United States or Saint Helena, Ascension, and Tristan da Cunha ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
In the sala of Capitan Tiago's house, that door, hidden by a silk curtain leads to a small chapel or oratory such as must be lacking in no Filipino home. There were placed his household gods and we say "gods" because he was inclined to polytheism rather than to monotheism, which he had never come to understand. There could be seen images of the Holy Family with busts and extremities of ivory, glass eyes, long eyelashes, and curly blond hair masterpieces of Santa Cruz sculpture. Paintings in oil by artists of Paco and Ermita represented martyrdoms of saints and miracles of the Virgin; St.
Both were pale. "I am with you. You are right. We will avenge our father." He stopped, however, and again wiped away the perspiration. "Why do you stop?" asked Bruno impatiently. "Do you know what fight is the next one? Is it worth the trouble?" "What! Haven't you heard? Captain Tiago's lásak against Captain Basilio's bulik. According to the run of luck, the lásak ought to win." "Ah! The lásak.
They will be envying us; they will all die with envy." And thus it was that at eight o'clock on the following evening, Captain Tiago's house was again full of guests, only that this time the men whom he had invited were either Spaniards or Chinamen, while the fair sex was represented by Spaniards born in the Peninsula or in the Philippines.
The transformation that Capitan Tiago's house had undergone was considerable it had been richly repapered, while the smoke and the smell of opium had been completely eradicated. The immense sala, widened still more by the colossal mirrors that infinitely multiplied the lights of the chandeliers, was carpeted throughout, for the salons of Europe had carpets, and even though the floor was of wide boards brilliantly polished, a carpet it must have too, since nothing should be lacking. The rich furniture of Capitan Tiago had disappeared and in its place was to be seen another kind, in the style of Louis
Captain Tiago's expression was between sweet and sour; Linares was silent and observing; and the curate, feigning to be joyful, was telling stories. None of the girls had returned. A cloudy sky hides the moon, and a cold wind, the omen of approaching December, whirls the dry leaves and dust in the narrow path leading to the cemetery. Under the gate, three forms are conversing in a low tone.
"Besides," he said in conclusion, "the young man is going to marry Capitan Tiago's daughter, who was educated in the college of our Sisterhood. He's rich, and won't care to make enemies and to run the risk of ruining his fortune and his happiness." The sick man nodded in agreement. "Yes, I think as you do. With a wife like that and such a father-in-law, we'll own him body and soul.
"What's stopping you?" asked Bruno impatiently. "Do you know what fight comes next? Is it worth while?" "If you think that way, no! Haven't you heard? The bulik of Capitan Basilio's against Capitan Tiago's lásak. According to the law the lásak must win." "Ah, the lásak! I'd bet on it, too. But let's be sure first."
Maria Clara had not the small eyes of her father; like her mother, she had eyes large, black, long-lashed, merry and smiling when she was playing but sad, deep, and pensive in moments of repose. As a child her hair was curly and almost blond, her straight nose was neither too pointed nor too flat, while her mouth with the merry dimples at the corners recalled the small and pleasing one of her mother, her skin had the fineness of an onion-cover and was white as cotton, according to her perplexed relatives, who found the traces of Capitan Tiago's paternity in her small and shapely ears. Aunt Isabel ascribed her half-European features to the longings of Doña Pia, whom she remembered to have seen many times weeping before the image of St.
But it did not matter. The next year they would do the same thing, and the same for the coming century, just as had always been the custom to the present time. Enough sadness reigned in Captain Tiago's house. All the windows were closed; the people scarcely made a noise, and no one dared to speak except in the kitchen. Maria Clara, the soul of the house, lay sick in her bed.
Whether the proximity to Captain Tiago's house made it possible for the sad song of Maria Clara to reach her ears, whether other strains of music awoke in her memories of old songs, or whether there was some other cause for it, at any rate, the madwoman began that night to sing with a sweet and melancholy voice the songs of her youth. The soldiers heard her and kept silent.
Word Of The Day