princess also fell in love with him; but she advised him that it would be better for him to go away before her father would come to know of his intrusion. If he did not do so she would be converted into another piece of stone for the walls of the enchanted palace in which they live, in the same way that all the other suitors who aspired for their hands had been transformed.On being informed of the adventure of the bold prince, the king sent for him. Don Juan, who would risk everything for the privilege of seeing his beloved, presented himself to the king in spite of the princess' warning. The king, greatly impressed with the youth's tact and self-possession, chose to give him a series of tests both gigantic and impossible for ordinary mortals. After completing these trials the king was satisfied and offered Don Juan his daughter.

However, the princess, fearing that her father might resort to a new trick to foil their happiness, ordered the prince to direct himself to the royal stables in order to take the best horse and have him ready for them to flee on that same night. Unfortunately, the prince in his hurry, took the wrong horse and the king came immediately went in pursuit of the fugitives. The king, riding the best horse, pursued them tenaciously but through the use of cunning magic the princess helped them to outrace the king.

When at last they found themselves safe and free, it did not take them long before they could reach the portals of the Berbanian Kingdom. But the prince, alleging that he should have such preparations duly made for entry into the royal palace as are appropriate for her category and dignity, left Dona Maria on the way promising to return for her once he had informed the committee that was to receive her. Once in the midst of the happiness of palace life, Don Juan soon forgot his professions of love to Dona Maria. He became dazzled by the beauty of Princess Leonora who had been waiting for him during all the days of his absence and he sought her hand in marriage while Dona Maria was impatiently waiting for his return. When she came to know of the infidelity of Don Juan, the pilgrim princess made use of the talisman which she always carried with her and adorned with the most beautiful royal garments and carried in a large coach drawn by eight sorrel-colored horses with four palfreys, she presented herself at the door of the palace practically inviting herself to the royal wedding of the Prince Don Juan and the Princess Dona Leonora.

Out of respect for so beautiful a guest from foreign lands and on the occasion of the wedding itself, there were celebrated tournaments, in one Dona Maria succeeded in inserting as one of the number dance of a negrito and a negrita created from nothing through her marvelous talisman. In the dance the negrita carried a whip in her hand and with it she pitilessly lashed her negrito partner, calling him Don Juan while she proceeded to remind of all the vicissitudes of fortune undergone by him at the side on Dona Maria, the part which was played by the whipping negrita: the scene of the bath, the different tests to which he had been subjected by her father, the flight of both that was full of accidents, and his cruel abandonment of her on the way. Every crack of the whip which fell on the shoulders of the negrito seemed at the time to the true Don Juan as it is was lashing his own body and flesh. At the end of the scene, the prince repentant of his grave offense came down from his throne to implore pardon from the princess Dona Maria and to offer her his hand, promising to take her for his wife in the presence of all the people of his Kingdom.

When the king, his father Don Fernando, came to know of the rivalry of the two princesses, Dona Maria and Dona Leonora, both aspiring to the hand of Don Juan, he consulted with the archbishop of the kingdom on the case, the church dignitary deciding in favor of Dona Leonora invoking for her the priority of the right. But Dona Maria was determined to fight to the last for the prince of her love and, taking advantage of the power of her talisman, sent all over Barbania Kingdom a big inundation which threatened to carry away the whole nation together with all its inhabitants. King Fernando and his subjects trembled in the face of the imminent danger and all supplicated Princess Dona Leonora to be content with marrying Don Pedro, the brother of Don Juan, which she did for the good of all, occasioning for this reason a double marriage - an occasion which brought about once more tranquility and joy to the Berbanian Kingdom.

regards jayke87

How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife By Manuel E. Arguilla

How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife By Manuel E. Arguilla

She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. SHe was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth.

"You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high on her right cheek. "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much." She held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum.

I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his forehead now."

She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she came and touched Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily.

My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her.
"Maria---" my brother Leon said.

He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name.

"Yes, Noel."

Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way.

"There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west.

She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said quietly.

"You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?"

Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel.

We stood alone on the roadside.

The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang's white coat, which I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire.

He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly in answer.

"Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with him a big uncertainly, and I saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders.

"Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it."

"There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him."

She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang's neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high up on her right cheek.

"If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous."

My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them.

I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top.

She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away.

"Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears.

She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair. When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around.

"What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said.

I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went---back to where I had unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires.

When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly:

"Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?"

His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig.

"Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the camino real?"

His fingers bit into my shoulder.

"Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong."

Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said:

"And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and the calesa."

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?"

I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart.

"Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky.

"I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said. "Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?"

"Yes, Noel," she said. "Look at it," she murmured, half to herself. "It is so many times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach."

"The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke."

"So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath.

"Making fun of me, Maria?"

She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's hand and put it against her face.

I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart between the wheels.

"Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart sant.

Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart.

"Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked.

"Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him."

"I am asking you, Baldo," she said.

Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly:

"Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home---Manong."

"So near already."

I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky Sown with Stars'---the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again.

Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes.

"But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly.

"You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?" My brother Leon stopped singing.

"Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here."

With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired. In a little while we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real.

"---you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields because---but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home."

"Noel," she said.

"Yes, Maria."

"I am afraid. He may not like me."

"Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said. "From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered, gentlest man I know."

We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said "Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels.

I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's hand were:

"Father... where is he?"

"He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg is bothering him again."

I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them.

There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking.

"Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked.

"No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night."

He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair.

"She is very beautiful, Father."

"Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders.

"No, Father, she was not afraid."

"On the way---"

"She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang."

"What did he sing?"

"---Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him."

He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside.

The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in.

"Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me.

I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn.

"It is time you watered him, my son," my father said.

I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

regards

jayke_z@yahoo.com