From the upstairs veranda, Dr. Lazaro had a view of stars, the country darkness, the lights on the distant highway at the edge of town. The phonograph in the sala played Chopin – like a vast sorrow controlled, made familiar, he had wont to think. But as he sat there, his lean frame in the habitual slack repose took after supper, and stared at the plains of night that had evoked gentle images and even a kind of peace (in the end, sweet and invincible oblivion), Dr. Lazaro remembered nothing, his mind lay untouched by any conscious thought, he was scarcely aware of the April heat; the pattern of music fell around him and dissolved swiftly, uncomprehended. It was as though indifference were an infection that had entered his blood it was everywhere in his body. In the scattered light from the sala his angular face had a dusty, wasted quality, only his eyes contained life. He could have remained there all evening, …
She was homely. A very broad forehead gave her face an unpleasant, masculine look. Her eyes, which were small, slanted at the corners and made many of her acquaintances wonder if perchance she had a few drops of celestial blood in her veins. Her nose was broad and flat, and its nostrils were always dilated, as if breathing were an effort. Her mouth, with thick lips, was a long, straight; gash across her face made angular by her unusually big jaws.
But nature, as if ashamed of her meanness in fashioning the face, moulded a body of unusual beauty. From her neck to her small feet, she was perfect. Her bust was full, and her breast rose up like twin roses in full bloom. Her waist was slim as a young girl’s her hips seemed to have stolen the curve of the crescent moon. Her arms were shapely ending in small hands with fine tapering fingers that were the envy of her friends. Her legs with their trim ankles reminded one of those lifeless thing…
Faith, Love, Time and Dr. Lazaro by Greg Brillantes
Paniniwala, Pag-big, Panahon at Si Dr. Lazaro
Mula sa veranda sa itaas, natatanaw ni Dr. Lazaro ang mga bituin ang kadiliman sa nayon, ang mga ilaw sa malayong highway sa gilid ng bayan. Itinututog ng ponograpo ang isang piyesa ni Chopin – para bagan pinipigilang isang malalim na pighati, na kilala ng tulad ng nakasanayan niyang isipin. Ngunit habang siya ay nakaupo doon, ang kanyang payat na katawan, sa kanyang nakagawiang nakahandusay na pagkakakhiga tulad ng karaniwan, pagkatapos ng hapunan, nakatitig sa kapatagan ng gabi na pumupuna sa mga banayad na imahen at kahit sa isang uri ng kapayapaan din (sa huli, matmis at di-magaping paglimot), walang naalala si Dr. Lazaro, ang kanyang diwa di madampian ng alin mang kamalayang isipan, di man lamang niya mapansin ang init ng Abril, ang himig ng musika umiikot sa kanya at tahasang nawala, mabilisang nawala, di-naunawaan.