The Small Key by Paz Latorena

It was very warm. The sun, up above a sky that was blue and tremendous and beckoning to birds ever on the wing, shone bright as if determined to scorch everything under heaven, even the low, square nipa house that stood in an unashamed relief against the gray-green haze of grass and leaves.

It was lonely dwelling located far from its neighbors, which were huddled close to one another as if for mutual comfort. It was flanked on both sides by tall, slender bamboo tree which rustled plaintively under a gentle wind.

On the porch  a woman past her early twenties stood regarding the scene before her with eyes made incurious by its familiarity. All around her the land stretched endlessly, it seemed, and vanished into the distance. There were dark, newly  plowed furrows where in due time timorous seedling would give rise to sturdy stalks and golden grain, to a rippling yellow sea in the wind and sun during harvest time. Promise of plenty and reward for hard toil! With a sigh of discontent, however, the woman turned and entered a small dining room where a man sat over a belated a midday meal.

Pedro Buhay, a prosperous farmer, looked up from his plate and smiled at his wife as she stood framed by the doorway, the sunlight glinting on her dark hair, which was drawn back, without relenting wave, from a rather prominent and austere brow.

“Where are the shirts I ironed yesterday?” she asked as she approached the table.

“In my trunk, I think,” he answered.

“Some of them need darning,” and observing  the empty plate, she added, “do you want some more rice?”

“No,” hastily, “I am in a burry to get back. We must finish plowing the south field today because tomorrow is Sunday.”

Pedro pushed the chair back and stood up. Soledad began  to pile the dirty dishes one on top of the other.

“Here is the key to my trunk.” From the pocket of his khaki coat he pulled a string of non descript red which held together a big shiny key and another small, rather rusty looking one.

With deliberate care he untied the knot and, detaching the big key, dropped the small one back into his pocket. She watched him fixedly as he did this. The smile left her face and a strange look came into her eyes as she took the big key from  him without a word. Together they left the dining room.

Out of the porch he put an arm around her shoulders and peered into her shadowed face.

“You look pale and tired,” he remarked softly. “What have you been doing all morning?”

“Nothing,” she said listlessly. “But the heat gives me a headache.”

“Then lie down and try to sleep while I am gone.” For a moment they looked deep into each other’s eyes.

“It is really warm,” he continued. “I think I will take off my coat.”

He removed the garment absent mindedly and handed it to her. The stairs creaked under his weight as he went down.

“Choleng,” he turned his head as he opened the gate, “I shall pass by Tia Maria’s house and tell her to come. I may not return before dark.”

Soledad nodded. Her eyes followed her husband down the road, noting the fine set of his head and shoulders, the case of his stride. A strange ache rose in her throat.

She looked at the coat he had handed to her. It exuded a faint smell of his favorite cigars, one of which he invariably smoked, after the day’s work, on his way home from the fields. Mechanically, she began to fold the garment.

As she was doing so, s small object fell from the floor with a dull, metallic sound. Soledad stooped down to pick it up. It was the small key! She stared at it in her palm as if she had never seen it before. Her mouth was tightly drawn and for a while she looked almost old.

She passed into the small bedroom and tossed the coat carelessly on the back of a chair. She opened the window and the early afternoon sunshine flooded in. On a mat spread on the bamboo floor were some newly washed garments.

She began to fold them one by one in feverish haste, as if seeking in the task of the moment in refuge from painful thoughts. But her eyes moved restlessly around the room until they rested almost furtively on a small trunk that was half concealed by a rolled mat in a dark corner.

It was a small old trunk, without anything on the outside that might arouse one’s curiosity. But it held the things she had come to hate with unreasoning violence, the things that were causing her so much unnecessary anguish and pain and threatened to destroy all that was most beautiful between her and her husband!

Soledad came across a torn garment. She threaded a needle, but after a few uneven stitches she pricked her finger and a crimson drop stained the white garment. Then she saw she had been mending on the wrong side.

“What is the matter with me?” she asked herself aloud as she pulled the thread with nervous and impatient fingers.

What did it matter if her husband chose to keep the clothes of his first wife?

“She is dead anyhow. She is dead,” she repeated to herself over and over again.

The sound of her own voice calmed her. She tried to thread the needle once more. But she could not, not for the tears had come unbidden and completely blinded her.

“My God,” she cried with a sob, “make me forget Indo’s face as he put the small key back into his pocket.”

She brushed her tears with the sleeves of her camisa and abruptly stood up. The heat was stifling, and the silence in the house was beginning to be unendurable.

She looked out of the window. She wondered what was keeping Tia Maria. Perhaps Pedro had forgotten to pass by her house in his hurry. She could picture him out there in the south field gazing far and wide at the newly plowed land with no thought in his mind but of work, work. For to the people of the barrio whose patron saint, San Isidro Labrador, smiled on them with benign eyes from his crude altar in the little chapel up the hill, this season was a prolonged hour during which they were blind and dead to everything but the demands of the land.

During the next half hour Soledad wandered in and out of the rooms in effort to seek escape from her own thoughts and to fight down an overpowering impulse. If Tia Maria would only come and talk to her to divert her thoughts to other channels!

But the expression on her husband’s face as he put the small key back into his pocket kept torturing her like a nightmare, goading beyond endurance. Then, with all resistance to the impulse gone, she was kneeling before the small trunk. With the long drawn breath she inserted the small key. There was an unpleasant metallic sound, for the key had not been used for a long time and it was rusty.

That evening Pedro Buhay hurried home with the usual cigar dangling from his mouth, pleased with himself and the tenants because the work in the south field had been finished. Tia Maria met him at the gate and told him that Soledad was in bed with a fever.

“I shall go to town and bring Doctor Santos,” he decided, his cool hand on his wife’s brow.

Soledad opened her eyes.

“Don’t, Indo,” she begged with a vague terror in her eyes which he took for anxiety for him because the town was pretty far and the road was dark and deserted by that hour of the night. “I shall be alright tomorrow.”

Pedro returned an hour later, very tired and very worried. The doctor was not at home but his wife had promised to give him Pedro’s message as soon as he came in.

Tia Maria  decide to remain for the night. But it was Pedro who stayed up to watch the sick woman. He was puzzled and worried – more than he cared to admit it. It was true that Soledad did not looked very well early that afternoon. Yet, he thought, the fever was rather sudden. He was afraid it might be a symptom of a serious illness.

Soledad was restless the whole night. She tossed from one side to another, but toward morning she fell into some sort of troubled sleep. Pedro then lay down to snatch a few winks.

He woke up to find the soft morning sunshine streaming through the half-open window. He got up without making any noise. His wife was still asleep and now breathing evenly. A sudden rush of tenderness came over him at the sight of her – so slight, so frail.

Tia Maria was nowhere to be seen, but that did not bother him, for it was Sunday and the work in the south field was finished. However, he missed the pleasant aroma which came from the kitchen every time he had awakened early in the morning.

The kitchen was neat but cheerless, and an immediate search for wood brought no results. So shouldering an ax, Pedro descended the rickety stairs that led to the backyard.

The morning was clear and the breeze soft and cool. Pedro took in a deep breath of air. It was good – it smelt of trees, of the ricefields, of the land he loved.

He found a pile of logs under the young mango tree near the house and began to chop. He swung the ax with rapid clean sweeps, enjoying the feel of the smooth wooden handle in his palms.

As he stopped for a while to mop his brow, his eyes caught the remnants of a smudge that had been built in the backyard.

“Ah!” he muttered to himself. “She swept the yard yesterday after I left her. That, coupled with the heat, must have given her a headache and then the fever.”

The morning breeze stirred the ashes and a piece of white cloth fluttered into view.

Pedro dropped his ax. It was a half-burn panuelo. Somebody had been burning clothes. He examined the slightly ruined garment closely. A puzzled expression came into his eyes. First it was doubt groping for truth, then amazement, and finally agonized incredulity passed across his face. He almost ran back to the house. In three strides he was upstairs. He found his coat hanging from the back of a chair.

Cautiously he entered the room. The heavy breathing of his wife told him that she was still asleep. As he stood by the small trunk, a vague distaste to open it assailed to him. Surely he must be mistaken. She could not have done it, she could not have been that… that foolish.

Resolutely he opened the trunk. It was empty.

It was nearly noon when the doctor arrived. He felt Soledad’s pulse and asked question which she answered in monosyllables. Pedro stood by listening to the whole procedure with an inscrutable expression on his face. He had the same expression when the doctor told him that nothing was really wrong with his wife although she seemed to be worried about something. The physician merely prescribed a day of complete rest.

Pedro lingered on the porch after the doctor left. He was trying not to be angry with his wife. He hoped it would be just an interlude that could be recalled without bitterness. She would explain sooner or later, she would be repentant, perhaps she would even listen and eventually forgive her, for she was young and he loved her. But somehow he knew that this incident would always remain a shadow in their lives.

Sabina by Severino Montano (Complete Script)

Characters:

       Sabina - a young farm girl

       Mamerto - their grandfather

       Rustica - their grandmother

       Cleta - Sabina's aunt

       Ariston - Cleta's husband

       Ursula - their young daughter, Sabina's cousin

       Antero - Sabina's older brother

       Mr. George Price - an American

Place:

       Kawakan - a small farm village near the sea coast, to the far north of Luzon.

Time:

       The present, April evening. Ten o'clock.

Scene:

       The living room of a rather prosperous-looking but old farmhouse in a Kawakan, a small farm village not far from the sea.

It is a bamboo house with sloping bamboo rafters, sturdy teakwood post and shiny handsome floors. A spacious platform upstage center. To the right of the platform and above it is a door leading into Sabina's room. On the right wall is a big window with mother-of-pearl shellpanes facing the altar table. Below this window is the main door leading to the entrance porch. On the left wall is the door to the kitchen. Another window, a small one, is above the altar platform, center. The windows are luxuriant with ferns and air plants, gleaming under the April moonlight.

The room is almost bare of furniture, for the villagers are used to sitting on these shiny floors. But a bamboo couch, a heavily carved teakwood chair, a camphor chest, a cupboard and a cane easy chair are placed about the room.

An old-fashioned oil lamp hangs from the sloping ceiling. Another lamp, a very new one of the “Aladdin” variety, stands conspicuously on the cupboard. This lamp, however, is not lighted.

A novena is going on as the curtain rises. The mourners, led by Rustica, and old woman who is apart from the rest, are kneeling on the platform facing the altar table which is lighted with several candles. The mourners are Antero, son of the house; Cleta, his aunt; Ariston, Cleta’s husband; and Mamerto, grandfather of the household. The prayers are said in an emotional litany like monotone, and more or less chanted. The cry of a turtle is heard faintly coming from the sea. It is about ten o’clock at night; but for prayers and the voice of the turtle, the late April evening is still.

OLD WOMAN:   Death is loneliness! Death is sadness!

MOURNERS:      God have mercy upon us!

OLD WOMAN:   We pray, O Lord, for the soul of our departed sister, Maria!

MOURNERS:      My God! My God! Let Thou not forsake her! In the kingdom of Thy golden city, in the realm of life eternal, receive Maria into Thy care!

OLD WOMAN:   Dark is the mist that covers us, and weak indeed is the clay house! Look upon us, O God, who are living!

MOURNERS:      God have mercy upon us!

OLD WOMAN:   We also pray, O God, for Maria’s living and only daughter, Sabina! She is but a frail jar against the mighty tides! Spare her, O Lord, from evil!

                The old man rises and turns coldly towards the big window.

MOURNERS:      (Casting quick glances at the Old Man, their prayers becoming faster): My God! Let Thou not forsake her from the rages of sin and the scorching heat of hell-fire, deliver Sabina, O Lord, from evil!

OLD WOMAN:   Amen! (She makes the sign of the cross.)

                Crossing themselves too and rising briefly, the mourners look questioningly at the old man.

OLD WOMAN:   What made you rise just now, Mamerto? Is it the crying of the black turtle that worries you, she that’s grieving deeply by the river’s mouth?

OLD MAN:           No Rustica! I’m getting tired hearing you pray for Sabina every night. Isn’t it enough that we mourn for the dead?

OLD WOMAN:   It’s also a blessed thing to pray for the living, Mamerto!

CLETA:                  Indeed, it’s our duty to look after Sabina! I passed by the village store this evening, and the women are laughing. “How’s Mr. George?” they asked me. “Is it true your Aunt Maria died because of Mr. George?”

OLD MAN:           Your Aunt Maria didn’t die of any such thing, Cleta!

CLETA:                  Didn’t she? Aunt Maria herself left heavy the day Sabina was fool enough to go out with Mr. George!

URSULA:              The doctor said it was her weak heart she died of, Mother, not Mr. George!

CLETA:                  Keep quiet!

OLD WOMAN:   Maria’s heart was heavy that day, God save her soul! I fear her spirit will come back if Sabina’s not careful this evening. Mamerto, what are we to do with Sabina?

OLD MAN:           Nothing, Rustica! It would be wiser if we leave Sabina alone!

OLD WOMAN:   Wiser? Once there was a strange sailor who came roaming round this village; a clean chap he looked like. But soon one of the young girls bore him a child. The sailor left, and the poor girl died of sadness!

OLD MAN:           Mr. George is not a sailor, Rustica!

OLD WOMAN:   He is a man, nonetheless, Mamerto!

CLETA:                  Do you know what the women in the market are saying? This is the night Mr. George is coming back!

ARISTON:            It’s gossip such as yours that brings the devil, Cleta! Stop it!

CLETA:                  Surely, it’s no gossip, Ariston!

ARISTON:            Well, what if he is coming back?

CLETA:                  Sabina will want to light that lamp again in this house, instead of the candles.

ARISTON:            What lamp?

CLETA:                  (Indicating the lamp on top of cupboard) That new lamp there, brought by Mr. George the day Aunt Maria died!

ARISTON:            And what’s so terrible about lighting that lamp?

CLETA:                  The village will be noisy with gossip in the morning.

ARISTON:            Don’t be foolish!

OLD WOMAN:   Where is Sabina?

URSULA:              I’ll look into her room, Grandma.

CLETA:                  Stay in the corner there, and be quiet. You are too young to meddle in such things! (Peeping into Sabina’s room and turning away quickly, shocked.) Oh! Oh!

 ARISTON:           What is the matter?

CLETA:                  Why, she’s taking off her mourning this very minute!

OLD WOMAN:   What is it you say?

CLETA:                  Indeed she is! She is throwing off her black dress and she’s slipping on a shameful one!

URSULA:              Mother, I don’t like my black dress.

CLETA:                  Close your sinful mouth!

OLD WOMAN:   It’s a bad enough for her not to come to prayers these nine nights, and now for her to cast off mourning so soon!

CLETA:                  The neighbors will pass any minute now, and they’ll see her in that shameful dress! Hide that lamp, Antero! And we’d better close the windows.

She closes a window, while Antero closes another. Ursula peeps through the door behind the camphor chest.

URSULA:              Grandma! Grandma!

ARISTON:            What is it now?

URSULA:              She’s combing her hair before the looking glass!

OLD WOMAN:   It’s a bad omen to look into the glass, Cleta. This will be a night of evil! Tell her to cover the glass.

CLETA:                  Quiet! She’s coming now! Oh, my God the Lamp! Hide the lamp, Antero!

                Antero takes the lamp but she grabs it from him and hides it behind the camphor chest.

OLD WOMAN:   Sabina is undone tonight! She’s undone, Mamerto!

SABINA:               (Cheerfully but simply) Good evening to you all. (Kissing the old man’s hand in reverence) Your blessing, Grandpa! I’m glad to see you, Grandpa! Isn’t dark enough for prayers in this house without closing the windows?

CLETA:                  (Pointedly) The prayers are over Sabina!

ANTERO:              Sabina, are you deaf? Don’t you touch the windows! It’s Granma’s wish!

(Silence, Sabina leaves the windows alone)

SABINA:               I’m sorry, Grandma! I only wanted to let in the light of the moon. (Sabina looks about for the lamp.)

CLETA:                  And what is it you are looking for now?

                                There is another silence as she continues looking around.

SABINA:               The new lamp that was brought from the city… Oh, here it is!

CLETA:                  On such a night, it’s more fitting to light the candles!

ANTERO:              Drop the lamp, Sabina!

OLD MAN:           You can’t blame a girl for wanting things brighter in a dark house, son!

Sabina looks for a match.

CLETA:                  And is it tonight Mr. George is returning again to the village?

                                Sabina is silent.

ANTERO:              Why don’t you answer us? (Another silence)

CLETA:                  We are talking to you, Sabina!

SABINA:               (Coldly) And what if he’s returning tonight, Aunt Cleta?

OLD WOMAN:   Leave that lamp alone, child. It’s wisdom to be careful. The wings of the moth get badly burned, Sabina, if it leaps into the flame.

SABINA:               What are the moth’s wings compared to a woman’s happiness, Grandma?

OLD WOMAN:   It’s a pity if you won’t listen to the wisdom of ripened years, and you merely a slip of a young girl of tender mind!

SABINA:               I’m tired of sadness in this dark house, Grandma! Let’s light this lamp, and smile with the brightness of it.

CLETA:                  Light it yourself. We don’t ask a part!

OLD WOMAN:   If you don’t listen to us, you’ll be lonely, my child. You will be alone even before the moon has waned and both of you have sunk deeper into the sea! What good is there when you’ll be sorry forever? Think, my child!

SABINA:               It’s your years won’t to stand the brightness of the lamp, Grandma, for your life’s nearly broken!  I’ll light the lamp!

CLETA:                  It’s useless to waste breath over a stubborn girl who won’t listen! Good heavens, she’s lighting the lamp, Antero!

ANTERO:              (Jumping toward her sister) For God’s sake, will you listen or not?

 ARISTON:           (Holding Antero back) Antero! Take it easy!

ANTERO:              (Insistently) What has happened, we are asking you!

OLD MAN:           You have no need to raise a hand against your sister, son!

ANTERO:              My only sister! God, what a shame!

SABINA:               (Resentfully) I’ve no call but to be happy, Antero!

ANTERO:              Happy? It’s your doings that drove Mother to her grave.

OLD WOMAN:   (Kindly) Sabina, what is it that has happened between you and Mr. George?

CLETA:                  Whatever it was, the whole village is jeering and laughing!

ANTERO:              (Insistently) What has happened, we are asking you!

SABINA:               (Breaking down helplessly) Stop it, all of you! Stop it! You’ll drive me crazy with your wailings.

ANTERO:              For God sake, will you listen or not?

SABINA:               No! No, I won’t listen! You can’t destroy my little share of happiness now. You can’t kill the love I bear for him. Maybe death’s between us this evening, but who was ever happy in this house before he came? Nothing! So get out and go your own way from this house! Get out! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!

ANTERO:              (Shocked) Do you realize what are you saying?

CLETA:                  Since it’s your wish, we shall go. Come, Ursula! But whatever happens to you from now on, don’t ever call upon us! Are you coming, Ariston?

ARISTON:            Don’t be so hard on the poor girl, Cleta!

CLETA:                  Don’t come if you don’t want to! You can stay! You’d best be coming along, Grandma! It’s easy to see we are not wanted in this house anymore!

                                She goes dragging Ursula with her. Ariston follows them. The Old woman rises slowly.

ANTERO:              For God’s sake, Sabina, think of what you’re doing!

OLD WOMAN:   Perhaps you better walk me home, Antero.

ANTERO:              Sabina, you’re a heartless fool!

OLD WOMAN:   Come, the cool night will calm your anger, son! (The turtle is heard again.) Tell me, isn’t that the sobbing of the black turtle, weeping sadly by the river’s mouth? (Silence) Well, good night, and may God bless you, Sabina!

                 They go, Sabina is left alone with the Old Man. She rushes to him and cries.                        

SABINA:               Oh Grandpa! Grandpa!

OLD MAN:           Don’t cry.

 SABINA:              Am I wrong, Grandpa? Am I very much mistaken?

OLD MAN:           Outside love, nothing lives, Sabina! That’s what a wise man said long ago. Surely, whatever the heart feels richly must be right! And hearts, I’m saying to you, haven’t changed very much since then.

SABINA:               I’m trying to build me a nest, trying to weave threads of laughter through it, but my wings are tied with sorrow. It’s for that my poor heart will be crying forever.

OLD MAN:           Well, don’t cry!

SABINA:               But it seems they’d name my cry!... Oh, I mustn’t cry Grandpa.

OLD MAN:           There, that’s better!

 SABINA:              I mustn’t cry, for Mr. George is coming back tonight. Mr. George is coming back! And for him my heart is singing! God would be unkind to me if He didn’t bring back Mr. George.

OLD MAN:           Mr. George promised you that?

SABINA:               Many times, Grandpa! But sometimes there’s fear in my heart, for before he came I never knew what it was to be happy.

OLD MAN:           Are you happy now?

SABINA:               Yes, again and again he has told me! A month ago, he told me. I well remember that day! We went out to the sand hill by the sea. He felt happy, he said, every time we were together. He said that at the foot of the hill by the sea.

OLD MAN:           Yes?

SABINA:               (Confidingly, Softly) We were there still when the twilight was coming... he lying happily on the warm sand, and me very happy beside him! We stayed on, for the sky in the west was like a rainbow, and the hill to the east was dark with the full moon rising slowly behind it! It was beautiful, Grandpa!...

OLD MAN:           (Answering her reverie with his) Yes, child. What else can be more beautiful than that?

SABINA:               Then I haven’t done wrong? People like me haven’t done wrong?

OLD MAN:           (Very Kindly) When you’re happy at last?... No, AVIN!

Surely, its wrong to know happiness, when the glorious beginnings come! Or if it is, perhaps love itself is a mistake, and maybe... Man couldn’t be forgiven.

SABINA:              But the people... they’re so selfish, Grandpa!

OLD MAN:           Yes, indeed, men can be funny sometimes.

SABINA:               And miserly with their loves, Grandpa!

OLD MAN:           Yes, my child, there shouldn’t be any selfishness in a heart that loves to the end!

                                The closing of the front gate is heard. Sabina is startled.

SABINA:               That must be Antero now! Listen, Grandpa, he’s locking the front gate!

OLD MAN:           Antero shouldn’t matter at all! (She opens the big window and looks out)

SABINA:               Oh, he has locked the gate Grandpa! What am I to do? He will keep on tormenting me!

OLD MAN:           Look to your heart, for it is your own best counsel! It’s the best safest way to be happy! (Rising) Good night, my child!

                                He starts for the main door, but turns and walks back to the door.

SABINA:               They say it’s ill omen to go by the back door at night!

OLD MAN:           I don’t believe in omens!... Well, goodnight again!

                                Sadly, Sabina watches him go out slowly by the back door. After a while, she picks up a little cheerfulness again. Antero enters frozenly from the front door. There is a brief moment of cold silence between them.

SABINA:               (Cheerfully) Is there great need for us to be locking the gate, Antero?

ANTERO:              (Sternly) The curfew has rung!

SABINA:               Even so, let’s not close the front gate for just this evening. The night itself is bright enough with the full moon, the streets are looking like day.

ANTERO:              Are you so set on waiting?

SABINA:               Don’t begin that all over again. Antero! Would you have me growing old, like a sour old maid?

ANTERO:              That’s not the trouble!

SABINA:              It is! You should be well pleased I’m happy at last, after doing my goodly share of hard work these long years since Father Died! Haven’t I helped to make things go on this farm, sharing gladly with the planting and the harvesting? Am I to be married to the soil forever, with no happiness coming?

ANTERO:              If you should fall into disgrace, what are we to do, your own kin, who’ll bear the brunt of your chosen shame forever?

SABINA:               Shame? Is it a shame to be happy?

ANTERO:              Can’t you appreciate what it is to have a name?

SABINA:               What care I, if I myself am not happy a little?

ANTERO:              Are you saying you won’t listen at all?

SABINA:               I love him so, Antero! I love him!

ANTERO:              All right, but you know nothing about him whatsoever. It’s only three months you’ve known him!

SABINA:               I don’t care about that!

ANTERO:              It’s your duty to care!

SABINA:               Mr. George loves me! I know he does! My heart tells me he does!

ANTERO:              I don’t care what your wild heart tells you! What I care about is your own good self, do you hear me?

SABINA:               He’s good to me Antero! Mr. George Is a good man. He’s a fine man. And I tell you he loves me!

ANTERO:              I warn you he’ll leave you like thunder!

SABINA:               No, no, he won’t. He won’t!

ANTERO:              Oh yes he will! I know enough of these sleek and tired and world-wise merchant men from the city! I’ve seen it happen!

SABINA:               (DREAMILY) Mr. George and I will be married someday… soon, Antero! He’ll build me a fine house in the city, and surely I’ll bring him forth a good child into that house, and many more if I am able!

ANTERNO:          Get married to him then, if you can! But if you don’t I’ll show both of you where to enjoy your pleasures.

SABINA:               You will not! You dare not! Oh, let’s not quarrel! Come, you had better go and open the gate quickly for he will be here now any minute. I’ll light the lamp, Antero!

ANTERNO:          You stay away from the lamp!

SABINA:               (Quietly) It’s my own lamp. Surely, I’ll light it!

ANTERNO:          Give me that lamp!

SABINA:               Let go the lamp, Anterno! Please let it go! You’ll break the lamp.

ANTERNO:          I don’t care! It’s this devil of a lamp itself giving you such foolish notions about love.

SABINA:               Give me the lamp! It’s my lamp!

ANTERNO:          (Wrestling, he seizes the lamp and smashes it against the floor.) There goes your devil of a lamp! You fool!

                                There is a tense speechless moment between them. Sabina picks up several of the broken pieces and fingers them speechlessly. The turtle is heard again.

SABINA:               I’ll open the gate.

ANTERO:              You can’t! I won’t let you! You shan’t make a scene least of all. Think of the neighbors! (He pulls her from the door)

SABINA:               (Struggling from him) Let me go!

ANTERNO:          Think of the scandal, you fool!

MR. GEORGE:    (At the gate) Sa-bi-na! Open the gate! Sabina are you there?

                                Sabina rushes to the windows again.

SABINA:               Yes, Mr. George, I’ve been waiting! (Then to Anterno, wildly) He’s coming round the backyard through the garden. He is coming now. Can you hear me? Mr. George himself is coming up!

Anterno slaps her fiercely, throwing her to the floor. She utters a stifled cry.

SABINA:               It’s alright now. You can have the front gate to yourself! It doesn’t matter now! He is here! He is coming himself!

ANTERNO:          Go ahead, wallow in the mud with him, you reckless little fool! Go to the devil with him if you want to. Only don’t you dare tell me afterwards what bitter fruit you’ve gathered in the end!

                There is another silence broken by the approaching steps of Mr. George. Antero goes out through the front door. Sabina rises quickly and straightens herself up. Mr. George enters cheerfully from the back door.

                He is kind, cheerful, somewhat tired but romantic-looking, businessman of about thirty years, prosperous and plump, but not too fleshy; good-looking in a stout American way and bearing about him an earthly kind of simplicity. There is gentleness in his tired voice. In fact, there is something romantic and alarmingly disarming about him. He wears a white linen suit, white shoes, and a white tropical helmet. He carries a week-end bag with him.

MR. GEORGE:    Well, well, how’s little Sabina this evening?

SABINA:               (Running too him) Mr. George! Mr. George! I’ve been waiting!

MR. GEORGE:    (Embracing her warmly) I sure feel grand to see you again, Sabina!

SABINA:               I’m so glad you’re back, just as you promised me!

MR. GEORGE:    Of course! Of course I was coming back! You’ve been crying Sabina! What is it?

SABINA:               Nothing! Only I’ve been waiting! Now I’m so happy you’re back.

MR. GEORGE:    Do you love me that much, really?

SABINA:               Each night while you were away, I’ve been praying, Mr. George. Each night I kept on thinking, wondering what you were doing and wishing all the time you’d hurry back safe and happy!

MR.GEORGE:     I thought about you an awful lot myself.

SABINA:               I was afraid you wouldn’t return to Kawakan.

MR.GEORGE:     I can’t forget Kawakan. It’s the place for me. I’ve kept my word, and I shall keep it again. The month spent without you was terribly dull.

 SABINA:              You must rest now and be comfortable, Mr. George. Let me help you with your things. You can change your clothes in my room if you wish to, and shall bring you bag inside. Your bath has been ready ever since this morning.

MR.GEORGE:     You are very thoughtful, Sabina. I like you, and I like this farm. (He takes off his coat. Sabina takes it from him.) That’s a good girl. How restful it is here in Kawakan. I’ve been longing to come back.

                He rolls his shirt sleeves up, unfastens his holster and hands it to Sabina together with his bag and helmet. She takes them all into her room. He loosens his tie, then sits down and relaxes, and begins stretching comfortably. Sabina returns with her dressing gown and a towel and slippers.

SABINA:               I’ll place the things you’ll need for your bath here, Mr. George. Rest yourself now, and I’ll get you some supper.

MR. GOERGE:    (Holding her by the hand) Don’t bother, I’m not hungry! Let’s just sit here and be quiet for a while, shall we, Sabina?

SABINA:               Oh, but if you’re tired… Well, then…

MR. GEORGE:    Tell me, Sabina, what makes you kind to me?

SABINA:               The earth itself is kind when the sun is good, and you’ve been good, Mr. George!

MR.GEORGE:     (Thoughtfully) The women I know are kind, but you’re so much kinder! God knows how much I’ve missed you.

SABINA:               I’ve missed you too, Mr. George.

MR GEORGE:     (Embracing her passionately) This whole month I’ve missed you! And I need you, Sabina! I need you!

SABINA:               (Softly) Mr. George?

Mr. GEORGE:     Yes, My dearest?

SABINA:               Will you always love me?

MR. GEORGE:    Always! Forever and always!

SABINA:               (After a while, timidly) Will you... let me keep that love?

MR. GEORGE:    It’s all yours, sweet! I never knew what love meant until I met you, Sabina!

SABINA:               And I never felt so happy before you came, Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    I’ve never felt so happy myself. Oh, God, what I have missed.

SABINA:               (Simply) It’s myself I offer gladly, Mr. George. All that you want of me, my life, my love, my heart which says: I’ll love you always no matter what or where  or when! That’s how much I love you, Mr. George, for me you’re the bright sun, and I make a pledge to that sun and promise to love you forever, even when the gods themselves have stopped turning night into day!

MR.GEORGE:     My little brown Sabina! Can’t it be like this always?

SABINA:               Forever, Mr. George! Our love will last forever!

                                They kiss again.

MR. GEORGE:    Now I know the traders are wrong! They say you Filipino women are no good as sweethearts. What do they know about you? What do they know about love?

SABINA:               Let’s just love and be contented.

MR. GEORGE:    Black, brown, or white, we’re all the same and nothing matters much, save this gift for loving. Sure, people are all the same, Sabina!

SABINA:               Grandfather always tells me, outside love nothing lives. And I believe him, Mr. George! Do people love much where you came from, Mr. George?

MR. GEORGE:    Yes, they do!

SABINA:               And are there some who are selfish too?

MR. GEORGE:    There are rascals there too, and sometimes they win out in the end.

SABINA:               Here, there are selfish misers too, Mr. George. And it’s they, too who win out in the end.

MR. GEORGE:    These Kawakan folks aren’t so bad!

SABINA:               Mr. George, I wish to tell you a dream I’ve been dreaming! I want to come to the city with you.

MR.GEORGE:     Cities can be so tiring, Sabina! City folks can be so tiring.

SABINA:               Is that true, Mr. George?

MR.GEORGE:     Indeed, they do.

SABINA:               Then I don’t want to tire you.

MR. GEORGE:    We all have dreams! I, too, have a dream, and mine is here in Kawakan. Don’t you like it here?

SABINA:               (Resistantly) As long as you are happy, then nothing at all will matter.

MR. GEORGE:    I’m happy here, Sabina! Come… don’t you think it’s time to go to sleep?

SABINA:               Just as you wish, Mr. George. I’ll have your room ready in a minute.

She goes into her room, but she comes back quickly with a silver sewing box.

SABINA:               Before we say goodnight, there’s something I want to show you.

MR.GEORGE:     Yes, dear, what is it?

SABINA:               (As she takes out several embroidered handkerchiefs from the box) I’ve worked them all myself, Mr. George, every night while you were away.

MR. GEORGE:    (Taking the handkerchief) Sabina, they’re lovely! “To Mr. Georg.e” Well! Well!

SABINA:               I’m glad you like them. They are for you, Mr. George. There’s a little thought I wove into each letter, Mr. George!

MR.GEORGE:     Darling, I cannot thank you! You’re the sweetest thing.

SABINA:               I kept thinking about you and I will be married some day. And I’ll bring a child into that house, and many more if I am able.

MR.GEORGE: Sweetheart

SABINA:               There’s just one more thing I want to show you. (She shows him a baby’s lace bonnet.) For the gift itself I’ll bring you into that house.

MR.GEORGE:     (Trying not to show his confusion) Sabina! Do you mean… are you?

SABINA:               Oh, I’m glad I’ve told you!

MR.GEORGE:     That’s wonderful, darling! (Silence) Sabina, have you told anyone?

SABINA:               I’ve told no one, Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    Are you sure, Sabina?

SABINA:               I’m very sure, Mr. George!

MR.GEORGE:     Then don’t tell anyone… not yet… not for just a while yet… will you, dear?

SABINA:               If you wish it, I shall tell no one!… Aren’t you happy, Mr. George?

MR. GEORGE:    (Distractedly) Yes, yes, of course, my dearest!

SABINA:               (Thoughtfully) I’m so glad you’re happy. And I am so happy we’re to be married.

MR.GEORGE:     Come close to me, darling, there’s something awful difficult I want to tell you. We cannot get married.

SABINA:               (Looking at him in consternation) What?... Why? You don’t mean what you’re saying!

MR. GEORGE:    I do. I’m already married, Sabina!

SABINA:               (Stupefied) You’re telling me a lie!

MR.GEORGE:     I’m telling you the honest truth, dear.

SABINA:               Then, it’s…

MR.GEORGE:     Yes, it’s true.

SABINA:               (Brokenly) Oh!... Oh!... It’s true then?  What Antero said is true then!... There’s someone else?... Someone else between us!

MR.GEORGE:     She can’t come between us! I promise you! Somehow, I’ve never known her, my wife, I mean. She can’t make herself part of me as you have, Sabina! And I wanted so much to keep your love.

SABINA:               (Turning away defeatedly) You’ve cheated me! You’ve lied to me…

MR.GEORGE:     I didn’t want to lose you, that’s why! Honest, I didn’t…

SABINA:               You lied! You lied!... Oh, you’ve cheated me!

MR.GEORGE:     Dearest, I couldn’t help it!

SABINA:               (Softly, intensely) You’ll never know what it is to love!

MR.GEORGE:     I never knew love until I met you!

SABINA:               (Remorsefully) Oh, I can’t believe anything you say now! (She sobs bitterly, but softly)

MR.GEORGE:     Dearest, you must listen to me! You’ve got to believe me!

SABINA:               The first time you said you loved me, I believed you then as I believe truly in a god! And I came to you thinking there was nothing between us! But you’ve cheated me! You’ve lied to me!

MR. GEORGE:    Don’t say that! Nothing should matter between us. Let us go on being happy together, just as we have been doing, Sabina!

SABINA:               I can’t be happy now. There’s an emptiness lying between us now, a wide, black, silent darkness! And no power on earth can brighten this darkness forever.

MR. GOERGE:    You’ve got to listen to me. You must listen to me!

SABINA:               I can only hear them laughing now! I can only hear the misers of love laughing in the darkness!

MR. GEORGE:    Others can’t come between our love!

SABINA:               Perhaps they’re not misers after all! Yes I can hear them shouting! Outside love, all is death!

MR. GEORGE:    Sabina, for God’s sake, listen to me!

SABINA:               (Moving away) No! No!... It’s all so strange! At first I believed you, and then one day you lied, and I woke up and my belief in you died forever! I can’t even believe in myself anymore!

MR GEORGE:     What are you saying to me? Think only of our love! Think of our love!

SABINA:               And what of me? What is to become of me? What shall I ever tell them now? (She goes into him again in a frenzy of fear and helplessness.) Mr. George, help me!... Tell me it’s all a lie. Tell me everything is not death! Tell me there’s a love better than life itself.

MR GEORGE:     Yes, Sabina! Our love! Our love! Better than life itself! Oh, I love you still, you must believe me!

SABINA:               I’m scared of them, Mr. George! I’m afraid of the darkness!

MR GEORGE:     I’m here, don’t be afraid!

SABINA:               Yes, yes, I mustn’t be afraid, Mr. George! I mustn’t be afraid!...

MR. GEORGE:    We’ll love each other always! Always!

SABINA:               We’ll watch the darkness together!

MR. GEORGE:    You must get a little rest now. You must sleep. You must have something to quiet your nerves! Now! You’ll be all right tomorrow!

SABINA:               Oh yes! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!... I’m happy for tomorrow, Mr. George! I’m not scared now, Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    That’s right, dear! I\ll get you something from the car to calm your nerves. (He rises)

SABINA:               I’m all right, if you promise to come back!

MR. GEORGE:    I shan’t be a minute, Sabina!

SABINA:               I shall be waiting, Mr. George! I shall be waiting forever!

MR GEORGE:     That’s good! That’s the girl. (He goes)

                                She stares blankly into the darkness and keeps on mumbling.

SABINA:               (In a monotone) Outside love, nothing lives!... Nothing lives… Tomorrow… Tomorrow… Outside love… Grandpa, where are you? Mother… Mother… where are you? (Footsteps are heard from the main door. She faces the door fearfully.) Mother, death lives… death lives… It’s Mother!... It’s Mother…

But it is Antero who appears. She recoils fearfully from him,

SABINA:               Oh, it’s only you, Antero. I thought it was Mother.

ANTERO:              (Coldly) A nice time for you to think of Mother! There’s no use now! I don’t care if your conscience bothers you now!

SABINA:               (Blankly) Yes! Antero, yes! (Antero starts for the kitchen door.) Antero, listen to me! Don’t be angry with me!

ANTERO:              Don’t you tell me anything! Get married if you can, quickly. The sooner you leave this house, the better. Go to the city with him, if you can! I don’t care!

SABINA:               (Holding on to him) No, no Antero!... I know now that I was wrong!... Listen to me! (She clings to him.)

ANTERO:              So it’s no, is it? (He pushes her abruptly away; she falls.) My God, don’t come to me! Don’t talk to me! Don’t you dare tell any of us anything! (He goes to the kitchen leaving her on the floor.)

SABINA:               Antero, listen to me! Antero, come back! (She’s cries pitifully.) It’s all right now! I was wrong, Antero! I only wanted to tell you that you were right. I was wrong. But tomorrow… tomorrow… it will be alright tomorrow!

                She rises and looks around slowly, then cries and runs to her bedroom. There is a short silence. Then a gunshot is heard. A brief silence again. Antero comes in excitedly, looks around, then rushes to the bedroom.

ANTERO:              Sabina! Sabina, where are you?

MR. GEORGE:    (Outside) Sabina!

ANTERO:              (Coming out nervously) Mr. George!

                                Mr. George enters excitedly.

MR. GEORGE:    I heard a shot, Antero! What is it?

                                Antero is too overcome to answer.

MR. GEORGE:    For God’s Sake, where’s Sabina? (He rushes to the bedroom.) Sabina! Why?

                                Mr. George comes out carrying Sabina’s dying body.

MR. GEORGE:    Call the doctor, quick, Antero!

ANTERO:              There’s no doctor in this village!

                                He goes out. Mr. George places Sabina on the easy chair by the window.

SABINA:               I’m not afraid any more, Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    Don’t talk!

SABINA:               Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    Darling, forgive me.

SABINA:               Will you think of me... always?

MR. GEORGE:    I’ll always love you.

SABINA:               (With an effort) Tell the traders... you knew of a dark woman... who was faithful, Mr. George!

MR. GEORGE:    Sabina, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!

SABINA:               I shall be waiting, Mr. George... on a sand hill by the sea… I shall be waiting forever… (She dies.)

MR. GEORGE:    (Sobbing) Sabina!... It’s all my fault!

                The others, Antero, Cleta, Ariston, Rustica, Mamerto, Ursula, and the two neighbors, come in hurriedly.

CLETA:                  What happened? (She suddenly realizes Sabina is dead and cries hysterically.) Grandma! Grandma! She’s dead!

                The others try to quiet her. The old woman approaches Sabina’s body and begins mourning. The men place the bamboo couch in front of the altar, the women take a white blanket from the room, and spread it on the couch.

OLD WOMAN:   (Praying) It’s an evil night! It’s an evil night, Mr. George!

                The men carry Sabina’s body and lay her gently on the couch. They cover half of her body with another white blanket. The others begin praying and mourning over the body. Mr. George comes away from the window and joined the mourners.

CLETA:                  (Calling out to Mr. George) Mr. George! Mr. George! Please leave our Sabina alone!

                The mourners look strangely at Mr. George but he goes to the head of the couch and kneels sorrowfully by Sabina’s body.

OLD WOMAN:   (Lamenting) It is evil night, Mamerto.

OLD MAN:           Her death’s but her new life just begun, Rustica! Her life’s bigger than our petty lives now! Ours will be the sadness now, ours will be the loneliness forever! And we shan’t be happy till our selfish hearts have learned to love truly forever.

They start  to pray again. A brilliant shaft of moonlight falls on Sabina’s body as the men carry her out, praying as the go.

                A bamboo flute is heard far away. Once more we hear the turtle crying.

AFTER READING...

• How did you feel about the story?
• Do you believe in superstitions?
• If you were Sabina's brother, would you do the same? Or would you do things differently?
• If you were Sabina's grandfather, what advice would you give Sabina? Would you support her? Why or why not?
• What are the red flags you've noticed about Mr. George?
• If you know someone like Sabina, how would you make her listen to you as a family or as a friend?
• If you were in Sabina's place, what would you do after knowing Mr. George's situation?
• If you were to end the story, how would you end it?

    I was in college when I encoded this play from my literature book that my professor, Sir Abrera, gave to me during my internship. As the years pass by, I've seen experiences similar to that of Sabina and just like Sabina, those Sabinas never listened to the advice people gave them because of the emotions they felt during the relationship. Sometimes, people mistook infatuation with love. Sometimes, the Mr. Georges say all the right things which is why the Sabinas fall for them in no time. Sometimes, it's also hard to tell if someone is being true to his words or not. I hope that by reading this gem, we could reflect on a few things that matter the most in our life. This is what literature is all about. Keep reading!