The Beetle and The Song

By MS Penarts

"THE BEETLE AND THE SONG" tells a story of a young recluse who tries to answer the mind-boggling mystery of her childhood using the song that her grandpa used to sing with her.
After proving the truth, will she decide to dig deeper to gain unimaginable wealth or will she cherish what she loved the most by letting go what she could attain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: MS Penarts
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005275044

MS Penarts

“MS Penarts“ is a regular introverted nerd who loves to gobble books like wolves do, and who ardently wishes that someday she would be able to pass on her penchant in reading and writing to her two lovely cubs. She has published her novel through Ukiyoto Publishing in April 2021.Currently living in Manila, Philippines, she loves reading classical books as much as she loves Harry Potter series and detective stories. She is also into haiku and couplets. It is her greatest ambition to visit every prominent libraries across the globe, including the Vatican’s Secret Archives of course.

Book preview

The Beetle

and

the song

MS Penarts

Also by MS Penarts:

My friend Miki (A recluse’s painful journey to self-love)

Poetic Pensive

Maraya

The beetle and the song

Copyright © MS Penarts

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

Cover design by MS Penarts

Author photo by MS Penarts

This book is for Tatang—

who sew the first clothes I wore,

who watched over me with scrutiny, always making sure that I would not play in the rain,

and who always reserve a place in his house if ever I return…

Love,

MS Penarts

The Beetle

and

the song

MS Penarts

CONTENTS

ONE

Tatang’s toil

TWO

The muddy sack of rice

THREE

The friend indeed

FOUR

The heavy toll

FIVE

Starry, starry night

SIX

Tatang’s toil again

SEVEN

Here he lies

C

HAPTER ONE

Tatang’s toil

It was nearing dusk when Tatang came home that day. I caught sight of his silhouette from the side window where I sat sketching the group of bamboos at the far side of the road. He walked and gone directly to the tool house and remained there for, I think, half an hour, contrary to his habits.

In Ilocos region of the Philippines, Tatang and Inang are equivalent for father and mother.

I was sketching the roots when he entered the front door. Inang stood up, dumbstruck like I was, and began fussing about the state of his clothes the moment the door creaked, but he shrugged her away by telling her how loud his stomach growled.

"Hah! cunning old man", I thought.

Up close, he looked as though he rolled himself into the muck all the way home. Ten minutes had gone by, but I am still staring at the doorway into the kitchen where my grandparents went.

"Maybe he really did roll into the mud. Maybe he wrestled our carabao out of the plow or something", justifying the bits of earth glued into his shirt down to his pants that Inang and I saw. I found it weird because he detests anything dirty and always keep his working clothes miraculously clean even though he’s farming, but shrugged it off and returned back to my sketches.

The aroma of coffee that sifting through the slimmest wood panels that made up the floors of our second floor came flaring my nostrils and nudging me awake. I remember dreaming myself running round and round our small hut at the farm. I heard Tatang’s voice below, which is weird. He usually goes and works at the crack of dawn. I also heard the swoosh of the axe as it hit the wood with a thud.

"He’s chopping wood? For what? I mean…he’s supposed to be planting or plowing at the farm at this hour." I got up and to see the sight myself, fearing that I am still dreaming or just hallucinating, which I fear, I am not.

Seeing me walking to him, he looked up with scrutiny and annoyance as if my shocked demeanor is screaming with just that.

"Tatang! Why are you still here?! Are you supposed to get the ripe tamarinds that you promised?"

"I couldn’t find any yesterday", he replied. My heart sank, but then I remembered his dirty clothes.

"Was that why you’re covered in dirt? Were you’ve fallen from the tree?" I searched him with any signs of bruises. Finding nothing at view, I tried to pull his shirt up but he tugged it away.

"Stop…stop it. Go and have breakfast…Go!" He shouted and picked a particularly slim wood that he swung at me to leave him alone.

Fearing that he would really hit me, I moved away and stood at a safe distance. Glancing at the chopped woods scattered about, it looks like he’s making a tiny box approximately six square inches wide and sixteen inches tall. He’s still cutting some more, so I guess he intends