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The Story of The Moth

1) The narrator's mother reads him a fable from an old Spanish book about a young moth and an old moth while they sit alone one night with a single light. 2) The story captures the narrator's attention as he watches moths circling the light. One moth gets singed by the flame and falls into the oil, fascinating the narrator. 3) As his mother puts him to bed, she warns him not to behave like the young moth and get burned, as the story had revealed new things to the narrator and changed his perspective on moths and the attractive light.

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John Haley Peña
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118 views2 pages

The Story of The Moth

1) The narrator's mother reads him a fable from an old Spanish book about a young moth and an old moth while they sit alone one night with a single light. 2) The story captures the narrator's attention as he watches moths circling the light. One moth gets singed by the flame and falls into the oil, fascinating the narrator. 3) As his mother puts him to bed, she warns him not to behave like the young moth and get burned, as the story had revealed new things to the narrator and changed his perspective on moths and the attractive light.

Uploaded by

John Haley Peña
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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ESTRELLA M.

CASTILLO JULY 20 2019

RIZAL/7:30-10:30 MS.IMELDA DE VILLA

The Story of the Moth


One night, all the family, except my mother and myself, went to bed early. Why, I do not
know, but we two remained sitting alone. The candles had already been put out. They
had been blown out in their globes by means of a curved tube of tin. That tube seemed
to me the finest and most wonderful plaything in the world. The room was dimly lighted
by a single light of coconut oil. In all Filipino homes such a light burns through the night.
It goes out just at day-break to awaken people by its spluttering.

My mother was teaching me to read in a Spanish reader called "The Children's Friend"
(El Amigo de los Niño’s). This was quite a rare book and an old copy. It had lost its
cover and my sister had cleverly made a new one. She had fastened a sheet of thick
blue paper over the back and then covered it with a piece of cloth.

This night my mother became impatient with hearing me read so poorly. I did not
understand Spanish and so I could not read with expression. She took the book from
me. First she scolded me for drawing funny pictures on its pages. Then she told me to
listen and she began to read. When her sight was good, she read very well. She could
recite well, and she understood verse-making, too. Many times during Christmas
vacations, my mother corrected my poetical compositions, and she always made
valuable criticisms.

I listened to her, full of childish enthusiasm. I marveled at the nice-sounding phrases


which she read from those same pages. The phrases she read so easily stopped me at
every breath. Perhaps I grew tired of listening to sounds that had no meaning for me.
Perhaps I lacked self-control. Anyway, I paid little attention to the reading. I was
watching the cheerful flame. About it, some little moths were circling in playful flights. By
chance, too, I yawned. My mother soon noticed that I was not interested. She stopped
reading. Then she said to me: "I am going to read you a very pretty story. Now pay
attention.
On hearing the word 'story' I at once opened my eyes wide. The word 'story' promised
something new and wonderful. I watched my mother while she turned the leaves of the
book, as if she were looking for something. Then I settled down to listen. I was full of
curiosity and wonder. I had never even dreamed that there were stories in the old book
which I read without understanding. My mother began to read me the fable of the
young moth and the old one. She translated it into Tagalog a little at a time.

My attention increased from the first sentence. I looked toward the light and fixed my
gaze on the moths which were circling around it. The story could not have been better
timed. My mother repeated the warning of the old moth. She dwelt upon it and directed
it to me. I heard her, but it is a curious thing that the light seemed to me each time more
beautiful, the flame more attractive. I really envied the fortune of the insects. They
frolicked so joyously in its enchanting splendor that the ones which had fallen and been
drowned in the oil did not cause me any dread.
My mother kept on reading and I listened breathlessly. The fate of the two insects
interested me greatly. The flame rolled its golden tongue to one side and a moth which
this movement had singed fell into the oil, fluttered for a time and then became quiet.
That became for me a great event. A curious change came over me which I have
always noticed in myself whenever anything has stirred my feelings. The flame and the
moth seemed to go further away and my mother's words sounded strange and uncanny.
I did not notice when she ended the fable. All my attention was fixed on the face of the
insect. I watched it with my whole soul... It had died a martyr to its illusions.

As she put me to bed, my mother said: "See that you do not behave like the young
moth. Don't be disobedient, or you may get burnt as it did." I do not know whether I
answered or not... The story revealed to me things until then unknown. Moths no longer
were, for me, insignificant insects. Moths talked; they know how to warn. They advised
just like my mother. The light seemed to me more beautiful. It had grown more dazzling
and more attractive. I knew why the moths circled the flame.

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