A Character Analysis of Belle and her Husband in Francisco Arcellana’s Divide by Two

(In which partitions are clarified.)

***

Theirs is apparently not a happy marriage, Belle and her husband’s. The bitterness within the context of their living together must be something almost akin to the relationship of Badoy and Agueda in Nick Joaquin’s May Day Eve for Belle and her husband live together but seem to inhabit different worlds apart from the home they share and the community in which they live. Inside themselves, a complex array of thoughts and emotions stir, torturing them all and complicating all their lives. Divide by Two by Francisco Arcellana is not just a peep into a moment of a married couple – it is a trickily structured short story, an artistic execution of the Iceberg Theory.
The story utilizes only one proper noun to address one of the important characters – Belle. But the story revolves around Belle, her husband and their couple neighbors. For better understanding and for clearer analysis, alphanumeric variables are used to stand for the other husband (X) and for his wife (Y). The focus is on Belle’s husband, the narrator of the story. By zeroing in on how he narrates the story, one takes a closer view of what really happens in their home, and what his real relationship with his wife is. Also, by understanding what he feels and thinks, one understands the meaning behind the title and the symbolisms manifested in the literary work.
The story is eighty percent dialogue consisting of mostly repetitive structure as regards to how Belle’s husband relates the story – I said, Belle said. Apparently, it wasn’t written to show who said what. The repetition gave itself away and that it wasn’t geared neither toward information nor clarification. Instead, it is to signify separation. They were two different beings, not united. Not one. Another example took place when he went to his room to get some clothes.

“He carried the blocks in the baggage compartment of their car. It took him all three trips. He had three boys with him to help.” I shook my shirt in the cooling air and walked in my room. “And I know where he got those blocks, too. There is a construction going on right now at engineering school. They have a pile of adobe blocks there as high as the Cheops. You can’t miss it. You see it from the bus line every time.”

Actually, he never referred to this room as “our room”. It was they – he and Belle – who were “divided by two.” (Casper, 1962)
Apparently, he isn’t paying attention to what Belle was saying. He keeps on asking her to repeat. His body feels exhausted and whatever Belle was saying doesn’t interest him as much as the sound of the piano music which Wife Y was playing did. In almost every movement or his change of loci, his sense of the house is marked by how clear he heard the piano music, The Turkish March from Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11.

“Yes, I know,” I said. I walked into the window and stood there, looking over at their cottage. The piano music from the cottage came strong and clear. . . In my room, the strains of piano music didn’t reach sustainedly. . . I fumbled in the dark feeling with my fingers. In the darkness in the closet the strains of the piano came steadily, strong and clear.
“She is no Turk but she keeps playing the Turkish March,” Belle said.

Even his awareness of Belle is magnified by the piano music, or the lack of it.

I wondered why now the words kept ringing clear to me. Then I felt and sensed that the piano had been stilled. Suddenly the night was silent, suddenly the air was still.

But what Belle was trying to bring into his consciousness might have been of critical importance. The story jumpstarted abruptly, introducing the situation without further ado, a sign that the problem was of considerable intensity. Yet he took it as something close to hokum, if anything at all. When the piano music stops, he turned on his music player.

I rose from the lounging chair. I walked to the globe-traveler near the wall outlet, plugged the cord in and snapped the lid open. Belle followed me. I was playing the range disk for music when Belled leaned forward and snapped the lid shut.

Again, this scenario shows his indifference toward Belle. He doesn’t want to listen to his personal audio tracks. If he does, he could have done so even while the piano music was still on. Instead, he turns on his music player because the piano music stopped. What he might have wanted was a distraction, a reason not to listen to Belle. But Belle is quick in cutting him off from another source of distraction. And thus he is forced to listen.
Belle thinks ill of Wife Y and points out that that Wife Y must have hated her and her friendliness or Husband X’s friendliness toward her. But Belle’s husband doesn’t think it’s appropriate either.

“She doesn’t like me.” Belle said. “And she doesn’t like anyone to like me… when he gave me flowers from her garden, I don’t think she liked that.”
“Who would?” I asked. “Maybe the flowers weren’t such a good idea either.”
“He was only being friendly as I was,” Belle said.
“Oh, yes,” I said.

But again, he doesn’t want anything to do with Belle’s complaints, claiming that he doesn’t know them as much as Belle did. But Belle thinks otherwise.

“Oh, you do, too,” Belle said. “You ride with them too sometimes.”
“I did that only once,” I said. “I rode with them on the front seat. She tapped him on the thigh when she got off at Pavilion 2. That was the last time.”
“Did that bother you?” Belle asked.
“Not that in itself,” I said. “Only the demonstrativeness: as if to show that she is his and he is hers.”

This is a critical point. Readers are already aware of Belle’s friendliness toward Husband X as suggested by the flowers. But Belle’s husband somehow shows a little more room for thought as regards to the gap between him and Belle. If the “demonstrativeness” didn’t really bother him, there is no need to mention it. And then Belle criticizes Wife Y’s “demonstrativeness” in short shorts while “puttering about her garden”. To which her husband retorts that Belle herself didn’t follow rules of conduct when she went visiting the other cottages with Husband Y several times, to which Belle responds that it was just a fulfillment of neighborly duties. Then Belle points out that the other couple’s lawn is bigger than theirs. Because of this, the husband is again forced to pay attention. He looks out the window. It is eight forty-five and isn’t too dark to see the adobe markers. But what seems to appeal to his eyes are the specter-like presence of the flowers, which were already attributed to Wife Y. He reasons out that that might be so because she needed more land for her flowers. But Belle complains again, saying there is an unfair division of lawns. This time, her husband snaps and begins to insult Husband X’s intelligence.

"You mean the halves are not equal? The halves are not halves? I asked.
“What’s the matter with you?” Belle said.
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked. “Isn’t he a doctor of mathematics or something? A fine doctor of mathematics he’s turned out to be if he can’t even divide by two!”
“What’s eating you?” Belle asked.
“Maybe he should have brought a survey team with him and used a transit, a plumb line, and a pole,” I said. “Maybe he could divide by two then. Maybe he could even divide by ten.”

The husband can’t repress his annoyance anymore. And when he still won’t deal with Husband X, Belle threatens to settle the matter herself. Again, he is left with no choice but to approach Husband X, using a rather impersonal method. Using their dusty (apparently unused) typewriter, he write a note to Husband X.
AS he types the note, he can hear Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro from the other house’ radio-phonograph and he thinks “Mathematics and Mozart.” “Mozart and Mathematics.” The Turkish March and Marriage and Figaro were both Mozart’s, which were referred to as a predilection of Wife Y, and Husband X is a doctor of mathematics. Looking closely, he doesn’t seem to think of the juxtaposition of mathematics and music compatible.
Nata sends the note to the next house. By handing Husband X the note, they have passed the point of no return. When the inevitable comes, the two men decide to talk outside. There is a rather illogical state of verbal exchanges, mostly on Belle’s husband’s side. But they don’t talk much of the adobe blocks or the act of putting them there as boundaries. Instead, what takes place is an outburst of outrage coming from somewhere uncharted. And in the heat of the situation, Belle rises and declares war. And finally, it is Belle whom her husband needs to settle matters with, anyway.
It is worth noting that Belle keeps on seeing Wife Y as a nemesis while her husband always defends her. Belle’s husband didn’t seem to like Husband X but Belle keeps on defending him. It is an unfortunate situation, but it makes the distance between the husband and wife make sense. Whether it is difficult to point out which between the attraction between Belle and Husband X or the hidden desire of Belle’s husband toward Wife Y was stronger, it is of no doubt that the division of the two couple’s relationship is caused by their inability to set proper boundaries and infidelity. Divide by Two is indeed tricky, its symbolisms vast and multifaceted. However, one only needs to see how miscommunication and misunderstanding breaks human relationships to get a glimpse of what people should avoid. This, among others, could be the reason behind the story’s existence.
Casper, Leonard. (1962). Vision Indivisible. In Emerenciana Y. Arcellana (Ed.), Favorite Arcellana Stories (p. 213). UP Press. Philippines.

When I See a Barong-barong by Maximo Ramos

(In which one dared to be different.)

***

When I See a Barong-Barong

Maximo Ramos

When I see a barong-barong neighborhood in the heart of war-torn Manila;

When I behold beside the Pasig sudden lean-tos defended against sun and rain with salvaged sheets of tin;

When I take a truck ride through Suburbia and find nipa huts clustered within the shell-punched walls of former mansions of stone –

I do not look away in shame or throw up my hands despairing for my people.

I fill my chest with the bracing breeze of this my country and say:

Though my race has been pushed around in his own land for nearly half a thousand years,

Though my people have been double-crossed again and again by foreigners,

Though my race has been pitted against themselves down the centuries;

I joy to discover that they are whole and remained unbroken in spirit;

Building them makeshift huts of nipa and salvaged tin and standing straight with heads against the stars.

The poem was written shortly after the Liberation of Manila, (March 4, 1945) when bombed areas of the city were renewed by the sprouting of sorry-looking ensemble of rags, sacks, wood and tin comprising makeshift homes for struggling, impoverished Filipinos. The striking local color embodying a large percentage of the poem was the barong-barong, or makeshift shanties. This type of housing was commonly seen along riverbanks or under the bridges, put up by “squatters”, a rather offensive term for illegal settlers. This type of image isn’t a source of aesthetic inspiration for the general population. Instead, it is considered a ground for disapproval, disgust even, for dwellers and makers of such offense to beauty.

However, the poet Maximo Ramos described the poor and struggling side of Manila without contempt or ridicule. The verisimilitude of the depiction was executed for the sake of truthful presentation and nor of mockery.

In line number three, Ramos gave a glimpse of what used to be on the ground before the barong-barong was built. On that spot used to stand a mansion of stone, whose only remnants were fragments of walls. It shows, therefore, the effects of war to property and to the once-glorified beauty of a city. It creates an image of people in ragged clothes, rummaging the pile of materials in search for some still-useful pieces of scraps with which to build their shelter. It was indeed a pitiful thing. But Ramos saw it differently.

Out of expectation brought by the obvious negative connotation of the title, readers may be struck by Ramos’ audacity in saying that there is nothing pitiful in the sorry state of the barong-barong. Instead of feeling pity, he was filled with pride. This unordinary attitude was defended by the remaining lines of the poem. To provide evidence as regards to the strength of character of Filipinos living in these houses, Ramos cited the abuses his people experienced throughout history – the slavery and injustices of the Spanish conquerors, the treachery of foreigners as proved by the treachery of America and Spain during the Mock Battle of Manila and the Benevolent Assimilation, and the and division of Filipinos with other Filipinos due to differences and religious orientation as well personal interests.

Despite all these, Ramos pointed out that Filipinos remained whole in spirit, not giving up easily on life and its bitterness. Instead, Filipinos were strong enough to stand in the midst of a crisis and start from scratch,

The poem depicts a strong sense of nationalism, showing a positive regard for one’s fellowmen during times of great depression. However, although the image portrayed by the barong-barong in this poem was a symbol of strength and honor, it is just fair to think that Ramos didn’t celebrate poverty. The poem was a post-war literature. Therefore, the respect he manifested was driven by the admiration for people to continue living despite the heavy aftermath of the war. A complete application of the poem in the modern context may prove to be inappropriate due to the difference of setting.

One of the reasons why we take our hats off to poets is that they see things in a different light. More often than not, they see beautiful things in an object that would usually be ignored by the common eye. Maximo Ramos’ When I See a Barong-Barong was a defiant piece of literature in such a way that it challenges people to look at ugly things in their country and manage to see the beauty of their race as well as to rise up from the ashes and continue living.

Photo Source:

Barong-barong

Spring Moon by Bette Bao Lord

(In which I dare post an excerpt of my mediocrity.)

***

The night was still. Soon only moonlight stirred, unveiling cliffs and the giant reclining Buddha, smiling for eternity. They sat for a while in silence, and then Glad Promise spoke.

“We have been happy, you and I – despite of all – have we not, my wife?”

She squeezed his hand, “I have never known such happiness.”

“And if it could not last, would you regret becoming my wife?”

. . . “My husband, why do you ask if I would regret our marriage? Why do you ask such a thing?”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips. “Because . . . “

“Because, my husband?”

“Because you should never have regrets. You should never change.”

“Why would I change?”

“Ours is a time of change,” he said gravely, looking toward the Buddha. (Lord, 1981, pp. 152 – 153)

It is the nature of historical fiction, or literature in general, to mirror how change transpires in the lives of men; for it is the nature of men, of time and of life itself, to change. Along with the changes comes danger, the severing of ties, the throwing away of the old and of starting anew. History records changes for posterity; literature depicts changes for uplifting humanity. The combination of both must aim to awaken among its readers a passion to know and understand the past and link it with the present and future along with a heightened sense of culture and of self. Seldom is it achieved successfully, though. For the reconciliation of fact and fiction is not an easy feat. So when one encounters a historical fiction that can serve the purpose with style, it is treasured, just as Bette Bao Lord’s Spring Moon is.

Bette Bao Lord, in her highly celebrated 1981 debut novel, Spring Moon, writes of change as it swept the history of China from antiquity to its enlightenment and its opening to the modern world. Chronicling the lives of several generations of the Chang clan in Soochow, China, the novel takes off in 1892, during the Ch’ing dynasty, when Spring Moon once again offends good manners as she searches for her slave girl, Plum Blossom. A spoiled and innocent child of nine, Spring Moon grows up among the illustrious members of the House of Chang and enjoys privileges exclusive to their era’s elite. It is at this tender age when she learns one important virtue prevalent in the traditional Chinese culture – to yield. That self-same virtue she carries on in her transformation as years went by. From a rather domestic, albeit incompetent, girl, she becomes learned under the tutelage of her eldest uncle, Bold Talent. From a blind follower of wedding traditions, she becomes an accomplice of her husband in defying them on their first night. From the insensitive, tactless brat, she seeks wisdom both in reticence and in peaceful arguments. She learns to work hard and shed the aristocracy of the names she bears for she also learns to shoulder the consequences of her actions and decisions without bothering her slave let alone the elders in her clan.

As a transition literature, Spring Moon remarkably covers not only one historical metamorphosis to the next. Its vastness stretches from the final dynasty of Imperial China to the Communist nation the modern world saw emerged. Yet events flash as if in a motion picture – fast, vivid, smooth. Apparently, it is Bette Bao Lord’s powerful narration and realistic characters from which the strengths of the novel emanate. Every chapter opens with a reference from written literature, oral tradition or history, thus laying out a background for the events soon to unfurl – a clever maneuver of tenses, all linked and interrelated. Epistolary narration is also employed, creating variety so as not to fully adhere to conventional storytelling. Also, the omniscient narrator’s generosity for details doesn’t compromise the narration’s need to be challenging, barring the readers from getting too close too soon, thus allowing the story flow smoothly.

Bao Lord’s creative use of English translations of the character’s Chinese names as well as their realistic presentation provides variety and ease in reading. Her characterization makes the people in the novel real – with all the vulnerability and darkness innate to human beings. Their humanity allows readers to read their story and identify themselves to be like one of them, or perhaps to be like people they know, as if they were reading the history of their own people. It was as if Jews were reading Joel Gross’ Books of Rachel, or the Filipinos Jose Rizal’s El Filibusterismo or Azucena Grajo Uranza’s Bamboo in the Wind. For while China was facing changes, so is the rest of the world. People reacted to these changes in the same way as the Chinese did. When threatened by war, people exhibit the same terror and pain. When reforms were introduced, people manifest the same inimical attitude and skepticism. When oppressed and abused, people succumb to the same anger and revolt.

Realistically portrayed in the novel is the fact that with the effort to bring social and political change comes the vicious cycle of the impermanence of things. Enemies do not remain enemies in the same manner as friends do not. Promises aren’t all kept let alone meant. In times of political crisis when personal interests are top priority, loyalties can be bought and sold.

Another noteworthy strength of this novel lies in the balance of presentation. Bette Bao Lord’s narrative style is careful enough not to be impartial as shown by \the juxtaposition of conflicting ideas in the novel. Spring Moon and Lustrous Jade being the symbols for old and new China, respectively, basically show how the new wave of information both threatens tradition and hopes for a national rebirth. The author shows the strong impact of tradition to the flow of the story by using an oracle as a foundation for the story’s plot. She depicts the tyranny of the Empress Dowager but also mentions her capacity to govern. She speaks of the soldier’s valor and dedication, yet portrays him as human enough to be subjected to disillusionment and fear. She also discusses the need to move forward and adoption of new ideologies for the sake of national development yet is audacious enough to write about its dehumanizing effect.

I learned two important things from this novel, the first one dealing with history and change. History documents times of changes since the emergence of the earliest signs of humanity and civilization, the rise and fall of empires and religions, the establishment and abolition of laws and the start and end of wars. History keeps on being written, even repeated. Indeed, the wind of change doesn’t cease from blowing, from sweeping lands and seas, hence the necessity of yielding to it as elucidated by Spring Moon. And the second one is about something that remained, astonishingly, almost undisturbed throughout the entire novel – one’s sense of family.

Currently reading:

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich

Lord, B. B. (1981). Spring Moon. NY: Avon Books. pp. 152 – 153.

Photo Source:

Love Medicine