You are murmuring, my dears? I am flowery? You laugh at the way I talk, products of this cold, materialistic age, but you like what I say. Grace and beauty incarnate was this imperious daughter of Maginoo Mataas. Her hair trailing down her back was the night without stars her eyes – no deeper darkness could you find them, her lashes – thick enough to capture sunbeams and keep them in her eyes her mouth, my dears, adorable in its haughty curves, exquisite in its crimson softness. Girls though you are, you would have fallen in love with her ahd you seen her coming from her bath in one of her father’s rivers. Maginoo Mataas’ barangay was bordered by the sea and by the mountains, but these were naught compared to his daughter.Īh, my dears, I am sure you would wish you had her beauty. She was not called by the name of princess of course, but we shall give her that name – she deserves it. He was known widely, not for his prowess nor for his wisdom, but for the beauty of his daughter, the Princess Laarni. Among the rulers of the barangays, none was more fierce, none more powerful than Maginoo Mataas. Your history tells you of rajas, of freemen and slaves. Once, this country of ours was a vast wild space ruled by men who knew no law but their wills. Listen, my dears, and I shall tell you a story of old Philippines – the story of old Laarni and brave Maharlika. You have been thrilled over stories of kings and queens of faraway countries, but you never heard of such tales about this land of ours.
Now listen, my dears: You have heard many tales and legends of other lands. There, soften the glares of lights and turn them low.
It would be hard to efface the wrinkles from my face and imagine me young and beautiful. Nearer, my dears, and listen to a tale of love and fierce hearts. I laughed and loved like you? You smile? You wonder how a face so withered, a figure so bent could ever have known love? Ah me, the conceit of youth.Ĭlose the window, my dears, the wind is cold – it chills my bones. I was young once, and I did these things. When the sun is out and life is warm, youth scarcely heeds old age but when skies are grey and the day is cold, it seeks a corner and demands a tale of love from old lips. Tell a story, my children? Yes, my dears, there is no better thing in the world than to corner Grandmother on a rainy day like this and make her tell a story.
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