Night

Media

Part of The Carolinian

Title: Night
extracted text: DEAR LITA: It is December again, and, perhaps, the road to Carmela is now arrayed with flowers which you, taking ad vantage of my ignorance of flo ral names, called White Stars of Beth lehem. So attractive, they were the first to delight me for I thought I had ill luck when the conductor said, I’m sorry; the machine won’t work any more. What else could a stranger bear in his mind under such circumstances. According to some of the passengers, we were yet two kilometers from the town and no other bus was traveling that hour of the night, young though it We all got off one by one and stayed on the roadsides for a while like a group of noisy picnickers. I was the only one who was quiet, and as you lat er told me, I stood there smoking in the moonlight as nervelessly as a gangster in a movie. Then, every one started to go on the journey to the town on foot. I could not act at once; I looked around wanting to find some one who would be friendly enough to say, What about you or Come along. I saw you. You smiled at me, and smiling, I slowly ap proached you. “Waiting for the airplane?" you said. “Ha? No,” I said. “The airplane is here already, but I’ll get into it as soon as your taxi arrives.” You’re a gentleman?” “So, take me for a keepsake.” “I’m going now.” You blushed and picked up your basket. “May I carry it?” I tried to take the basket from your hand. “Thank you. Don’t. I...” You held it firmly, but when I touched your hand you let it go. We walked on in silence, until it be came embarrassing and I had to croon White Christmas. In the middle of the refrain, I forgot the wording of the song. “I was being fresh, wasn’t I?” I said stupidly. You did not say anything. Appar ently, you wanted me to be definite. It takes an honest heart to know that love is dispassionate free from affectation, and tender as the ... “When I told you to take me for a keepsake,” I added. “It was all right.” There was for giveness in your voice; in fact, it seem ed that you had passed it over before I thought it was improper of me to say it. "Please, go on singing.” “I have lost the lyric. By the way, do you live in the town proper?” “Just so. Near the church.” "A friend of mine requested me to have my Christmas Eve there. I hope it won’t take me long to locate him.” “What’s your friend’s name.” “Eddie Pabroa.” “He is our neighbor. When we get there, I’ll point their house to you.” You were very kind. “Thank you in advance.” “Let me have that basket. Perhaps, you’re tired of it now?” “No. Leave this to me. Anyway, this is not heavy. And I won’t be at ease walking with a lady carrying a big bas ket, while my hands are dangling con spicuously empty.” The road was a big uphill now, but instead of inching along you ran ahead of me and stood where the moon hung so low that your shoulder would have pushed it up if you jumped. "Why did you do that?” I said il lustrating the motion of a breeze blow ing towards you with my left hand. “You think I’m childish, don’t you?” you said, somewhat worried. I shook my head. “You, if you were that, when I asked you, would have made a face at me and simply said: By gosh, to have some fun. No. You’re not childish. You’re a child yourself." “If one can both remain a child and grow to age, has he not the heart of things which is life?” “I don’t know. I don’t believe in the magic circle of timelessness of human beings.” “Oh, don’t be so dull, old man.” I paused beside you and took a deep breath of the healthy country air. Then I looked around and was suddenly struck with fascination. “There is Carmela,” you said raising your hand. “And the sea. And those are the lighted bancas of the fisher men.” “I like you. You don’t embroider it,” I said. “Beauty like this should be left entirely naked to the mind, minus the adjectives and high coloring.” “Goodness, you sound sublime.” “And what a night! I won’t forget this till the day I die.” NIGH T" ■ illustrated by | A. R. MANLIGAS Page 6 THE CAROLINIAN “I pity you.” “Your reason? How sad it is to see one affording consolation to another when it is neither needed nor expected.” "Listen. You appear to have never seen any starry night at all. For your information, almost all the nights are like this.” “Is that so?” “Some people have a silly conception of the night; they take it only as a period for sleeping. They don’t con sider it at all, or gaze at the evening sky. They are them who are perpetual ly missing half their lives.” “Goodness, you sound sublime!” “You defeat me with my own weapon.” “Okay, let’s not be serious any more.” "It’s funny. We pretend to be wise people.” “We really are.” “Hush. Some one might hear us elevating ourselves.” “Who? Our companions are far away already. They march like soldiers. Say, why do you talk to me like this, so in timately? And why do you walk with me in the first place? Are you not afraid of, of me?” "It’s your inquiring that frightens me. Well, perhaps, it’s because you looked helplessly lonely and g... harmless. And still perhaps, it’s because I’m not a misanthrope.” “Do you have a garden?” “A small one. Why?” “These flowers along the road. May be, you grow a lot of them. What are they?” I stooped to pluck one. I smelled it and gave it to you. “Oh, we don’t plant them. They just come during December. Aren’t they lovely?” “They have starform. And they are pure white! What do you call them?” They had awakened in me an interest in flowers. In all kinds of flowers.” “You’re very particular in names. They are... White Stars of Bethlehem.” “You’re kidding.” “Not in the least. They are White Stars of Bethlehem; that’s why they only come with Christmas.” “White Stars of Bethlehem. It would be a nice title for a song or a poem. Maybe, you spend your Christmas Eve here too lively, otherwise my friend wouldn’t be forcibly inducing me to come.” "How do you keep your Christmas Eve in your place?” “We paint the town red! We go to night spots and dance and drink!” “Just like that, eh?” "What do you mean just like that. Do I have to mention the details of the excitement?” “Tell me if I’m right... You also gossip on sundry topics.” “Of course.” “Laugh aloud, to your heart’s con tent. And sometimes, you steal naughty kisses from your dance-partner." You halted. "Yes. Er, yes.” I would never admit that to any girl but you. I did not understand why it was hard to tell you a lie. You held to my shoulder for sup port, slipped off your shoe and poured out the pebble in it. You put it on and we continued walking. "Then, you return home singing wild ly. beseeching whatever god there is to guide the taxi-driver who is chasing the devil." “As you say.” “And in the morning, you wake up very late with a hang-over, with a tired ness of body and spirit. You call up what had passed, and utter, It was a Night. Night spelled with capital N.” "Yes.” "You still have time to go back, and I think your friend won’t hold you if you want to. You’ll be disappointed. We don’t observe Christmas that way. Any one can do those things any day of the year. Christmas should not be made an excuse for, for tomfooleries.” “TOOOOmfOOOOleries. If you had only tempered the tone of your voice, I’d say you are angry. Why don’t you tell me how you commemorate Christ mas here, instead of cooling me off.” “I don’t discourage you.” You were sincere. “If Christmas ever means any thing to you, then keep it up. You’ll soon see for yourself how we keep it up.” "How do you know all those things? The kiss-stealing, the drive-home, and all that.” by JUNNE CANIZARES “I have a cousin in the city. He used to write us about these doings. Mama says he’s dissipated, and we’ve to pray for him, especially this Christmas.” “May I ask you a personal question?" “Yes." "Do you have a sweetheart?” “Oh, we are now in the town!” “You don’t answer me.” I was saying You don’t answer me for the second time, when the carollers played aloud their musical string instruments and sang beneath the lan tern-lighted window of a house beside the road. I could not guess whether or not it was because I was cut short that you laughed, but just the same I was pleased with it; it was a good laughter, clean and polite. We edged through children gayly playing on the streets, and since there were many groups of carollers resounding at the same instant from one house to another, I felt that it was the animated music that made us move. We passed the lit tle restaurant where people were crowd ing around a group of dancers recount ing the story of the Magi. Then we paced across the square where some lads and lassies were conversing. “This is our home,” you said unlatch ing the gate. “Oh," I said. The power of speech had gone out of me. I took a quick glimpse of the house. It was of regu lar size, painted ivory and beautiful. You reached for the basket and I hand ed it to you. You were still holding the White Star of Bethlehem I gave you. “Thank you very much. Come in for a while and have some coffee.” You be came very formal that I doubted if we ever had familiarity talked to each other a while ago. “How soon we arrive. Thanks.” "Is it you, Lita? Lita,” a woman called from inside the house. "Yes, ma,” you replied. “Come on in.” “Not now. I think I’ve to go to my friend’s house first.” “O! me!” You bit your lip and laughed. I laughed, too. “There, that house is your friend’s.” “I see, I see." "Are you sure you aren’t coming in for a while?” “I’ll just come back. I’m, I’m Ric.” I looked at your adorable face closely. “I’m Lita.” You shyly smiled. I watched you go towards the door leaving the gate invitingly open. You were so divine. Before you got inside the door you turned to smile at me. One could have easily knocked me down with a feather. I did not know how long I tarried by the gate looking at the flowers in your wide garden, but you did come out to catch me there. You had changed your clothes; you wore a well-pressed immac ulately white dress this time. “You are still here,” you said. You were more glad than surprised. "Yes,” I said, breathless. “I like your flowers very much.” “I’m going to water the orchids.” “Do you water them at night?” “No. I was not here this afternoon, and Ma forgot to water them. That’s why I’m... Orchids must be well taken care of; they’re delicate." “I see. Well, I must be going now.” I keep on remembering that wonder ful night through the months, till some how it stops to be a mere memory. That night has become a part of the other nights. It is Christmas again, and I shall come back to Carmela; I will put Eddie in a position wherein he cannot do any thing but invite me again. I shall ride by night again. I wish the bus should get stalled at the same place and I would find you among the passengers, so that once more we’d walk together to the town. But there are new things that I have to say to you. For instance, I know now that the flowers along the road are ordinary wild flowers and that they are not called White Stars of Beth lehem. But just to both of us, they shall forever be called by that name. And then, Lita, I must tell you why you are beyond forgetting. (The Beginning) CHRISTMAS ISSUE, 1959 Page 7
Date: 1959
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