Maikling Kuwento/Short Story

Ta nab at a ’s Wi fe
..............................................................................
Sinai Hamada

I
FAS-ANG FIRST CAME to Baguio by way of the Mountain Trail. When at last she
emerged from her weary travel over the mountains, she found herself just above the
Trinidad Valley. From there, she overlooked the city of Baguio itself.
Baguio was her destination. Along with three other women, she had planned to
come thither and work on the numerous roads that were being built around the city.
Native women were given spades to shovel earth from the hillsides, and so make way
for the roads that were being cut.
They were almost arrived. Yet Fas-ang knew of no place where she could abide
in the city while waiting to be taken in as a laborer. Perhaps, she would stay in the
worker’s camp and be packed in their smelly quarters. She had heard a lot about the
tiered beds, the congestion in the long, low-roofed house for the road workers.
It was midafternoon. The four women and three men, new immigrants from
Bontoc, walked on the long straight road of the Trinidad Valley. They never had

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before, in their lives, seen a road as long and as straight. After the regular up and
down journey over hill and dell, the level road was tedious and slow to travel on.
Plodding at snail’s pace, they left the valley behind, passed through the narrow
gap of the Trinidad River, and entered Lucban Valley. All along the road, the sight was
a succession of cabbage plots, more and more.
And when they passed Lucban Valley and came to Kisad Valley, still there were
rows and rows of cabbages. But now, the sun was sinking low behind the brown hills
in the west. And the company thought of their abode for the night. For they had one
more steep hill to climb till the city laborer’s camp. So they had been told. And their
feet ached most painfully. Was there no door open for them among them thatched
homes in the valley?
It was then that they came to the house of Tanabata san. The Japanese gardener
was looking out through his tiny window as they were about to pass on. He halted
them.
“Are you looking for work?” the gardener called out in his broken dialect.
“Indeed we are, my lord,” one of the strangers replied.
“If you like, I have work for two women, in my garden,” Tanabata offered.
The men looked questioningly at the women. “Which of you would like to stay?”
one man asked.
Only Fas-ang was willing to consider the gardener’s offer. She stepped forward.
“How much would you give me?” she demanded.
“Ten pesos.”
Ten pesos? Fas-ang asked for twelve, but Tanabata would not agree to that.
Wherefore, Fas-ang again reflected for a moment, and then confided to her
companions, “I guess I’ll stay. There is but a difference of two pesos between what I’ll
get here and my wage if I became a road worker. Who knows? My lot here may even
be better.”
One of the remaining three women was also persuaded to stay after Fas-ang had
made her decision. Tanabata was smiling as he watched the two make up their minds.
The rest of the company were going on their way. “So, you two shall stay,” the
eldest of the group said, affecting a superior air. “Well, if you think it is best for both
of you, then it is all right. You need not worry over us, for we shall proceed and reach
the camp early tonight.”
In this way, Fas-ang first lent herself to Tanabata. She was at the height of her
womanhood, then. Her cheeks were ruddy, though not as rosy as in her girlhood. She
had a buxom breast, the main charm of her sturdy self. As she walked, her footsteps
were heavy. And anyone would admit that she was indeed pretty.

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 Maikling Kuwento/Short Story

II
Tanabata had had no wife. For a long time now, he had been looking for one among
the native women, hoping he would find one who might consent to be his spouse.
But none did he ever find, until Fas-ang, guided by fate, came. He had almost sent
for a Japanese wife from his homeland. He had seen her picture. But it would have
cost him much.
Would Fas-ang, perchance, learn to like him and later agree to their marriage?
This was only a tiny thought hatched in the mind of Tanabata as he sat one evening
looking wistfully at Fas-ang. She was washing her feet by the water ditch in front of
the house. Every now and then, she lifted her skirt above her knees, and Tanabata
saw her clear, bright skin, tempting him.
After a time, Fas-ang herself would watch Tanabata. As they sat before their
supper, she would cast furtive glances at him across the low, circular table. He was
bearded. Sometimes, he let his beard grow for three days, and his unshaven, hairy
face was ugly to look at. Only with a clean countenance, and in his blue suit did Fas-
ang like him at all.
Well-dressed, Tanabata san would walk on Sundays to the market fair. Close behind
would follow one of his laborers, carrying two heavy baskets over his shoulder. The
baskets overflowed with the minor produce of the garden, such as strawberries, celery,
tomatoes, spinach, radishes, and “everlasting” flowers. Fas-ang arrayed in her gayest
Sunday dress, would trail in the rear. She was to sell the garden products at the market.
In the afternoon, the fair would be over. Fas-ang would go home with a heavy
handbag. She would arrive to find Tanabata, usually drunk, with a half-emptied gin
bottle still before him on the table.
Fas-ang would lay the bag of money on his crossed legs. “That is the amount the
vegetables have brought us.” she would report.
“Good.” And Tanabata would release a happy smile. He always said gracias after
that, showing full-trust in Fas-ang. He would pick out two half-peso pieces and give
them to her. “Here, take these. They are for you. Buy yourself whatever you like with
them.” For he was a prosperous, generous gardener.
On weekdays, there was hard and honest work in the gardens. The other native
woman had gone away when she saw that she was not favored as Fas-ang was. So,
Fas-ang, when she was not cooking, stayed among the cabbage rows picking worms.
All that Tanabata did was to care for the seedlings in the shed house. Also, he did
most of the transplanting, since he alone had the sensitive fingers that could feel the
animate touch of the soil. He had but a little area to superintend, and only three farm
hands to look after.

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New life! Fas-ang liked the daily turns that were her lot. Little by little, she learned
to do the domestic chores. Early in the morning, she rose to cook. Before noon, she
cooked again. And in the evening, likewise. In the daytime, the plates were mounted on
a platerack and sunned. She washed clothes occasionally, more often when the laundress
came irregularly. She swept the house. And, of course, she never forgot to leave a tea
kettle steaming over live embers. Anytime, Tanabata might come in and sip a cup of tea.

III
Immediately after noon on weekdays, when the sun was hot and the leaves were almost
wilting, Tanabata liked to stroll and visit his neighbor, Okamoto-san. They were of the
same province in Japan, Hiroshimaken. Okamoto had a Benguet woman for a wife.
Kawane was an industrious and amiable companion. The only fault Okamoto found in
Kawane was her ignorance. She had no idea of the world beyond her small valley.
One afternoon, Tanabata as usual paid his friend a visit. This was of great
consequence, for he had a mind to ask Okamoto if he thought Fas-ang could be a fit
wife for him. Tanabata was slow in broaching the subject to his friend, but he was direct:
“I think, I shall marry that woman.” Tanabata said.
“Which woman—Fas-ang?” Okamoto asked.
“Yes.”
“She is a good woman, I think. She seems to behave well.”
“I have known her for only a short time. Do you think she will behave as well
always?” Tanabata asked earnestly.
Okamoto was hesitant and would not be explicit. “I cannot tell. But look at my
wife. She is a peaceful woman,” he answered simply.
“There, my good friend,” Tanabata reminded his neighbor, “you forget that your
wife is of the Benguet tribe, while Fas-ang is of the Bontoc tribe.”
“Yet, they are good friends, as much as we are,” came Okamoto’s bright rejoinder.
And they both laughed.

IV
Two days later, Tanabata proposed to Fas-ang. He had frequently teased her before.
But now, he was gravely concerned about what he had to tell. He had great respect
for this sturdy, native woman.
He called Fas-ang into the big room where she had heretofore seldom entered
except to clean. It was dimly lighted. Fas-ang went in, unafraid. It seemed she had
anticipated this. She sat close beside him on a trunk. Tanabata talked carefully,
convincingly, and long. He explained to her, as best he could, his intentions. At last,

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she yielded. Without ceremony and without the law, they were wedded by a tacitly
sworn agreement between themselves.
As has been said, Fas-ang did not find it difficult to tend the truck garden. To
be sure, it was sometimes dull. Now and then she would get exasperated with the
routine work. But only for a short time. Ordinarily, she was patient, bending over the
plants as she rid them of their worms, or gathered them for the sale in the market.
Even her hands had been taught to handle with care the tender seedlings, which
almost had to be prodded to grow luxuriantly.
When the sunbeams filled the valley, and the dewy leaves were glistening, it was
a joy to watch the fluttering white butterflies that flitted all over the gardens. They
were pests, for their chrysalides mercilessly devoured the green vegetables. Still,
their advent in the bright morning would stir the laborers to be up and doing before
they, themselves, were outdone by the insects.
In time, Fas-ang was introduced to Japanese customs. Thus, she learned to
use chopsticks after being prevailed upon by Tanabata; they had a zinc tub outside
their hut wherein they heated water and took a bath in the evening; Fas-ang pickled
radish after the Japanese fashion, salting them in a barrel; she began to use wooden
shoes, though of the Filipino variety, and left them outside their bedroom before
she retired; she became used to drinking tea and pouring much toyo sauce into their
viands; mattresses too, and no longer a plain mat, formed her beddings.
A year after they were married, they had a child, a boy. The baby was a darling.
Tanabata decided to celebrate the coming of this new being. He gave a baptismal
party to which were invited his Japanese friends. They drank sake, ate Japanese
seaweeds, pickles, canned fish, etc.
But Fas-ang, amidst this revelry, could not understand the chattering of her
guests. So, she was very quiet, holding the baby in her arms.
The men (there were no women visitors) had brought gifts for a baby and the
mother. Fas-ang was very much delighted. She repeatedly muttered her gracias to all
as the gifts were piled before her.
Then the men consulted the Japanese calendar. Ultimately, the child was given
the name of Kato. And the guests shouted banzai many times, tossing glassfuls of
sake to the ceiling. They wished the mother and child, good luck.
Tanabata was most solicitous toward Fas-ang as she began to recover from the
emaciation caused by her strenuous childbirth. He would not allow her to go out. She
must stay indoors for a month. It was another Japanese custom.
At length, when August had passed, Fas-ang once more stepped out into the
sunshine, warm and free. The pallor of her cheeks had gone. She was alive and young

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again. Her old springy steps came back and she walked briskly, full of strength and
passion, it seemed.

V
But what news of home? Fas-ang yearned to learn from her folks back in Bisao,
Bontoc. Had the kaingins been planted with camote and corn? Her kinsmen had
heard of her delivering a child, and they sent a boy cousin to inquire about her. He
was told to see if Fas-ang lived happily, and if her Japanese husband really treated
her well. If not, they would do him harm. The Bontocs, or busol, are fierce.
The cousin came, Tanabata entertained him well. He bought short pants for the
Igorot boy and told him to do away with his G-string. The boy was much pleased.
After a week, the boy said he would go back. And Tanabata bought some more clothes
for him.
Fas-ang saw her cousin off. (Tanabata was in the shed house, cultivating the
seedlings.) She instructed him well: “Tell Ama and Ina I am happy here. They must
not worry about me. My husband is kind, and I’m never in want. Give them this little
money that I have saved for them. You see, I have a child, so I shall live here a long,
long time yet. But I do wish I could go home sometime and see Ama and Ina. Often
I feel homesick.”
She wept. And when her cousin saw her tears, he wept also. Then they parted.

VI
It was no hidden truth that Tanabata loved his wife dearly. In every way, he tried to
show his affection. Once, he had not allowed her to go to the city to see the movies.
But he repented afterwards and sent her there without her asking.
Fas-ang soon became a cine addict. She went to the shows with one of the garden
boys. Sometimes, she took her baby along. She carried the baby on her back. They
had to bring a kerosene lamp with them to light their way, coming home. They would
return near midnight.
Tanabata, alone, would stay at home. He sat up, reading his books, Japanese
novels. When Fas-ang arrived, she would be garrulous with what she had seen.
Tanabata would tuck her under the thick blankets to warm her cold feet. She would
easily then fall asleep. Then, after she had dozed off, he would retire himself.
More and more, Fas-ang liked to attend the shows. The city was two miles away.
But that did not matter. The theater was fascinating. Moreover, Fas-ang admitted,
she often met several of her relatives and townmates in the theater. They, too, had
learned to frequent the cine. Together, they had a good time.

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Tanabata asked Okamoto what he thought of Fas-ang’s frequenting the shows.

Okamoto, being less prosperous and more conservative, did not favor it. He asked
Tanabata to stop her. But Tanabata was too indulgent with Fas-ang to even intimate
such a thing to her. Though inclined to be cautious, he loved her too much to deny
her any pleasure she desired.
Thus, Fas-ang, after the day’s toil, would run off to the show. Tanabata had
grown even more lenient. He could never muster courage to restrain her, much less
scold her. She never missed a single change of program in the theater. Tanabata did
not know what to do with her. He could not understand what drew her to the cine.
For his part, he was wholly disinterested in screen shows, which he had attended
but once long ago, and with which he had been disgusted. Still Fas-ang continued to
attend them as devotedly as ever.

VII
One night, she did not come home. She only returned in the morning. Tanabata
asked where she had slept, and she said, with her cousin at Campo Filipino. She had
felt too lazy to walk all the way down to the valley, she said.
That whole day, she remained at home. Tanabata went out to the garden. Fas-
ang rummaged among her things. She tied them into a bundle which she hid in the
corner. She dressed her child.
Then, at midnight, when Tanabata was sound asleep, she escaped. She carried
her child and ran down the road where her lover was waiting. They would return to
Bontoc, their native place. The man had been dismissed from the military post at
Camp John Hay.
Fas-ang left a note on the table before she left. It had been written by the man
who had seduced her. It read: “Do not follow us. We are returning home to Bontoc. If
you follow us, you will be killed on the way!”
When Tanabata had the letter read to him, he dared not pursue the truant
lovers. The note was too positive to mean anything but death if disobeyed. He was
grieved. And for three days, he could hardly eat. He felt bitterly, being betrayed
and deserted. Helpless, he was full of hatred for the man who had lured his wife
away.
Okamoto, faithful indeed, came to comfort his friend. He offered to come with
his wife and live with Tanabata. But Tanabata would not consider the proposition.
Nor could he be comforted. He politely begged his friends to leave him alone. He had
suddenly become gloomy. He sat in his hut all day and drank much liquor. He shut
himself in. The truck garden was neglected.

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 Tanabata’s Wife: From Text to Screen

Months passed. The rows of cabbages were rotting. Tanabata was thought to be
crazy. He cared not what happened to the plants. He had dismissed the few helpers
that were left him. Weeds outgrew the seedlings. The rainy season set in, and the
field was devastated by a storm. Tanabata lived on his savings.
The rainy season passed. Sunny, cold November in the hills came. In a month
more, Tanabata would perhaps go home to die in Japan. His despondency had not
been lessened. When he thought of his lost boy, he cried all the more.

VIII
But one evening, Fas-ang came back. She stood behind the house scanning the
wreck left of what was formerly a blooming garden. She had heard back home, from
wayfarers who had returned, of Tanabata. The man who had alienated the affections
of Fas-ang had left her.
“Your Japanese husband is said to be ruining himself,” some reported.
“He pines for you and his boy,” others brought back.
“It is said he is thinking of going home across the sea, but he must see his little
son first,” still others informed her.
Fas-ang at once decided. “Then I must return to him before it is too late.” And
so she came.
In the twilight, she stood, uncertain, hesitant. She heard the low mournful tune
arising from the bamboo flute that Tanabata was playing. What loneliness! Fas-ang
wondered if that now seemingly forbidding house was still open to her. Could she
disperse the gloom that had settled upon it? There was a woman’s yearning in her.
But she wavered in her resolve, feeling ashamed.
The music had ceased. She almost turned away when the child, holding her
hand, cried aloud. Tanabata looked out of the window, startled. He saw the mother
and child. He rushed outside, exultant. Gently, he took them by their hands and led
them slowly into the house. Then he lighted the big lamp that had long hung from
the ceiling, unused.

* First published in GRAPHIC, October 12, 1932. The best Filipino short story chosen by
Jose Garcia Villa for the year 1933.

SINAI HAMADA was a short story writer and poet in English. He wrote “Tanabata’s
Wife” in 1932. He was one of the founders of the Baguio Midland Courier. He was also
a respected lawyer.