The Summer i Learned to Bike

The Summer I Learned To Bike by E.L. Koh (Local Short Story) I WAS around ten years old when the Americans liberated Manila. Years of hardship under the Japanese regime were finally coming to an end. Though the air that morning was no different from two days earlier when the Japanese soldiers left, there was some tension, a hurry-up kind of tension intensified by crowd noise--the sound of running footsteps and of people yelling for others to hurry up. Looking out through the iron grill of our living room window down the looban, I could see our neighbors, young and old, rushing past the rickety wooden bridge to Surbaran Street and farther on. There was Mang Enteng without his fighting cock. He was in his usual faded undershirt with a black cigarette hanging from his lips, running like there was no tomorrow. Not far behind was Aling Isyang, our local gossip, dragging her wooden bakya and pulling up her skirt to run faster and keep pace with the crowd that was now becoming a mob. There was also Conrad, the handsome college basketball player and craze of the looban women. He too was running. It wasn't long before my good buddy Pitoy came and called me to join him. "Madali ka, may luting sa Azcarraga," he yelled above the noise of the crowd. "What looting?" I yelled back. "Just come. Maybe we can get ourselves something. A bike maybe." Pitoy was firm. Living on the edge of the Tondo slums, we sometimes fantasized about owning bikes so we can go around like the rich boys of Santa Cruz and Binondo. We could even bike all the way to Santa Mesa to see those big houses we had only heard about. "Okay," I yelled again and by way of taking leave, hollered to Inay and Ate Panching who were in the kitchen, "There's looting, they say." I then headed for the door. Since my father's death, Inay had been very liberal about letting us kids come and go as we please. She set a curfew of ten o'clock, which we followed, give or take five minutes. My older sister was stricter in demanding that we tell her where we were going and what we were going to do. Inay said something I didn't catch. So did Ate Panching but I only heard the last part which sounded like "lipstick." I left in a hurry in my undershirt, raggedy shorts and bare feet. My puny, lethargic body got into gear. There we were--two skinny boys, barely four feet tall,

rushing to where everybody was heading, halfrunning, half-walking. As we turned the corner of O'Donnell and Surbaran, we saw more people heading for Azcarraga. In the bedlam, I lost sight of Pitoy who until then had been running next to me. When I got to Azcarraga near Avenida Rizal, I saw men carting away all kinds of goods--clothes, radio, small appliances, and bikes--from the Chinese department stores that lined the streets. One man had a small bike in one hand, a frying pan in the other, and dresses draped over his shoulder. Someone asked where he got the bike. He pointed with his lips towards a store and said, "Duon." He continued on his way without losing a step. I knew he was going to leave them at home and come back for more. I went straight to the store the man pointed to. I was deterred from joining the looters partly because of my Catholic upbringing but mostly out of fear of getting hurt or getting caught. The latter, of course, was almost impossible as there was no longer law and order but I didn't know that. To minimize my guilt, I went into the store after most of the looters had left. There was broken glass, furniture and garbage all over the place. Most of the merchandise was gone except for some broken and torn stuff. There was a loose bike wheel but somebody grabbed it before I could get it. Being barefoot, I had to carefully pick my way to look around. I have been cut by a shard of glass before and it took forever to heal. In a corner behind the counter, I saw a stack of new calendars lying untouched. After some hesitation, I grabbed an armful and went out. At the next store, it was the same thing--ransacked, empty, broken glass and garbage all over, but nothing worthwhile to pick up. So I decided to go home with my calendars. When I brought my loot home, Ate Panching blew her top. "Gago, why didn't you get something we could use?" We could use these calendars, why not, I thought. We could have one in the living room, one in the bedroom where all five of us slept on the straw mat wall to wall, one in the kitchen and even one in the bathroom. Besides, the color picture of the nipa hut near the rice field was really nice, I said to myself. I didn't answer as she rattled off a list of things I should have picked up--the pots and pans Inay mentioned and the cosmetics she wanted.

I quickly took off for Azcarraga again. I knew I could do better this time. It was a good twenty minutes of half-run and half-walk. There were still a good number of people going my way and I blended in with them. By this time, the looters had picked up almost everything and had moved up several blocks along Avenida Rizal. As I scrounged around the nearly empty shelves of once glorious stores, I found more clutter and garbage than usable goods. There were piles of stationery I could use in school but they were not on Ate Panching's list.

After walking briskly for some ten minutes, Pitoy turned to me and with a broad grin said, "Nah, it was Conrad who got it and gave it to me."

I caught up with the main crowd and saw a few things that would have pleased her. But looters were fighting and grabbing the goods from each other. I saw cosmetics strewn about but was afraid of getting hurt so I stayed away. When the place cleared out, I picked up a lipstick and a small powder case, put them in my pocket and moved on. At another store, I saw a pile of toilet paper rolls. I wanted to string them up but there was no string so I gathered as many in my small arms as I could to take home.

Pitoy and I walked back to our regular haunt behind the rickety Surbaran bridge. It was a clear spot covered by a discarded galvanized iron sheet. We sat on the broken benches and Pitoy told me how it happened.

As I got closer to home, it felt like my arms were about to fall off. Toilet paper wasn't heavy but it was bulky and made my arms stretch awkwardly during the long walk home. Even from afar, I could already see Ate Panching by our door with her arms akimbo. She didn't blow her top this time. When I got within earshot, she said, "Toilet paper lang? You better quit your looting before you get killed." I was grounded for the rest of the day. I wanted to give her the compact and lipstick bulging in my pocket but she was so mean to me. "What will I do with these?" I said to myself as I fingered the cosmetics in my pocket. So I slowly dropped them on the floor and kicked them under theaparador. All the while I wondered how Pitoy did. I didn't see him the next day although there was looting still going on. Two days later, he came to our apartment and yelled for me under our grilled window. He showed off his spanking new bike. "What? You got it!" I said as I looked in disbelief. I eyed the cross bar where I could sit to hitch a ride with him. "Yeah, got it yesterday." "How? I don't believe it. Are there any more? Can you show me where?" "Sure. But you can't hitch a ride with me yet because I'm still learning how to ride it. Let's leave it at my home and we can go."

Now that really got me wondering. Although Conrad was popular in thelooban, he was no philanthropist. I had seen him give a bag of mangoes to our neighbor Clarita once before but that was because he was courting her. At another time, he handed a bunch of hibiscus he picked from the bush to pretty Sonya. But a bike to Pitoy? I didn't believe it.

"Remember last Christmas when I was delivering pyembreras of food for Aling Maria?" Indeed, he was. Aling Maria was in my opinion the best cook in our looban. I especially liked her dinuguan and her ginataan. Several of our neighbors had their meals catered by her. There was Mrs. Malacon who was always in poor health and couldn't be bothered to cook for her husband and two kids. There was Aling Conching, the seamstress, who was advised not to wet her hands after working long hours with the sewing machine. Then there was young Mrs. Garcia who wouldn't let kitchen work ruin her beautiful hands, Cutex on her nails and all. We heard she didn't want kids because they would ruin her figure and that was why Mr. Garcia, who was an assistant manager at Tiger Store, spent more and more time at the store. "Yeah, I know you made a lot of money then." "Nah, that was only ten centavos a delivery in Japanese money and now it's worth nothing." "So what happened?" "You know when I deliver pyembreras to the houses, people usually left the payment on their kitchen table for me to pick up." "So?" "This time at Mrs. Garcia's house, there was no money. I thought she probably forgot so I walked to the bedroom where I heard some noise. The door was slightly open and I was going to call her when I heard heavy breathing. I peeked in and saw Conrad half-naked on top of Mrs. Garcia. They didn't see me but I knew they were doing you know what."

"Yay! Why didn't you tell me that before?" "I couldn't." "And where was Mr. Garcia?" "You know he was at the store and wouldn't be home till late that night." "Did you stay and watch? What did you do?" "I was scared. I tip-toed softly back to the kitchen, took the pyembrera and went back out. I then knocked loudly on the apartment door and called out, 'Mrs. Garcia, here's your pyembrera. Will you bring me the money? I am late.' I had to wait a few minutes before she came to the door in her bathrobe." "What did she say?" "She said she was in the bathroom. I tell you, Tony. She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw." Pitoy then told me how he pretended to hurry but went to hide a few doors down the street and waited for Conrad to come out. When he finally did fifteen minutes later, Pitoy sauntered towards him and asked how he liked the bistek, the beef steak in soy sauce, Pitoy had just delivered to Mrs. Garcia. "What do you mean?" Conrad asked, his face a little flushed. "Oh, I just delivered the pyembrera to Mrs. Garcia. I brought it to the kitchen but took it out again when I saw you were busy in the bedroom. You heard me yell from the door, didn't you?" Conrad, though proud of his sexual conquests, hated it when caught red-handed. He grabbed Pitoy by the collar and threatened to kill him if he ever repeated to anyone what he had just said. He quickly let go when he saw Aling Isyang some distance in the looban. He glared at Pitoy. When he cooled down, he promised Pitoy a reward if he kept his mouth shut. "So that's why he gave you the bike?" "In a way, yes. You see when you and I got separated at O'Donnell I just kept going to Avenida Rizal and up

towards Times Cinema. I was almost all the way to the bike shop on Carriedo Street when I saw Conrad coming out of the store with a big radio in one hand and steering a bike out with his other hand. I ran to him and asked if there were any more bikes left. He said yes but that I wouldn't be able to get one because I wasn't strong and big enough." "So how did you get it?" "I begged him to go back in and get even a small one while I kept an eye on his radio and his bike. I also reminded him I hadn't said anything to anyone about what happened at Mrs. Garcia's home. Since that had been so long ago, he smiled, winked at me and agreed. He got me this smaller bike." "Great. But now that you've told me what happened last Christmas, won't he be upset and take the bike back, or worse beat you up?" "Tony! How will he know? Are you gonna tell him?" Pitoy was suddenly angry and screaming at me. "This is supposed to be a secret and you are not to tell anyone. Not even your brothers or your Ate Panching," he yelled. "Of course, not. We're friends, are we not?" When I saw how agitated he had become, I added, "Wait, I have a new calendar for you. Maybe you can teach me how to bike once you get the hang of it. It's a nice bike." I was going to give him a roll of toilet paper too but Ate Panching had locked them away in the footlocker. (Hah, I knew I got something useful.) Pitoy gave me a worried look, scratched his head and mumbled, "Putang 'na, you have to keep my secret." Though I was never one to squeal on a friend, I realized I had something on him. I knew I could now twirl him around in my fingers as I wished. From that time on, Pitoy began to give in more and more whenever we argued. He also began to say "putang 'na" more and more when he got upset. That was a great summer for me. I learned to ride a bike. Pitoy and I took turns pedaling while the other hitched a ride. It was almost as if I was part owner of the bike. We biked all around our neighborhood and even ventured to Binondo and Santa Cruz. We became the best of friends and we told no one about our little secret.

Back to Nature by Harold Magna (Foreign Essay)

For centuries town and country have been regarded as being in opposition to each other. It has been suggested that the superficial differences between the two-wide-open spaces contrasting with brick and concrete-are less important than the contrasting attitudes of town and country.

I am one of the many city people who are always saying that given the choice we would prefer to live in the country away from the dirt and noise of a large city. I have managed to convince myself that if it weren’t for my job I would immediately head out for the open spaces and, go back to the nature in some sleepy village buried in the country. But how realistic is this dream?

Cities can be frightening places. The majority of the population live in massive tower blocks, noisy, squalid and impersonal. The sense of belonging to a community tends to disappear when you live fifteen floors up. All you can see from your window is sky, or other blocks of apartments. Children become aggressive and nervous- cooped up at home all day, with nowhere to play; their mothers feel isolated from the rest of the world. Strangely enough, whereas in the past the inhabitants of one street all knew each other, nowadays people on the same floor in tower blocks or condominium apartments don’t even say hello to each other.

Country life, on the other hand, differs from this kind of isolated existence in that a sense of community generally binds the inhabitants of small villages together. People have the advantage of knowing that there is always someone to turn to when they need help. But country life has disadvantages too. While it is true that you may be among friends in a village, it is also true that you are cut off from the exciting and important events that take place in cities. There’s little possibility of going to a new show or the latest movie. Shopping becomes a major problem, and for anything slightly out of the country, you have to go on an expedition to the nearest large town. The city-dweller who leaves for the country is often oppressed by a sense of unbearable stillness and quiet.

What, then, is the answer? The country has the advantage of peace and quiet, but suffers from the disadvantage of being cut off: the city breeds neurosis and a feeling of isolation-constant noise batters the senses. But one of its main advantages is that you are at the center of things, and life does not come to an end at half-past nine at night. Some people have found a compromise between the two; they have expressed their preference for the quiet life by leaving the suburbs and moving to villages within commuting distance of the large cities. They generally have about as much sensitivity as the plastic flowers they leave behind-they are polluted with strange ideas about change and improvement which they force on to the unwilling original inhabitants of the villages.

What, then, of my dreams of leaning on a cottage gate, chewing a piece of grass and murmuring good morning to the neighbors as they pass? I’m keen on the idea, but you see there’s my cat, Toby. I’m not at all sure that he would take all that fresh air and exercise in the long grass. No, he would rather have the electric imitation-coal fire any evening.

Setting

Plot

The Discontented Fir Tree

The Summer I Learned to Bike

On the very edge of a dark wood in the warm sunshine of a summer day.

Years of hardship under the Japanese regime were finally coming to an end, and Americans liberated Manila.

Introduction - The little fir towered the old mother, straight into the sky for a hundred feet, the pride and beauty of the woodland roundabout. Rising Action – The little fir was so unhappy because he wanted his leaves to be like the silver birch’s, and when he got what he wanted, again he

wished for golden leaves. Climax – A man began picking the leaves of the little fir and putting them all in a big bag. Falling Action – The little fir tree learned his lesson that he has to be contented with what he has. Denouement – The wood spirit was still close by and instantly the baby fir stood clothed again in lovely, sweetsmelling spills.

Character

Little Fir Tree – a discontented tree

Point of View

Theme

Omniscient

First Person

“Cease from envying our brother and strive, instead, to make ourselves just as beautiful and useful as we ourselves can ever be.”

POETRY

Sun Bird by N.V.M. Gonzalez

I saw the bird

With gorgeous plumes—

A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde

I heard its mating call:

Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl: And bid him look Into thy pages: it may hap that he May find that golden maidens dance through thee.

It sounded loudly through the glen, Beneath the noisy waterfall. It spread its wings proudly in the light Alas, how soon it would be night!

A House of Pomegranates

Sun Bird

Voice

Apostrophe

Narrative

Stanza

Triplet

Couplet

Sound

Rhyme

Rhyme

Rhythm

Dimeter

Dimeter

Figures of Speech

Apostrophe

Personification

Form

Limerick

Cinquain

DRAMA

Plot

The Other Half

Oli Impan

By Scott C. Sickles

By Alberto S. Florentino

Introduction - After the liberation of Manila, hundreds of indigent family settled in the squalid, cramped space of the bombed ruins of an old government building on Juan Luna. For more than a decade these “squatters” tenaciously refused to move out in spite of court rulings. Rising Action – The city government was able to evict the “squatters” only on December 20, 1958 – five days before Christmas. Climax – When a young boy saw how their home was ruined by men with hammers. Falling Action – When a boy started singing to calm a young girl. Denouement – The young girl didn’t know how to read yet, so the boy taught him how to sing Oli Impan.

Theme

Characters

Protagonist – The young boy and the young girl Antagonist – government

Dialogue

ESSAY

Back to Nature Focus

To help the readers choose between country and city life.

Content

Differences between country and city life.

Organization

Argumentative Essay

What is an Educated Filipino? By Francisco Benitez

What is an educated Filipino and what qualities should distinguish him today?

The conception of education and of what an educated man is varies in response to fundamental changes in the details and aims of society. In our country and during this transition stage in our national life, what are the qualities which an educated man should possess? Great changes have taken place in the nature of our social life during the last forty years. The contact with Americans and their civilization has modified many of our own social customs, traditions, and practices, some for the worse and many for the better. The means of communication have improved and therefore better understanding exists among the different sections of our country. Religious freedom has developed religious tolerance in our people. The growth of public schools and the establishment of democratic institutions have developed our national consciousness both in strength and in solidarity. With this growth in national consciousness and national spirit among our people, we witness the corresponding rise of a new conception of education – the training of the individual for the duties and privileges of citizenship, not only for his own happiness and efficiency but also for national service and welfare. In the old days, education was a matter of private concern; now it is a public function, and the state not only has the duty but it has the right as well to educate every member of the community – the old as well as the young, women as well as men – not only for the good of the individual but also for the selfpreservation and protection of the State itself. Our modern public school system has been established as a safeguard against the shortcomings and dangers of a democratic government and democratic institutions. In the light of social changes, we come again to the question: What qualities should distinguish the educated Filipino of today? I venture to suggest that the educated Filipino should first be distinguished by the power to do. The Oriental excels in reflective thinking; he is a philosopher. The Occidental is the doer; he manages things, men and affairs. The Filipino of today needs more of his power to translate reflection into action. I believe that we are coming more and more to the conviction that no Filipino has the right to be considered educated unless he is prepared and ready to take an active and useful part in the work, life, and progress of our country as well as in the progress of the world. The power to do embraces the ability to produce enough to support oneself and to contribute to the economic development of the Philippines. Undoubtedly, a man may be, and often is, an efficient producer of economic goods and at the same time he may not be educated. But should we consider a man who is utterly unable to support himself and is an economic burden to the society in which he lives as educated merely because he possesses the superficial graces of culture? I hope that no one will understand me as saying that, the only sign of economic efficiency is the ability to produce material goods, for useful social participation may take the form of any of any of the valuable services rendered to society trough such institutions as the home, the school, the church and the government. The mother, for example, who prepares wholesome meals, takes good care of her children and trains them in morals and right conduct at home, renders efficient service to the country as well as the statesman or the captain of industry. I would not make the power to do the final and only test of the educated Filipino; but I believe that in our present situation, it is fundamental and basic. The educated Filipino, in the third place, must have ingrained in his speech and conduct those elements that are everywhere recognized as accompaniments of culture and morality; so that, possessing the capacity for self – entertainment and study, he may not be at the mercy of the pleasure of the senses only or a burden to himself when alone. There are, then, at least three characteristics which I believe to be the evidence of the educated Filipino – the power to do, to support himself and contribute to the wealth of our people; acquaintance with the world’s progress, especially with that of his race, people, and the community, together with love of our best ideals and traditions; and refined manners and moral conduct as well as the power of growth.

Oli Impan by Alberto S. Florentino After the liberation of Manila, hundreds of indigent families settled in the squalid, cramped space of the bombed ruins of an old government building of Juan Luna. For more than a decade these “squatters” tenaciously refused to move out in spite of court rulings. The “casbah”, as the compound was popularly known, became a breeding place for vice and corruption. The city government was able to evict the “squatters” only on December 20, 1958 – five days before Christmas. (On the middle of the stage, extending from side to side, is a stone wall one and a half feet high. At left may be seen a portion of a tall edifice. At right, is a portion of the “casbah”. Beyond the stone wall, an estero (unseen) – and the sky. A five-year-old girl sits on the stone wall, her thin legs dangling in the air. Offstage there is a continuous

commotion of evacuation. A woman’s voice rises above the commotion as she reprimands a child for getting in her way. A six-year-old boy appears on stage walking backwards – away from his mother, nagging offstage. The mother quiets down. The boy turns around and plays with his toy: an empty milk can pulled along the ground with a piece of string.) Girl: Is there a fire? Boy: (Stops playing and faces her) Huh? Girl: I said, is there a fire? Boy: There is no fire. (Continues to play) Girl: (Looks toward the street. After a pause.) I think there is no fire. Boy: (Stops playing_ I told you there’s none. Girl: There is. Boy: How do you know? Do you see any smoke? Do you hear any fireman? (resumes his play. Runs around imitating a fire engine) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I like it when there is a big fire! Girl: (Worried) If there is no fire, why are they putting these things out? (pints to a pile of household belongings nearby) Boy: Because we are being thrown out. Girl: Who told you? Boy: My mother. Girl: Who is throwing us out? Boy: (Sits on the other end of the stone wall) The government. Girl: What is a government? Boy: I don’t know. Girl: You didn’t ask your mother? Boy: I forgot to ask her. Girl: Why should the government throw us out? Boy: (Points to the compound) Because it owns this. Girl: (Enraged) But this is ours! Boy: No, it is not ours. Girl: (Insistent) It is ours! It is! Boy: It is not! Girl: (A tiny scream) It is! It is! Boy: (Loud) How do you know it is ours? Girl: We’ve always been here, haven’t we? Boy: Yes, but that doesn’t mean it is ours.

Girl: (After a pause) If they throw us out, we’ll have nowhere to go. How about you? You have any place to go? Boy: None. But we will have one. (Proudly) My mother has a job. Girl: She has? Boy: Yes! Girl: What does she do? Boy: She reads hands. Girl: She reads – hands? (Looking at her hands) Why does she read hands? Boy: So she can tell what will happen tomorrow. Girl: She can do that? By reading hands? Boy: Yes, She can! Girl: (Showing him her hands) Can she read my hands? I want to know where we will stay tomorrow. Boy: She can’t read your hands. Girl: (Looks at them) Why not? Boy: They are too small… and dirty. Girl: (She quickly withdraws them and quietly wipes them on her dress) Boy: Besides… she reads only men’s hands. Girl: Only men’s hands? Why? Boy: Because they are big.. and easy to read. Girl: How does she read hands? Like she reads the comics? Boy: I don’t know. Girl: You don’t know? Don’t you watch her? Boy: My mother won’t let me. She makes me go out and play. And she closes the door. Girl: She closes the door! How can she read in the dark? Boy: I don’t know. (Proudly) But she can! Girl: Don’t you ever peep? Boy: No, I don’t. Girl: Why not? Boy: She’ll beat me up. (Commotion offstage.) Girl: What’s that? What’s happening there? Boy: (Tries to see) I don’t know. I can’t see. (Pulls her) Come out, let’s take a look! Girl: (Resisting) I can’t.

Boy: Why not? Girl: My father told me to stay here. He said not to go anywhere. Boy: (Turning) Then I will go and take a look. Girl: (Frightened) No, don’t. Stay here. Don’t leave me. Boy: Why? Girl: I’m afraid. Boy: Afraid of what? Girl: I don’t know. Boy: But how can we find out what’s happening? Girl: Let’s not find out anymore. Boy: (Restless) But I want to see. (Scampers up the stone wall) I can see from here! Girl: What do you see? Boy: (Incredulous) They are destroying our homes. (Sound of wrecking crew at work) Girl: (frightened) Who are destroying them? Boy: The men with hammers! Girl: Nobody is stopping them? Boy: Nobody. Girl: But why? Are there no policemen? Boy: There are. There are many policemen. Girl: What are they doing? What are the policemen doing? Boy: Nothing. Girl: Nothing? They are not stopping the men? Boy: No. Girl: Why not? Boy: I don’t know. (Commotion. Shouts. Curses) Girl: (Alarmed) What’s happening now? Boy: (excited throughout) A man is trying to stop the men with hammers! Now the policemen are trying to stop him. They’re running after him. But the man fights like a mad dog! (A man shouts, cursing) Girl: (Suddenly, with terror in her voice). That’s my father! (In her fright she covers her eyes with hands) Boy: Your father? Girl: Yes, he’s my father! What are they doing to him? Are they hurting him?

Boy: No, they are only trying to catch him… Now they’ve caught him! They are tying his hands! Girl: What will they do to him? Boy: I don’t know. Now they are putting him in a car. A police car. Girl: (Whimpers) Father… Father… Boy: They are taking him away! (A car with siren drivers away) Girl: (Screams) FATHER! FATHER! Boy: He can’t hear you now. Girl: (Starts to cry) Boy: (Walks to and sits beside her) Why are you crying? Don’t cry please… Girl: They are going to hurt my father, aren’t they? Boy: No, they won’t hurt him. Girl: (Removes her hands from her eyes) How do you know? Boy: I just know it. (Suddenly) Come, let’s sing a song. Girl: I don’t know how to sing. Boy: I’ teach you. Girl: How? Boy: I’ll sing… and you listen. (She nods and wipes her eyes dry) Boy: (Sings) Saylenay… Olinay… Oliskam… Olisbray… Ranyonberginmaderenchayle… Oli impansotenderenmayle… Slipinebenlipis… Slipinebenlipis… Girl: (Smiling) That’s a pretty song. Who taught you that song? Boy: (Proudly) My mother! Girl: What does it mean? I can’t understand it. Boy: It’s about God. Girl: What’s a “God”? Boy: I don’t know. I haven’t asked my mother. But she told me God was born in a stable. Girl: What’s a stable?

Boy: A place for horses. Girl: (Incredulous) He was born there? In a place for horses? Why? Boy: My mother said he had nowhere to stay. Girl: Was he poor? Boy: I don’t know. Girl: (Suddenly) I like the song. Will you sing it again? Boy: No, let’s sing it together. Girl: I told you, I don’t know how. Boy: I’ll teach you. I’ll sing it a little… and you sing after me. (She smiles and nods) Boy: (Sings) Saylenay… Girl: Saylenay… Boy: Olinay… Girl: Olinay… Boy: Oliskam… Girl: Oliskam… Boy: Olisbray… Girl: Olisbray… Boy: Ranyonberginmaderenchayle… Girl: Ranyon…(She giggles) I can’t say that! Boy: Let’s skip it. (Sings) Oli impan… n, skip that, too. (Sings) Slipinebenlipis… Girl: Slipinebenlipis… Boy: Slipinebenlipis… Girl: Slipinebenlipis…