The Exile [short story]

Media

Part of Woman's Home Journal

Title: The Exile [short story]
Creator: Reyes, L. V.
Language: English
Year: 1936
Rights
Fulltext: Manila, June, 1936 WOMAN’S HOME JOURNAL 17 LET me see—this hap pened such a long time ago that I really should not be blamed for not remem bering very clearly. I was about forty, then—no fortythree, and my brother was in his early thirties. I am eighty now—yes, I am that old. Let me see.—Perhaps if I try hard enough, I can go back to that day in June when I visited my brother for the last time. I had great difficulty in obtaining permission to visit him, but I finally did, and I was given such a number of restrictions that only my de sire to see him again made me go on. I had my little daughter with me. Yes, there she is, the one with the baby. She was not ten years then, and I had quite a hard time before I could persuade them to let her come with me. “A child is such protec tion,” I told them, “and be sides, where shall I leave a growing girl in these unset tled times? I have just come from the bedside of my little boy. I do not expect him to live... . ” He did not, and I was away when he died. But that is neither here nor there. They put us in a small freight boat that was stink ing with the odor of bagoong and dried fish. There were less than twenty of us. My daughter and I were the only passengers. The others were sailors gathered from differ ent parts of the islands: Ilocanos, Tagalogs, and Visayans eager to visit their homes and working their way back there. I cannot now re call whether the ocean was smooth or calm. I was not concerned with the weather nor the ocean then. Every morning I asked the captain, “How soon do we get there?” and always he would reply, “Soon, soon.” The boat was stopping at Dapitan especially for me, and every one in the crew was curious with a respectful curiosity about my business there. I think no one believ ed I was there only for a visit. They thought perhaps that when I returned to Manila, my brother would be with me, for there was not one among A Page From History — As Etched in a Womans Heart— (A SHORT STORY) By L. V. Reyes them who did not know and love my brother and would not be unwilling to smuggle him if need be. My first sight of this out of the way island did not reas sure me. I remember feeling a sense of desolation as the outline of its shore first greeted my eyes. But it i§, all sand and rock, I said to my self. Where could he live? I am only an ignorant woman, and perhaps I was prejudiced, but I hated the island at first sight and I never have been able to remember it with af fection. The boat put us down near a ROYAL JELLIED CONSOMME Dissolve contents of one package of Royal Gelatin Aspic in 1 cup of boiiing water; add 1 cup of cold water. Stir again. Chill until firm. Before serv ing, break up the Royal Gela tin Aspic with a fork. 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And then, you see my brother had not been idle, and he practiced his pro fession even there, curing this ill and that with such suc ANNOUNCING— a brand-new food for a warm climate, ROYAL GELATIN ASPIC For Jelied Meats and Consommes A gay new note in hot-weather dishes! Royal Aspic—the new, un sweetened gelatin with delicious meat like flavor already in it—is just what women have been waiting for. Jellied consommes or meats...cool molded salads... are now as easy to pre pare as a simple gelatin dessert. Royal Aspic js ready for instant use ...saves you all the trouble of prepar ing meat stock. No bothersome soaking of gelatin, either. A chilled jellied consomme when the weather is hot gives a touch of smart ness ... and coolness! cess that magic powers were attributed to him. As I was saying, we went with the man, and we walked about a mile to get to the home of my bro ther. ....... The place of his exile was not really a bad place. Signs of toil could be seen every where. There were fields and homes which looked neat even to my disapproving eye. The people seemed infinitely se rene after the turmoil of Ma nila, and the sight of the everyday tasks being pursued with indolent calm almost won me over. Heaven forgive me for hardening my heart against a town which had never hurt me nor mine, but in those days, my sorrow had made me unreasonable and I prayed that such a place be forever blotted from the map of the islands. But to go on...the man took us to what appeared to be the center of the town. It looked like any of our lesser southern towns, and I can not remember anything distinc(Continued on page 31) 34 WOMAN’S HOME JOURNAL Manila, Ju.. THE EXILE Continued from page 17) tive about it. My brother oc cupied one of its small nipa houses. I was trembling when we approached it, and I held my daughter so tightly that she protested. I looked at the house very keenly, trying hard to see it through my tears. I wanted to shout, to cry and rave, but I did not. I can remember that with pride. We went up bamboo stairs, and I suddenly felt a fear that my brother might not be home. “Apong Jose,” my guide said softly, and with those words the house seemed to stir to weary life. From the small bedroom, we heard the creaking of an iron bed, then the faint, “Come in, come in, what is it?” which made me rush forward. He was sitting on the bed, his body thinner and longer than I had known it, his face sharply thin but patient, a smile awaiting whoever had come to see him. At sight of me, he went terribly pale, and his eyes glared in an unbelief that destroyed whatever cour age was left in me. I sobbed with grief and joy. All my brave intentions to pretend, to seem gay and courageous, vanished, and there I was shaking and weeping like any woman. You must remember I had not seen him for four years and my son was dying in Manila. “Sanse,” he said, “Sanse,” while he patted my arm clum sily. We are an undemonstra tive family and he was ill at ease in the face of my sorrow. “Why didn’t you write.. .” he started to ask, then he re membered that he could not receive any letter from the outside world, and he stopped. He placed a chair for me, the only chair in the room, then he sat on the bed. He looked steadily at my daughter, not attempting to touch her, knowing with that great understanding of his how embarrassed the child felt. “Let me see,” he said, “this is Andeng, is this not? Or is this Narda? She was the baby the year I went abroad.” “This is Andeng,” I said, and I looked at him as calm ly as I could manage. “You are thin,” I observed. “That is because I have been ill. You came at a time when I had barely recovered from a fever. I was very stout before this, but I had to be on a strict diet, and now look.” And he raised an arm which looked like a shade of his formerly powerful arm. The veins seemed sick beneath the skin, and I quickly took my gaze away. “Do you sleep well?” I ask ed, and he nodded his head. He could not speak the lie. I asked him about his food. “Mostly chicken,” he smil ed. “We have very little fish here.” “You are better off,” I said, but I did not mean it. No Fili pino could get along without fish. It was terrible, our talking about amenities when we YOUR KITCHEN should be modernized the new and thrifty AGUINALDO Way! WATER SET 7 pieces — green or pink 95^ up ICE CREAM FREEZER ' 2 qt. size—from P2.00 up Can also bo purchased 4) 1 1{EATERS— High speed double iction beaters ............ 25^ Up COOKTAIL SHAKER SET with ice server .... Pl7.25 /J" CAKE DECORATORS From ........................... 35^ Up =,4CUII>. M A NILA-DAG UPA? VIKO STREAMLINED SAVCE PANS From .............. 98 < Up 1IDCS= •J-ILOILO-BACOLODCEBU wanted to say so many other things. I knew he wanted to ask me about home, but I was sparring for time. I could not tell him about Mother, stead ily going blind and asking al ways for him. I could not tell him about the rest of our fam ily. How could I tell him that Cuya had been taken and with what close guard the Guardia Civil observed our every movement? Within the four years of his exile, our little world had crumbled ,and we were but scattered remains that breathed with life through the will of God. I could not speak of the small pox and the pest, and the worse scourges that were wiping off all our courage and our faith in relief to come. Those days of the late eight ies. .. . At last he was asking me, and I was telling him all the things that I thought I could not tell. I poured out . all the bitterness, all the fering which injustice arits, spite had placed in our way. I was warning him about those rumors of definite ac tion which a government mad with fright contemplated tak ing against him. “They are not content,” I cried vehemently, “with throwing you here like so much rubbish. They have not finished with you! They need you there to pile things upon, to ease themselves of the bur den of fear. They will take you back!” My brother sighed. Weari ness seemed like an enchant ment upon him. It made his face more deathly pale. He passed his hand through his hair, then he looked at me. I looked away, embarrassed somehow. “Tell me more,” he urged. “We are afraid. Everybody is afraid. There are so many whispers in the air. At any moment now, they say, some thing will break out, worse than we have now, a revolu tion.” “But that is folly. We are not ready. We must wait. We can gain nothing by rash ness. I wish they would ad mit that.” “But they cannot bear it any longer. We cannot bear it any longer,” I protested. Jose said nothing for a long time. Then he turned to the child who stood near the window. “Ineng,” he called, and Andeng approached. “Do you know how to read? You must learn. No man is poorer than one who cannot read. And you will be a mother some day. Will you remember what I shall tell you now? Teach your children never to lie, to love God and country always, always.” Then he started talking about his life among the strange people of the islands. He was happy, he said, and fairly content. He said, “If only we could have seasoning for our food.” For they had no tomatoes, no tamarinds for their sinigang, no spices to season their food. My dis trust of the place was con firmed. No place, I thought, WOMAN’S HOME JOURNAL 35 <^ices ?at>vii its foods. I was there for onj£ three hours, and the boat would be coming back for me. Think of that—three hours! And I had not seen him for four years! Two hours passed swiftly, and soon frenzy was upon me. I was leaving soon, and we had not started to talk, to say half the things that we could say. “What are you to do?” I broke through his story-tell ing. “Do?” he echoed. He clasp ed his head between his hands. I gazed at those artis tic hands of his, as though seeking an answer from those pallid fingers. I let my eyes wander once more through the little house, noting the bareness of it, sensing un bearably the loneliness he must have felt within it. “Do?” he said again, then he looked at me as if to ask, Why must you expect more? I’ll just wait. But I kept seeking for an answer, ignoring the mute reply he gave me. He shook his head wear ily, “I am so tired,” he said very softly, “I want to rest.” Suddenly I was up. Rest? I thought. Why must you rest? Your work is not done. There is so much you must do. We have suffered so much. You cannot stop now. You are the only one who can do something—and you must do it. But he looked so ill and worn that I could not say a word. I am glad I did not. That was the last time I saw him. They would not let us see him again. When he was shot, I stayed in the house, but the sound of the guns seemed to reverberate in my brain, and I was almost crazy. You know what happened. When the revolution broke out and hell was let loose on the streets the sound of the shooting seemed to leave my brain. Something stronger seized it—something louder, more triumphant. He had done it, I exulted. He had done it! And triumph was bitter in my mouth. HAVE YOU READ: "THE Commonwealth of the Phil ippines’ by George A. Malcolm? This is the first authoritative and comprehensive book published after the inauguration of the common wealth. Its author, formerly As sociate Justice of the Supreme Court, covers a vast period in Phil ippine history. He writes about the past, the present, and the future of the Philipppines with’an under standing of the problems which ac company them. His account of peo ple and places are vivid and inter esting, and oftentimes, merciful. A great friendliness for’ the Filipino nation and its people can be felt throughout the book. He pays due attention to the historical back ground. His descriptions of the roles played by China and Japan in the progress of trade in the islands are based on intensive study. One reviewer points out the fact that both Villamin and Moncado CERVEZA NEGRA SAN MIGUEL The best as an appetizing and invigorating refreshment — It gives strength and enriches the blood — Doctors and Nurses recommend it as a sup plement to the diet of nursing mothers, convalescents, and the aged — Drink it at meal times and before going to bed — Buy it by the case and keep a few bottles in the refrigerator — It is even more deli cious when chilled. It Is Brewed by SAN MIGUEL BREWERY were left out in the book. We, however, deplore another, more im portant fact—that little mention has been given of the achievements of the women who undoubtedly had done more than their share in the development of the nation. This, however, is but a passing observation and has not stood in the way of the greatness of the book. In spite of certain disagreements which the reader might feel about, (he author’s handling of personal ities, the fact remains that the book is a great one, as comprehensive and valuable a book as has ever been written about the Philippines, and one which outdates any other hook that had been written about this country. * * * Those of us who have read about Vikings, or any reference to them, labor under the misconception that all the most striking things have been done by men. We are likely to forget that there were women and children among the Vikings as well as long-moustached warriors of su perior height. Sigrid Undset in her book-of-the-month, "Kristin Lavransdatter” focuses the attention on a Viking woman and her life among her’ people. This study of the life of Kristin is described as “one of those astonishing achievements which an artist can carry out only in a long-sustained white heat of imagination and which he can never repeat.” The book tells a story of a winsome child and the pride that her father had felt about her. How she humbled this pride and broke the heart which bred it comprise one of the most human episodes in the story. Kristin is presented as a woman, loving, sinning, bearing many children,—a woman like any woman of this, our time, laced with the ageless problems of wo manhood.