Mystical Encounter in the Convent Courtyard
Brother Fernando, a newcomer to the country in 1620, encounters a mysterious bowl of milk left under a tree in the convent courtyard. As he observes the daily routine of the goatherds and the presence of an old man who performs a haunting flute melody, a sense of magic and mystery envelops the scene. The interaction with the old man and the spiritual connection to nature leave Brother Fernando pondering the deeper significance behind these seemingly ordinary events.
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English 10: Reading 2 Mr. Hark Herald C. Sarmiento 24 June 2015
The first time Brother Fernando noticed the bowl of milk, he had been too busy to wonder. He was new to the country, having but lately arrived from Spain in this year of our Lord 1620, and too engrossed in his duties as brother-sacristanof the convent of Santo Domingo of Manila to worry about a bowl of milk left at the foot of a tree.
The next day, in the evening, while tidying up in the sacristy, he heard voices and a flute. Those would be the goatherds coming home. The convent depended for milk on a flock of goats, which was pastured daily outside the city, in a cluster of groves known as La Ermita. Brother Fernando smiled to hear the flute and the tramping of the goats along the cobbled street: he was reminded of childhood evenings at Alcala de Henares.
He crossed to a window but the sacristy was separated from the street by a small patio enclosed by a high wall. The patio was paved, except for a space in the center where ancient and horrible, a massive laocoon of a tree (balete, he had heard it called) silently wrestled, savagely grappled with itself, overspreading the whole courtyard, its tormented coils movelessly writhing.
Meanwhile, while out in the street, the goatherds seemed to have paused. Then a door in the wall opened and an old man, a native, stepped into the dusk of the patio. He carried a bowl of milk and a handful of flowers. Through the door the man left ajar, Brother Fernando could see the goats waiting outside, milling around the legs of a little boy.
The old man walked straight to the tree. He bowed low, set down the bowl of milk, and scattered the flowers around it. Then he pulled out a bamboo flute and, tripping around and around the tree, softly piped a little ghost of tune, very sad and monotonous, yet somehow frightening. From the doorway, the boy and the goats watched him gravely. The tune finished, the old man bowed low again, then walked out of the patio, closing the door behind him.
The night was warm but Brother Fernando found himself shivering, and unable to stir from the window or to take his eyes off the more and more faintly gleaming bowl on the ground. He had, before heeding a call to the religious life, followed the turbulent fortunes of his country all over the globe; had fought with its armies in the lowlands, in Italy, and among the jungle-devoured cities of the Americas. A Spaniard of his time, he had suddenly turned friar in his middle age, not (as he thought) because he was sated with adventure but because he was insatiable and, having exhausted the secular, now turned to the spiritual domain for newer sensations and profounder adventures. Wherever he had found himself, as a soldier or as a friar, he had set his foot down with the confidence of a native: Spain was Mistress of the World, and all the earth was Spanish earth.
But as he stood beside the sacristy window and stared into the now total darkness of the patio, he felt terrified lost and terrified. And an alien. Spain, Europe, the world of Christian usage was far away. For the first time in his life, he felt desperately homesick for the chimneys of old Alcala de Henares.
But when he awoke the next day and felt the dawn on his face, the terror that had oppressed him all night vanished,. He chuckled to himself as he dressed. He was getting old, he thought, and hurried down to the sacristy. He must be in the patio when the goatherd came for his bowl. He meant to have a little talk with that old man, Look, he would say, the milk you left last night, here it still is in the bowl. See how no one has touched it. And why? Because you offered it to something that is not there, that does not exist, that is nothing.
Smiling, Brother Fernando opened the door to the patio but as he stepped out, the mile split open his lips. Under the tree stood the bowl: it was empty. The next moment heard footsteps in the street.
The door in the wall opened and the old man came in, walked straight to the tree, and picked up the bowl. Only as he straightened up did he notice the friar standing at the sacristy door. He hesitated, then smiled disarmingly and bowed. Brother Fernando, very pale, bowed in answer.
Sunlight fell on the scene: the old man smiling under the tree, the bowl very white in his brown hands, and behind him, in the doorway, the boy and the goats waiting. But as he gazed, Brother Fernando felt cold again, and shivered. N.B.: This part is not on the book print.
That night our friar kept vigil in the sacristy. Pacing the stone floor, he said his beads, clinging to them as to something familiar and benevolent, a part of the known world, and a weapon against the nameless, ageless, meaningless horroroutside. He has witnessed again the little ceremony around the tree. Pausing at the window, he looked into the now silent patio. A slip of moon was abroad; the dense tree let fall its light in slivers. Upon the pavement, the bowl shone luminous and mocking.
Terror tightened at the roots of his hair. He fled to the chapel. By the sanctuary light he could barely make out the Virgin on the altar. But her face soared out of the dusk, her fingers curved out of it the elusiveness of her smile steadied him.
This was before the days of her great miracles, before the sonorous victories of 1646. Popular devotion had not yet covered her with precious stones. A poor Queen, she reigned over a poor colony, clad in simple robes and wearing a simple crown. Brother Fernando had looked upon the splendid, storied Virgins of Spain upon the Pilarof Zaragosa, patroness of Columbus, symbol of the race (in Bonaparte s time she would refuse to become Frenchwoman ), cloaked and crowned with Spanish geography; and upon the Monserratof the Catalonians, the Virgin of mystics, growing in her black vault in the mountains, fragrant with all the legends of the Grail; and upon the vivid Sevillian Macarena, the Virgin of the toreros, bowed beneath her grief and jewels, and borne amidst wailing through white moons and green oranges of the Holy Week in Seville. But tonight the world of Christendom, the world of his childhood and of his fathers, was represented by this poor Virgin, this colonial Virgin, clad in simple robes and wearing a simple crown. She was history and tradition. She was familiar. Primeval terrors dissolved before her smile. So, he returned to the sacristy.
The clocks tolled midnight as he stood again at the window to watch the patio. But his eyes were misted with tears; it was his hometown that he saw: Alcala in autumn, and the storks croaking overhead. It was sometime before he noticed that the patio was not quite still. A moonbeam that lay on the ground had moved.
Brother Fernando became instantly alert. He strained forward, gripping the window bars in his hands, pressing his face against the bars. The moonbeam continued to move, to advance towards the tree, lifting itself from the ground and falling again. But no moonbeam was ever so brilliant or moved so rhythmically. No moonbeam turned prismatic, flaming abruptly to colors, its white heart burning now red, now blue. And the sparkling flames seemed to gather together, to crystallize, to take form. The wild fire hardened into a star, and the star pulsed along the ground, trailing a coiled shadow behind it.
The shadow uncoiled, oozed longer and longer, took shape, lightened in color, and glittered green and gold in the moonlight. Gripping the window bars, his face pressed against the bars, the sweat cold on his brow, the breath blocked in his chest, Brother Fernando watched an enormous jeweled serpent slide nearer and nearer the bowl of milk.
It moved with haste, with evident greed, and its eyes glistened with evil, like peepholes into hell. The squat head rose radiant, as if aureoled, for between its dripping form the monster carried its jewel.
Arriving at the bowl, it poised its head high, swaying slightly, as if listening. Then it ducked swiftly and spat the jewel on the ground. Coiling its tremendous length aound and around the bowl, it began to sip the milk. Brother Fernando watched in horror and fascination, unconsciously working his tongue in rhythm to the suck of the serpent. On the pavement, the jewel slumbered, violet at the core, a small rainbow arching above it.
An eternity after, the monster reared its head again; the jaws yawned open, the fangs shot out, hissed and withdrew; the evil eyes glistened. The head swung round and round searching. Suddenly, is swooped down, with open jaws, at the jewel. No, it was gliding away. The jewel burned aloft, blazed brighter and brighter, seemed to dilate, to burst into flames, and to transfigure, to drench the faint moonlight with its hundred magical hues. But suddenly it dulled, dimmed, faded away and Brother Fernando was presently staring at a bleak, black patio, an empty bowl, a tree, and some shabby patches of moonlight.
He awoke from tortured dreams of old men, old trees, and serpents to find blurred faces hovering above him. He was in his bed, in his cell. It smelled of noon. His bones arched, his head whirled, his flesh burned. The blurred faces spoke in blurred voices. The fever, they said. He had tropic fever, they said. He tried to tell them about the serpent, about the tree. The tree must be chopped down, he said. The tree in the patio it must be chopped down, he said. But the blurred faces swam in a hot mist, the blurred voices now boomed and now faded. The fever, they said. He had the fever for three days, they said. How his body flamed in the mist!
He felt hands lifting him up and a coolness enveloping his neck and arms. He inquired what it was. It was the Virgin s veil, they told him. This was the Virgin s veil around him and he must pray to her to assist him, they said. He struggled to recall the words of the prayer but the whirling had slowed in his head and he sank into sleep.
Sleeping, he heard her enter, was flooded with fragrance, looked up and saw her stand at his side, clad in her simple robes and wearing her simple crown. Ah, but her face was not blurred though her smile was as elusive as ever. She spoke, and music filled the room. She asked how he felt, and why he had not called on her. But presently they were talking about his town of Alcala, about the deep woods there, and the river, and the blue snows on the hills. And he grinned and chattered and laughed and grew breathless and was suddenly silent. Then he said, with much formality, how it pained him to the heart, Se ora, to see her thus, clad to simply, who had seen her most nobly crowned and arrayed in her shrine at Zaragoza. But she smiled and shook her head and murmured that great souls were her jewels. He remained grave, however, and his eyes scanned her brow. He would find her a jewel, he said. She would wear a diadem here as she did at Zaragoza, he said. But she laughed and called him child and, leaning, laid a hand his eyes.
When he opened them again it was night; the fever had left him; his body felt young and cool and for a moment he thought himself to Cadiz, a young soldier, waiting to ship to the Indies. But remembering what he had to do, he sprang up and ran to the window to gauge the time. It was not yet midnight, he saw: the moon was scarcely risen. He dressed quickly. From a chest he drew a sword the old sword of his soldier-days. He had surrendered it on joining the Dominicans but had begged to take it along to the Orient.
Downstairs in the chapel, on his knees, the sword offered upon his palms, he prayed the Virgin to bless the sword. When midnight struck, he was standing in the shadow of the doorway, the moonlit patio before him. His foe was equally punctual. Impatience devoured him as he watched the arduous journey of the jewel.
The serpent moved more slowly, cautiously pausing again and again, the dappled coat lustrous, in the moonlight. When it reached the bowl, it reared aloft and listened a long time: the hallowed head circled, the evil eyes peered and peered. Brother Fernando held his breath and stood rigid, his eyes shut tight lest they betray him.
When, he dared to look again the serpent had disgorged the jewel, had coiled around the bowl, and was burying its jaws in the milk. He breathed a rapid prayer, crossed himself, and tiptoed forth. The pavement stung his bare feet and seemed to widen and widen. When he stood at last behind the bowed beast, the beauty of the serpent astonished him. The embroidered coat, bright-hued and burnished, was luxurious enough for a king.
In that instant, the beast smelled danger: the head shot up, hissing, at the friar. Down flashed the gleaming sword and the serpent s head, severed, flew off, still hissing. But the tangled coils darted alive, spilled loose at his feet, and sought to wind themselves around his legs. Down flashed the sword again, sliding through the dense mass, the wildly writhing mass. Blindly and with both hands and with all his might, sweating and grimacing with horror, a huge rock weighing the pit of his belly. Brother Fernando hacked and hacked until the thick mass lay strewn in chopped coils around him, the murdered lengths still writhing in the spilled milk, among the fragments of the bowl.
He staggered to the doorway and leaned his brow against the wall. His throat worked, desiring and yet unable to vomit. But the jewel! He had forgotten about the jewel! He turned around with a cry, ran, and picked up the stone. It blazed, cupped in his palm, lighting up his dripping face. He sped through the sacristy and into the chapel. There, his strength failed him and he clung to a pillar, panting.
Here it is! He gasped, gazing up at the altar. Here it is, Mary! He panted, and waved the jewel aloft. And her face soared out of the dusk, her fingers curved out of it the elusiveness of her smile steadied him. It is for you, my Lady! He whispered, and laughed joyously. It is for you, my Mother! He sang, and tried to move and could not.
But she was coming down herself! She had emerged from the dust of her altar. Very carefully, very softly (for the child slept in her arms), she descended, step by step, treading invisible stairs. He cried out and hurried towards her. But suddenly he realized before whom he stood. He dropped to his knees, bowed low and laid the jewel at her feet. Then he swooned away.
Describe the setting of the story. -The story happened in the convent of Santo Domingo in 1620.
Who was brother Fernando? How did he come to the country? -Brother Fernando was a brother-sacristan of the convent. He was new to the country, having just arrived from Spain.
What terrified him one night? Why? -What he saw earlier that day an old man putting a bowl of milk, scattering flowers under the baletetree, bowing and piping a sad, monotonous tune disturbed him. He felt lost and terrified as he stared into the dark patio of the church that evening.
What did he discover in the evening? How was he affected by this discovery? -Contrary to what he had expected, the bowl of milk was empty. Hence, it had been offered by the old man to someone or something. This scared Brother Fernando the more.
In how many days did the story happen? List down the series of events that took place on each day, using the sequence chart like the one below.
1. Bro. Fernando saw an old man carrying a bowl of milk that he set at the foot of the a tree, pulled out a bamboo flute, and piped a tune.
First Day: 1. Bro. Fernando saw an old man carrying a bowl of milk that he set at the foot of the a tree, pulled out a bamboo flute, and piped a tune. 2. Bro. Fernando felt terrified, lost, homesick, and like an alien.
Second day: 1. Brother Fernando went to the patio. When he saw that the bowl was empty, he felt cold and shivered again. 2. (That night): He kept vigil in the sacristy and prayed before the Virgin. 3. (Midnight): He went to the patio and from there, he saw a serpent with a jewel in its jaws. It disgorged the jewel and sipped the milk.
Third day: (In the daytime) 1. He woke up from a tortured dream, so his brother monks wrapped the Virgin s veil around his neck and arms. 2. He fell asleep and dreamt that he promised to give the Virgin a jewel. 3. The Virgin smiled and said that the great souls were he jewels.
Third day: (Midnight) 1. He saw the serpent and hacked it to death. 2. He picked up the jewel and offered it to the Virgin.
Why was Brother Fernando disturbed by the appearance of the colonial Virgin? -Brother Fernando was disturbed by the appearance of the colonial Virgin because it paled in comparison to the Virgins of Spain. The colonial Virgin was clad in simple robes and wore a simple crown unlike the splendid, storied Virgins of Spain that were bejeweled, cloaked, and crowned majestically.
Why did he decide to slay the serpent? What earlier event foreshadows this? (Foreshadowingis a hint about an event that will occur later in a story.) -He decided to slay the serpent.
The story is allegorical, which means that there is a second meaning to be read beneath the surface story. What do the following represent? A. Brother Fernando B. milkman C. serpent D. jewel Slaying of the serpent
From your knowledge of Philippine history, what problems did the Spanish friars meet as they converted the natives? How do these problems relate to the story? Form groups of three to discuss this.
Barnabas, the juggler turned monk, lamented his simplicity and lack of knowledge and talent. He felt more miserable when he had nothing to offer the Holy Virgin on her feast, unlike the other monks who made beautiful paintings, statues, verses, and sermons in honor of the Virgin Mary. In his desperation, Barnabas realized that he could offer his best skill to his Lady of Heaven. So he juggled before the revered image to the shock of the other monks. Barnabas displayed a kind of intelligence that will be described in the listening text.
Before you listen, go over the following words: Linguistic-Verbal Logical-Mathematical Visual-Spatial Bodily-Kinesthetic Interpersonal Intrapersonal Musical Naturalist
Match the intelligences in A with their definition in B. See page 22 of WL&CA.
