What’s New

As a student, you have future plans for yourself and for your family. Your loved ones can
guide you but at the end of the day you are responsible on your decision. Understand the story
“Harvest” written by Loreto Paras Sulit, and learn from the lessons you will get from it.
Loreto Paras Sulit was born in Manila on December 10, 1908. She attended the public
schools and took her Bachelor of Science in Education, Magna Cum Laude, from the University
of the Philippines. She worked as research writer for the Curriculum Division of the Bureau of
Public Schools. She was one of the founders of the Writer Club at the University of the
Philippines.
Harvest
(Summary)
Loreto Paras Sulit
He first saw her in his brother’s eyes. The palay stalks were taking on gold in the late
afternoon sun, were losing their trampled, wind-swept look and stirring into little, almost
inaudible whispers.
The rhythm of Fabian’s strokes was smooth and unbroken. So many palay stalks had to
be harvested before sundown and there was no time to be lost in idle dallying. But when he
stopped to heap up the fallen palay stalks he glanced at his brother as if to fathom the other’s
state of mind in that one, side-long glance.
The swing of Vidal’s figure was as graceful as the downward curve of the crescent-
shaped scythe. How stubborn, this younger brother of his, how hardheaded, fumed Fabian as he
felled stalk after stalk. It is because he knows how very good-looking he is, how he is so much
run-after by all the women in town. The obstinate, young fool! With his queer dreams, his
strange adorations, his wistfulness for a life not of these fields, not of their quiet, colorless
women and the dullness of long nights of unbroken silence and sleep. But he would bend… he
must bend… one of these days.
Vidal stopped in his work to wipe off the heavy sweat from his brow. He wondered how
his brother could work that fast all day without pausing to rest, without slowing in the rapidity of
his strokes. But that was the reason the master would not let him go; he could harvest a field in a
morning that would require three men to finish in a day. He had always been afraid of this older
brother of his; there was something terrible in the way he determined things, how he always
brought them to pass, how he disregarded the soft and the beautiful in his life and sometimes
how he crushed, trampled people, things he wanted destroyed. There were flowers, insects, birds
of boyhood memories, what Fabian had done to them. There was Tinay… she did not truly like
him, but her widowed mother had some lands… he won and married Tinay.
I wonder what can touch him. Vidal thought of miracles, perhaps a vision, a woman…
But no… he would overpower them…he was so strong with those arms of steel, those huge arms
of his that could throttle a spirited horse into obedience.
“Harvest time is almost ended, Vidal.” (I must be strong also, the other prayed). “Soon
the planting season will be on us and we shall have need of many carabaos. Milia’s father has
five. You have but to ask her and Milia will accept you any time. Why do you delay…”
“Ah, it is my model! How are you, Vidal?” It was a voice too deep and throaty for a
woman but beneath it one could detect a gentle, smooth nuance, soft as silk. It affected Fabian
very queerly, he could feel his muscles tensing as he waited for her to speak again. But he did
not stop in work or turn to look at her.
“From now on he must work for me every morning, possibly all day.”
“Very well, everything as you please.” So it was the master who was with her.
“He is your brother, you say, Vidal? Oh, your elder brother.” The curiosity in her voice
must be in her eyes. “He has very splendid arms.” Then Fabian turned to look at her.
A large moth with mottled, highly colored wings fluttered blindly against the bough, its
long, feathery antennae quivering sensitively in the air. Vidal paused to pick it up, but before he
could do so his brother had hit it with the bundle of palay stalks he carried. The moth fell to the
ground, a mass of broken wings, of fluttering wing-dust.
After they had walked a distance, Vidal asked, “Why are you that way?”
“What is my way?”
“That—that way of destroying things which are beautiful like moths… like…”
“If the dust from the wings of a moth should get into your eyes, you would be blind.”
“That is not the reason.”
“Things that are beautiful have a way of hurting. I destroy it when I feel a hurt.”
“When I was your age, Vidal, I was already married. It is high time you should be
settling down. There is Milia.”
“I have no desire to marry her or anybody else. Just—just—for five carabaos.” There! He
had spoken out at last. What a relief it was. But he did not like the way his brother pursed his lips
tightly that boded not defeat. Vidal rose, stretching himself luxuriously. On the door of the silid
where he slept he paused to watch his little niece. As she threw a pebble into the air he caught it
and would not give it up. She pinched, bit, and shook his pants furiously while he laughed in
great amusement.
His brother saw and understood. Fury was a high flame in his heart… If that look, that
quiver of voice had been a moth, a curl on the dark head of his daughter… Now more than ever
he was determined to have Milia in his home as his brother’s wife… that would come to pass.
Someday, that look, that quiver would become a moth in his hands, a frail, helpless moth.
When Vidal, one night, broke out the news Fabian knew he had to act at once. Miss
Francia would leave within two days; she wanted Vidal to go to the city with her, where she
would finish the figures she was working on.
“She will pay me more than I can earn here, and help me get a position there. She shall
always be near her. Oh, I am going! I am going!” “And live the life of a—a servant?” “What of
that? I shall be near her always.” “Why do you wish to be near her?” “Why? Why? Oh, my God!
Why?”
Again—as it ever would be—the disquieting nature of her loveliness was on him so that
all his body tensed and flexed as he gathered in at a glance all the marvel of her beauty.
She smiled graciously at him while he made known himself; he did not expect she would
remember him. “Ah, the man with the splendid arms.” “I am the brother of Vidal.” He had not
forgotten to roll up his sleeves.
He did not know how he worded his thoughts, but he succeeded in making her understand
that Vidal could not possibly go with her, that he had to stay behind in the fields.
There was an amusement rippling beneath her tones. “To marry the girl whose father has
five carabaos. You see, Vidal told me about it.”
He flushed again a painful brick-red; even to his eyes he felt the hot blood flow.
“That is the only reason to cover up something that would not be known. My brother has
wronged this girl. There will be a child.”
She said nothing, but the look in her face protested against what she had heard. It said, it
was not so.
But she merely answered, “I understand. He shall not go with me.” She called a servant,
gave him a twenty-peso bill and some instruction. “Vidal, is he at your house?” The brother on
the patio nodded.
Now they were alone again. After this afternoon he would never see her, she would never
know. But what had she to know? A pang without a voice, a dream without a plan… how could
they be understood in words.
“Your brother should never know you have told me the real reason why he should not go
with me. It would hurt him, I know.
“I have to finish this statue before I leave. The arms are still incomplete— would it be too
much to ask you to pose for just a little while?”
While she smoothed the clay, patted it and molded the vein, muscle, arm, stole the
firmness, the strength, of his arms to give to this lifeless statue, it seemed as if life left him, left
his arms that were being copied. She was lost in her work and noticed neither the twilight
stealing into the patio nor the silence brooding over.
When Fabian returned Vidal was at the batalan brooding over a crumpled twenty-peso
bill in his hands. The haggard tired look in his young eyes was as grey as the skies above.
He was speaking to Tinay jokingly. “Soon all your sampaguitas and camias will be gone,
my dear sister-in-law because I shall be seeing Milia every night… and her father.” He watched
and later wondered why it took his brother that long to wash his arms, why he was rubbing them
as hard as that…
Based on the story “Harvest”, answer the following questions below.
1. What are the words that created images or visual representations in your mind?
2. What are the specific words in the story that produced sound in your mind?
3. What are the specific words in the story that evoked feelings or emotion in your mind?
4. Describe one character in the story.
5. What is the good trait of Fabian?
6. Give one good character of Vidal.
7. What is the theme of the story?
8. What particular objects or animals were used in the piece to symbolize the main
character? Justify your answer.
9. If you will use the same theme, what image or object will you choose as a descriptive
detail? Explain briefly.
10.Create your own ending. Make a happy ending in spite of the envy of Fabian to his
brother. Use your creativity in writing.