I am pleased to share a short story that I wrote that grew out of a minor character in my third novel, THE NEWSPAPER WIDOW. THE JOURNEY was first published in Bisaya or Cebuano in Katitikan: Literary Journal of the Philippine South on July 12, 2025. I am sharing the original English version and the Bisaya translation.
THE NEWSPAPER WIDOW is an acclaimed literary mystery set in Ubec Philippines in 1909. The novel has forthcoming translations in Arabic, Slovenian, Serbian, and Macedonian. For more information, click here https://ceciliabrainard.com/book/the-newspaper-widow/ .
~ Cecilia Manguerra Brainard
THE JOURNEY
Copyright 2025 by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard. All Rights Reserved.
THE JOURNEY was first published in Bisaya under the title ANG PAGLAKAW in Katitikan: Literary Journal of the Philippine South
Let us start here.
Imagine this: winds howling and toppling
over trees, knocking off roof tiles; rain so thick you couldn’t see beyond your
arm; water oozing into windows and doors; and she looking out her window and
weighing what to do. Was she in a home, a hospital, a small room somewhere? What
excuse did she give to explain why she was taking her newborn baby out? Or was
she all by herself, with no one, so she could bundle me up, hug me close to her
chest, throw covering over us, and step out into the darkness broken only by
flashes of lighting in the sky. How far did she walk before she made it to the
gate? And past the gate, she walked down the slippery road to the wall where
the turning cradle was. Did she talk to me, say goodbye to me before she lay me
there? Did she weep when she turned the wheel, listened to the metallic
creaking that went on for an eternity until it stopped? She rang the bell,
heard it echo within the walls of the Casa San Jose, listened for some movement
behind the walls to indicate someone was there to receive me. Did she imagine
the wet nurse wiping sleep from her eyes as she shuffled over to the turning
cradle? How many heart beats passed before she turned and made her way back
out, through the rain, darkness, and dangers that only Manila typhoons bring.
I’m talking about my mother.
Your mother must have been desperate
to give up a beautiful baby like you, people at the orphanage said.
I was soaked and limp like a small dead animal. All but the wet nurse had written me off as dead. But nurse removed my wet blanket and clothes, dried me off, wrapped me in a warm blanket, and she held me close to her breasts for more warmth and so I could smell her milk. She said it took a long time before I rooted for her breast and suckled.
