The Bread of Salt screen which covered the veranda and hung some four

or five yards from the ground. Unless it was August,

By NVM Gonzalez when the damp, northeast monsoon had to be kept
away from the rooms, three servants raised the screen
promptly at six-thirty until it was completely hidden
Usually I was in bed by ten and up by five and thus was under the veranda eaves. From the sound of the pulleys,
ready for one more day of my fourteenth year. Unless I knew it was time to set out for school.
Grandmother had forgotten, the fifteen centavos for the
baker down Progreso Street — and how I enjoyed
jingling those coins in my pocket! — would be in the It was in his service, as a coconut plantation overseer,
empty fruit jar in the cupboard. I would remember then that Grandfather had spent the last thirty years of his
that rolls were what Grandmother wanted because life. Grandmother had been widowed three years now. I
recently she had lost three molars. For young people like often wondered whether I was being depended upon to
my cousins and myself, she had always said that the kind spend the years ahead in the service of this great house.
called pan de sal ought to be quite all right. One day I learned that Aida, a classmate in high school,
was the old Spaniard’s niece. All my doubts
disappeared. It was as if, before his death, Grandfather
The bread of salt! How did it get that name? From had spoken to me about her, concealing the seriousness
where did its flavor come, through what secret action of of the matter by putting it over as a joke. If now I kept
flour and yeast? At the risk of being jostled from the true to the virtues, she would step out of her bedroom
counter by early buyers, I would push my way into the ostensibly to say Good Morning to her uncle. Her real
shop so that I might watch the men who, stripped to the purpose, I knew, was to reveal thus her assent to my
waist, worked their long flat wooden spades in and out desire.
of the glowing maw of the oven. Why did the bread
come nut-brown and the size of my little fist? And why
did it have a pair of lips convulsed into a painful frown? On quiet mornings I imagined the patter of her shoes
In the half light of the street, and hurrying, the paper upon the wooden veranda floor as a further sign, and I
bag pressed to my chest, I felt my curiosity a little would hurry off to school, taking the route she had fixed
gratified by the oven-fresh warmth of the bread I was for me past the post office, the town plaza and the
proudly bringing home for breakfast. church, the health center east of the plaza, and at last
the school grounds. I asked myself whether I would try
to walk with her and decided it would be the height of
Well I knew how Grandmother would not mind if I rudeness. Enough that in her blue skirt and white middy
nibbled away at one piece; perhaps, I might even eat she would be half a block ahead and, from that distance,
two, to be charged later against my share at the table. perhaps throw a glance in my direction, to bestow upon
But that would be betraying a trust; and so, indeed, I my heart a deserved and abundant blessing. I believed it
kept my purchase intact. To guard it from harm, I was but right that, in some such way as this, her mission
watched my steps and avoided the dark street corners. in my life was disguised.

For my reward, I had only to look in the direction of the Her name, I was to learn many years later, was a
sea wall and the fifty yards or so of riverbed beyond it, convenient mnemonic for the qualities to which
where an old Spaniard’s house stood. At low tide, when argument might aspire. But in those days it was a living
the bed was dry and the rocks glinted with broken voice. “Oh that you might be worthy of uttering me,” it
bottles, the stone fence of the Spaniard’s compound set said. And how I endeavored to build my body so that I
off the house as if it were a castle. Sunrise brought a might live long to honor her. With every victory at
wash of silver upon the roofs of the laundry and garden singles at the handball court the game was then the
sheds which had been built low and close to the fence. craze at school — I could feel my body glow in the sun
On dull mornings the light dripped from the bamboo as though it had instantly been cast in bronze. I guarded
my mind and did not let my wits go astray. In class I schoolwork to mind. He was twenty-two. I was perhaps
would not allow a lesson to pass unmastered. Our too young to be going around with him. He earned his
English teacher could put no question before us that did school fees and supported his mother hiring out his
not have a ready answer in my head. One day he read band at least three or four times a month. He now said:
Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Sire de Maletroit’s Door,
and we were so enthralled that our breaths trembled. I
knew then that somewhere, sometime in the not too “Tomorrow we play at the funeral of a Chinese-four to
improbable future, a benign old man with a lantern in six in the afternoon; in the evening, judge Roldan’s silver
his hand would also detain me in a secret room, and wedding anniversary; Sunday, the municipal dance.”
there daybreak would find me thrilled by the sudden
certainty that I had won Aida’s hand.
My head began to whirl. On the stage, in front of us, the
principal had begun a speech about America. Nothing
It was perhaps on my violin that her name wrought such he could say about the Pilgrim Fathers and the American
a tender spell. Maestro Antonino remarked the custom of feasting on turkey seemed interesting. I
dexterity of my stubby fingers. Quickly I raced through thought of the money I would earn. For several days
Alard-until I had all but committed two thirds of the now I had but one wish, to buy a box of linen stationery.
book to memory. My short, brown arm learned at last to At night when the house was quiet I would fill the
draw the bow with grace. Sometimes, when practising sheets with words that would tell Aida how much I
my scales in the early evening, I wondered if the sea adored her. One of these mornings, perhaps before
wind carrying the straggling notes across the pebbled school closed for the holidays, I would borrow her
river did not transform them into Schubert’s algebra book and there, upon a good pageful of
“Serenade.” equations, there I would slip my message, tenderly
pressing the leaves of the book. She would perhaps
never write back. Neither by post nor by hand would a
At last Mr. Custodio, who was in charge of our school reply reach me. But no matter; it would be a silence full
orchestra, became aware of my progress. He moved me of voices.
from second to first violin. During the Thanksgiving Day
program he bade me render a number, complete with
pizzicati and harmonics. That night I dreamed I had returned from a tour of the
world’s music centers; the newspapers of Manila had
been generous with praise. I saw my picture on the
“Another Vallejo! Our own Albert Spalding!” I heard cover of a magazine. A writer had described how, many
from the front row. years ago, I used to trudge the streets of Buenavista
with my violin in a battered black cardboard case. In
New York, he reported, a millionaire had offered me a
Aida, I thought, would be in the audience. I looked Stradivarius violin, with a card that bore the inscription:
around quickly but could not see her. As I retired to my “In admiration of a genius your own people must surely
place in the orchestra I heard Pete Saez, the trombone be proud of.” I dreamed I spent a weekend at the
player, call my name. millionaire’s country house by the Hudson. A young girl
in a blue skirt and white middy clapped her lily-white
hands and, her voice trembling, cried “Bravo!”
“You must join my band,” he said. “Look, we’ll have
many engagements soon. It’ll be vacation time.”
What people now observed at home was the diligence
with which I attended to my violin lessons. My aunt,
Pete pressed my arm. He had for some time now been who had come from the farm to join her children for the
asking me to join the Minviluz Orchestra, his private holidays, brought with her a maidservant, and to the
band. All I had been able to tell him was that I had my poor girl was given the chore of taking the money to the
baker’s for rolls and pan de sal. I realized at once that it teacher announced that members of the class might
would be no longer becoming on my part to make these exchange gifts. I felt fortunate; Pete was at the door,
morning trips to the baker’s. I could not thank my aunt beckoning to me. We walked out to the porch where,
enough. Pete said, he would tell me a secret.

I began to chafe on being given other errands. It was about an asalto the next Sunday which the
Suspecting my violin to be the excuse, my aunt Buenavista Women’s Club wished to give Don Esteban’s
remarked: daughters, Josefina and Alicia, who were arriving on the
morning steamer from Manila. The spinsters were much
loved by the ladies. Years ago, when they were younger,
“What do you want to be a musician for? At parties, these ladies studied solfeggio with Josefina and the
musicians always eat last.” piano and harp with Alicia. As Pete told me all this, his
lips ash-gray from practising all morning on his
trombone, I saw in my mind the sisters in their silk
Perhaps, I said to myself, she was thinking of a pack of dresses, shuffling off to church for theevening
dogs scrambling for scraps tossed over the fence by benediction. They were very devout, and the Buenavista
some careless kitchen maid. She was the sort you could ladies admired that. I had almost forgotten that they
depend on to say such vulgar things. For that reason, I were twins and, despite their age, often dressed alike. In
thought, she ought not to be taken seriously at all. low-bosomed voile bodices and white summer hats, I
remembered, the pair had attended Grandfather’s
funeral, at old Don Esteban’s behest. I wondered how
But the remark hurt me. Although Grandmother had successful they had been in Manila during the past
counseled me kindly to mind my work at school, I went three years in the matter of finding suitable husbands.
again and again to Pete Saez’s house for rehearsals.

“This party will be a complete surprise,” Pete said,

She had demanded that I deposit with her my earnings; looking around the porch as if to swear me to secrecy.
I had felt too weak to refuse. Secretly, I counted the “They’ve hired our band.”
money and decided not to ask for it until I had enough
with which to buy a brooch. Why this time I wanted to
give Aida a brooch, I didn’t know. But I had set my heart I joined my classmates in the room, greeting everyone
on it. I searched the downtown shops. The Chinese with a Merry Christmas jollier than that of the others.
clerks, seeing me so young, were annoyed when I When I saw Aida in one corner unwrapping something
inquired about prices. two girls had given her, I found the boldness to greet her
also.

At last the Christmas season began. I had not counted

on Aida’s leaving home, and remembering that her “Merry Christmas,” I said in English, as a hairbrush and a
parents lived in Badajoz, my torment was almost powder case emerged from the fancy wrapping. It
unbearable. Not once had I tried to tell her of my love. seemed to me rather apt that such gifts went to her.
My letters had remained unwritten, and the algebra Already several girls were gathered around Aida. Their
book unborrowed. There was still the brooch to find, eyes glowed with envy, it seemed to me, for those fair
but I could not decide on the sort of brooch I really cheeks and the bobbed dark-brown hair which lineage
wanted. And the money, in any case, was in had denied them.
Grandmother’s purse, which smelled of “Tiger Balm.” I
grew somewhat feverish as our class Christmas program
drew near. Finally it came; it was a warm December
afternoon. I decided to leave the room when our English
I was too dumbstruck by my own meanness to hear
exactly what Aida said in answer to my greeting. But I
The overture shuffled along to its climax while five men
recovered shortly and asked:
in white shirts bore huge boxes of goods into the house.
I recognized one of the bakers in spite of the uniform. A
chorus of confused greetings, and the women trooped
“Will you be away during the vacation?”
into the house; and before we had settled in the sala to
play “A Basket of Roses,” the heavy damask curtains at
the far end of the room were drawn and a long table
“No, I’ll be staying here,” she said. When she added that richly spread was revealed under the chandeliers. I
her cousins were arriving and that a big party in their remembered that, in our haste to be on hand for the
honor was being planned, I remarked: asalto, Pete and I had discouraged the members of the
band from taking their suppers.

“So you know all about it?” I felt I had to explain that
the party was meant to be a surprise, an asalto. “You’ve done us a great honor!” Josefina, the more
buxom of the twins, greeted the ladies.

And now it would be nothing of the kind, really. The

women’s club matrons would hustle about, disguising “Oh, but you have not allowed us to take you by
their scurrying around for cakes and candies as for some surprise!” the ladies demurred in a chorus.
baptismal party or other. In the end, the Rivas sisters
would outdo them. Boxes of meringues, bonbons,
ladyfingers, and cinnamon buns that only the Swiss
There were sighs and further protestations amid a rustle
bakers in Manila could make were perhaps coming on
of skirts and the glitter of earrings. I saw Aida in a long,
the boat with them. I imagined a table glimmering with
flowing white gown and wearing an arch of sampaguita
long-stemmed punch glasses; enthroned in that array
flowers on her hair. At her command, two servants
would be a huge brick-red bowl of gleaming china with
brought out a gleaming harp from the music room. Only
golden flowers around the brim. The local matrons,
the slightest scraping could be heard because the
however hard they tried, however sincere their efforts,
servants were barefoot. As Aida directed them to place
were bound to fail in their aspiration to rise to the level
the instrument near the seats we occupied, my heart
of Don Esteban’s daughters. Perhaps, I thought, Aida
leaped to my throat. Soon she was lost among the
knew all this. And that I should share in a foreknowledge
guests, and we played “The Dance of the Glowworms.” I
of the matrons’ hopes was a matter beyond love. Aida
kept my eyes closed and held for as long as I could her
and I could laugh together with the gods.
radiant figure before me.

At seven, on the appointed evening, our small band

Alicia played on the harp and then, in answer to the
gathered quietly at the gate of Don Esteban’s house, and
deafening applause, she offered an encore. Josefina
when the ladies arrived in their heavy shawls and trim
sang afterward. Her voice, though a little husky, fetched
panuelo, twittering with excitement, we were
enormous sighs. For her encore, she gave “The Last
commanded to play the Poet and Peasant overture. As
Rose of Summer”; and the song brought back snatches
Pete directed the band, his eyes glowed with pride for
of the years gone by. Memories of solfeggio lessons
his having been part of the big event. The multicolored
eddied about us, as if there were rustling leaves
lights that the old Spaniard’s gardeners had strung along
scattered all over the hall. Don Esteban appeared.
the vine-covered fence were switched on, and the
Earlier, he had greeted the crowd handsomely, twisting
women remarked that Don Esteban’s daughters might
his mustache to hide a natural shyness before talkative
have made some preparations after all. Pete hid his face
women. He stayed long enough to listen to the harp
from the glare. If the women felt let down, they did not
show it.
again, whispering in his rapture: “Heavenly. Heavenly . . I brought a handkerchief to my mouth. I might have
.” honored her solicitude adequately and even relieved
myself of any embarrassment; I could not quite believe
that she had seen me, and yet I was sure that she knew
By midnight, the merrymaking lagged. We played while what I had done, and I felt all ardor for her gone from
the party gathered around the great table at the end of me entirely.
the sala. My mind traveled across the seas to the distant
cities I had dreamed about. The sisters sailed among the
ladies like two great white liners amid a fleet of I walked away to the nearest door, praying that the
tugboats in a bay. Someone had thoughtfully damask curtains might hide me in my shame. The door
remembered-and at last Pete Saez signaled to us to put gave on to the veranda, where once my love had trod on
our instruments away. We walked in single file across sunbeams. Outside it was dark, and a faint wind was
the hall, led by one of the barefoot servants. singing in the harbor.

Behind us a couple of hoarse sopranos sang “La Paloma” With the napkin balled up in my hand, I flung out my
to the accompaniment of the harp, but I did not care to arm to scatter the egg-yolk things in the dark. I waited
find out who they were. The sight of so much silver and for the soft sound of their fall on the garden-shed roof.
china confused me. There was more food before us than Instead, I heard a spatter in the rising night-tide beyond
I had ever imagined. I searched in my mind for the the stone fence. Farther away glimmered the light from
names of the dishes; but my ignorance appalled me. I Grandmother’s window, calling me home.
wondered what had happened to the boxes of food that
the Buenavista ladies had sent up earlier. In a silver bowl
was something, I discovered, that appeared like whole But the party broke up at one or thereabouts. We
egg yolks that had been dipped in honey and walked away with our instruments after the matrons
peppermint. The seven of us in the orchestra were all of were done with their interminable good-byes. Then, to
one mind about the feast; and so, confident that I was the tune of “Joy to the World,” we pulled the Progreso
with friends, I allowed my covetousness to have its sway Street shopkeepers out of their beds. The Chinese
and not only stuffed my mouth with this and that merchants were especially generous. When Pete divided
confection but also wrapped up a quantity of those egg- our collection under a street lamp, there was already a
yolk things in several sheets of napkin paper. None of little glow of daybreak.
my companions had thought of doing the same, and it
was with some pride that I slipped the packet under my
shirt. There, I knew, it would not bulge. He walked with me part of the way home. We stopped
at the baker’s when I told him that I wanted to buy with
my own money some bread to eat on the way to
“Have you eaten?” Grandmother’s house at the edge of the sea wall. He
laughed, thinking it strange that I should be hungry. We
found ourselves alone at the counter; and we watched
I turned around. It was Aida. My bow tie seemed to the bakery assistants at work until our bodies grew
tighten around my collar. I mumbled something, I did warm from the oven across the door. It was not quite
not know what. five, and the bread was not yet ready.

“If you wait a little while till they’ve gone, I’ll wrap up a
big package for you,” she added.