The Complete Substitute for All Forms of Sociability

That day, it seemed the only sound in the forest was the soft trickle of river water. Even the wind did not dare blow. The trees stood still. The young man standing knee-deep in the middle of the stream made a small movement. In his hand was a spear tipped with sharpened stone. A whole second passed. There was a splash. The young man swung. In the next instant, the spear reappeared in his hand. Stuck to its tip was a large, brown goby. The fish wriggled, struggling to escape, but after only a short time, it stopped moving. The young man removed it and casually placed it inside the wicker basket tied around his waist. Before closing, he inspected his catch. One, two, three goby. One big catfish and three or four smaller variety fishes. Enough for the day. He gazed up but the foliage was so thick, he could only see glimpses of the clear blue sky. It looked like the sky itself was in pieces. He gave a sigh and prepared to wade his way back to the banks. Someone was watching...

Bonfires and the Sound of Drums It is a moonless night when a young man dressed in the noble clothes of a maharlika arrives on a vinta on the shores of the Island of Zubu. He is accompanied by a foreigner, a slight man whose age is impossible to fathom and who wears a long white robe that blows in the breeze. As the vinta draws closer, flame torches, numbering up to fifty, line the beach in welcome while further ahead, bonfires are lit and the furious sound of drumbeats echo in the darkness. “Is it to celebrate your return, my friend, after having been away for many years?” The foreigner asks in fluent, albeit grammatically incorrect, bisaya . “No. The celebration won’t be until tomorrow. This is a different matter.” “I’m curious.” The young noble explains, “The moon has not been sighted in the island for more than ten years. The elders of the village believe that it has been eaten by the Bakunawa so they order the people to light bonfires and make this noise every fourteen days in...

There is a moment between sleep and waking that the quiet inhabits. I do not want to sleep. But like a warm blanket on a cold night, it envelopes me. There is an ache, dull and somehow sweet inside me. I have been shattered. And I look at her who lies beside me. “Ran.” I meet her again at a New York City gallery. The exhibit belongs to a friend of hers. I am there because John suddenly gets called to a business conference so I am left to amuse myself on our vacation. I remember telling him I understand. We are alike, him and I. We need structure and roles to fulfill. I am fulfilling mine. ....And then there's her.