peace in their household; the ill wind that his mother had prophesied would not blow their way. And yet, he needed to see her again. Banish the omens then. Why should he believe them? Did he not trust in Someone who bestowed grace on men and saw them safely through their journeys?
They rode in silence. The sun edged up the sky and dust swirled around them as the bull continued its even pace. In awhile, the trail dropped into the wide delta of the river, and all around them, the sprouts of cogon grew lush and tall, and farther down, the earth had become sandy. Stones littered the way—some of them boulders that had slid down from the mountains together with dead, uprooted trees when the heavy rains fell in July. Dalin looked around her.
“This will do,” she said, pointing to a spot surrounded by tall grass. Istak drew the reins and the bull stopped. They got down and Dalin unhitched the cart, then tethered the animal to a sprout of cogon and gave it some hay. She got a spade and a hoe from the cart and started digging. Istak took a spade and worked at the other end, the blade sinking quickly into the sandy loam. Soon, the hole was deep, up to their waists, and Istak clambered up, his body dripping with sweat. Dalin, too, was tired and her face was damp with sweat. They had worked in silence.
Questions cluttered his mind. Did she really love the old man? Why should she condemn him to hell? It was so easy to ignore a dying man’s wish and do what was right. Could it be that she herself did not believe in God? And why should she? If God was just, the suffering she had gone through would not have happened. But to such questions, of course, Padre Jose had an explanation—the nature of suffering, the necessity for it, for faith was founded on it, and man would suffer as Christ did. In pain was man’s redemption.
He offered her his hand and helped her out of the narrow pit. Her grasp was firm and warm and her hands were callused like a farmer’s. “You are very tired; you have worked very hard,” he told her.
She smiled, and in the sunlight her teeth were white and even; she did not chew betel nut or smoke, as did many village women, even when they were still young. They hauled the palletout of the cart; it was heavy and Istak marveled at her strength. He sharpened two lengths of bamboo, then drove the stakes into the ground on both sides of the pit. He tied two lengths of rope then laid the ropes over the grave. They eased the pallet over the ropes and lowered it slowly till it rested snugly at the bottom. Istak intoned the ritual prayer:
Tibi Domine commendamus animam famuli, tui, ut defunctum saeculo, tibi vivat …
Beyond the river, from the direction of the sea, the wind careened toward them with the smell of burnt fields. Istak started shoveling back the earth. This was the end, this was the end, and Dalin crumpled on her knees and cried silently at first, then she took a deep breath, and softly, as if in a whisper so that her voice would not travel, she started the wail of the widow.
Ay, I am now alone,
cover to the pot,
useless without you.
What have you left,
salt on my lips,
darkness in my mind.
Why now should I live,
with no blood in my veins,
no breath in my lungs.
Ay, I am now alone.
Istak continued shoveling the earth till a mound formed over the grave. Dalin finally rose. Her eyes were clear; she had no more tears. With her hands, she helped smooth the mound. And the rest of the earth they spread out to mix with the sand so that it would look level, not a grave but some spot where, perhaps, someone had dug up an old pine tree trunk to bring home as kindling wood. The tall grass was not disturbed; it would onlybe by accident that some boy would stray here, adventuring in this wasteland, and even then, he would not bother wondering what lay beneath this mound. The rains would soon come, grass would sprout even taller, and the flesh of the dead would feed those new roots.
If he returned home, he would
They rode in silence. The sun edged up the sky and dust swirled around them as the bull continued its even pace. In awhile, the trail dropped into the wide delta of the river, and all around them, the sprouts of cogon grew lush and tall, and farther down, the earth had become sandy. Stones littered the way—some of them boulders that had slid down from the mountains together with dead, uprooted trees when the heavy rains fell in July. Dalin looked around her.
“This will do,” she said, pointing to a spot surrounded by tall grass. Istak drew the reins and the bull stopped. They got down and Dalin unhitched the cart, then tethered the animal to a sprout of cogon and gave it some hay. She got a spade and a hoe from the cart and started digging. Istak took a spade and worked at the other end, the blade sinking quickly into the sandy loam. Soon, the hole was deep, up to their waists, and Istak clambered up, his body dripping with sweat. Dalin, too, was tired and her face was damp with sweat. They had worked in silence.
Questions cluttered his mind. Did she really love the old man? Why should she condemn him to hell? It was so easy to ignore a dying man’s wish and do what was right. Could it be that she herself did not believe in God? And why should she? If God was just, the suffering she had gone through would not have happened. But to such questions, of course, Padre Jose had an explanation—the nature of suffering, the necessity for it, for faith was founded on it, and man would suffer as Christ did. In pain was man’s redemption.
He offered her his hand and helped her out of the narrow pit. Her grasp was firm and warm and her hands were callused like a farmer’s. “You are very tired; you have worked very hard,” he told her.
She smiled, and in the sunlight her teeth were white and even; she did not chew betel nut or smoke, as did many village women, even when they were still young. They hauled the palletout of the cart; it was heavy and Istak marveled at her strength. He sharpened two lengths of bamboo, then drove the stakes into the ground on both sides of the pit. He tied two lengths of rope then laid the ropes over the grave. They eased the pallet over the ropes and lowered it slowly till it rested snugly at the bottom. Istak intoned the ritual prayer:
Tibi Domine commendamus animam famuli, tui, ut defunctum saeculo, tibi vivat …
Beyond the river, from the direction of the sea, the wind careened toward them with the smell of burnt fields. Istak started shoveling back the earth. This was the end, this was the end, and Dalin crumpled on her knees and cried silently at first, then she took a deep breath, and softly, as if in a whisper so that her voice would not travel, she started the wail of the widow.
Ay, I am now alone,
cover to the pot,
useless without you.
What have you left,
salt on my lips,
darkness in my mind.
Why now should I live,
with no blood in my veins,
no breath in my lungs.
Ay, I am now alone.
Istak continued shoveling the earth till a mound formed over the grave. Dalin finally rose. Her eyes were clear; she had no more tears. With her hands, she helped smooth the mound. And the rest of the earth they spread out to mix with the sand so that it would look level, not a grave but some spot where, perhaps, someone had dug up an old pine tree trunk to bring home as kindling wood. The tall grass was not disturbed; it would onlybe by accident that some boy would stray here, adventuring in this wasteland, and even then, he would not bother wondering what lay beneath this mound. The rains would soon come, grass would sprout even taller, and the flesh of the dead would feed those new roots.
If he returned home, he would
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