The son then showed us his works of amateur sculpture and painting (Sivas, Parvatis, Venuses, and apsarases): remarkably good. And on the way home he talked with touching earnestness and feeling of his art. "When I work in clay," he said, "Mother tells me to be careful: I will catch cold from the wet clay. And when I work in stone, Father tells me to be careful, the dust will get in my lungs and I will catch cold."
November 15, 1954
I have been waiting for the day when I would finally wake up to my child's normal face. The red's out of her right eye but it's still a bit smaller than her left eye. So I thought, maybe tomorrow. However, an hour and a half ago she bumped her head against the wall, and though it sounded like her usual contact, half of forehead's quite swollen. Predictably, she rejected the cold compress. My wife brought her to sleep with milk and song. While they both slept, I sneaked in some ice. She was defenseless, and I stopped when the size and color of the swell seemed to me tolerable.
November was not purely cut from misfortune and struggle. A couple of good strokes here and there, and among them the event of my two advisees' first magazine publication. On November 1, Christopher Alonte published his short stories, "A Chase and a Thousand Encounters" as well as "Home." Alonte's a fresh graduate. E- (his critic) and I gave him a proper grade for his thesis, a collection of short stories that included "Home." Alonte thought the grade was a joke.
Angelica Mendoza, Alonte's sparring partner, published her first short story "Lingua Franca (Carmen's Envy)" a week later. Her thesis is still in the works, but I think this story will make the final cut.