Why the Angels Are SadThe sun was blazing at noon when Pinong entered his yard, bringing fodder grass. He was still at work in his irrigation ditch when the church bells told him it was twelve o’ clock. His stomach was churning with hunger.
He put down the fodder grass beside his carabao’s corral, and proceeded to feed the carabao, who had stood on its legs to watch him when he arrived. He briefly prepared the fodder grass for the carabao’s latter meal before walking towards the wooden steps of his hut.
His mother’s voice called out from the hut.
“Is that you, Pinong?”
“Yes, Mother!” he said as he washed his feet in the basin at the foot of the stairs. “Have the children eaten?”
“Father, we eat plenty rice …”
A louder voice followed.
“She says we’re eating, Father!” the voice gleefu
