Lengua para Diablo (The Devil Ate My Words) : (Excerpt From Banana Heart Summer)

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Lengua Para Diablo

(The Devil Ate My


Words)
[Excerpt from Banana Heart Summer]
by Merlinda Bobis

Presented by: Nagum, Jean Caryl


Pagcaliwagan, Chrizel
Quenery, Erica
Lengua Para Diablo is an excerpt
from the book “Banana Heart
Summer” Banana Heart Summer
is written by Merlinda Bobis,
Merlinda Bobis is an acclaimed
Filipino-Australian writer and
performer who has publish in
three languanges. Her novel,
short story, and poetry
collection, and play have receive
various awards.
Lengua Para Diablo
Means “ The Devil Ate My Words”
“Lengua” is a Spanish words meaning
“tongue” which is the story symbolizes
the words eaten by the devil.
Lengua (Beef tongue) is also a dish made
of cow’s tongue. Lengua is often seasoned
with onion and other spices, and then
placed in a pot to boil.
Vocabulary Words

Epicure Scrupulously Affluence


A person Extremely State of
who takes a attentive to having a
particular details great deal
pleasure in Cajole Luxuriate of money
Appeasement
fine food and Persuade Take self- Receive or satisfy
drink someone to indulgent (a demand or
do something delight feeling)
by sustained
coaxing or
flattery
This story concern a father and how he no
longer feel like he has a power over his family
and society. It show how unemployment can
affect people and their family members.
Lengua Para Diablo (The
Devil Ate My Words)
[Excerpt from Banana Heart Summer]
by Merlinda Bobis
I suspected that my father sold his tongue to the devil.
He had little to say in our house. Whenever he felt like
disagreeing with my mother, he murmured. ‘The devil ate
my words’. This meant he forgot what he was about to say
and Mother was often appeased. There was more need for
appeasement after he lost his job.
The devil ate his words, the devil ate his capacity for
words. The devil ate his tongue. But perhaps only after
prior negotiation with its owner what with Mother always
complaining, I’m already taking a peek at hell!’ when it got
too hot and stuffy in our tiny house. She seemed to sweat
more that summer, and miserably. She made it sound
like Father’s fault, so he cajoled her with kisses and
promises of an electric far; bigger windows, a bigger
house, but she pushed him away, saying, ‘Get off me, I’m
hot, at this hellish life!’ Again he was ready to pledge
relief, but something in my mother’s eyes made him
mutter only the usual excuse, ‘The devil ate my words,’
before he shut his mouth. Then he ran to the tap to get
more water.
Lengua para diablo: tongue for the devil. Surely he
sold his tongue in exchange for those promises to my
mother: comfort, a full stomach life without our wretched
want…But the devil never delivered his side of the
bargain. The devil was alien to want. He lived in a Spanish
house and owned several stores in the city. This Spanish
mestizo was my father’s employer, but only for a very
short while. He sacked him and our neighbor Tiyo Anding,
also a mason after he found a cheaper hand for the
extension of his house.
We never knew the devil’s name. Father was
incapable of speaking it, more so after he came
home and sat in the darkest corner of the house,
and stared at his hands. It took him two days of
silent staring before he told my mother about his
fate.
I wondered how the devil ate my father’s tongue.
Perhaps he cooked it in mushroom sauce, in that special
Spanish way that they do ox tongue. First, it was
scrupulously cleaned, rubbed with salt and vinegar,
blanched in boiling water, then scraped of his white
coating – now imagine words scraped off the tongue, and
even taste, our capacity for pleasure. In all those two days
of silent staring, Father hardly ate. He said he had lost his
taste for food, he was not hungry. Junior and Nilo were
more than happy to demolish his share of gruel with fish
sauce.
Now, after the thorough clean, the tongue was pricked
with a fork to allow the flavors of all the spices and
condiments to penetrate the flesh. Then it was browned in
olive oil. How I wished we could prick my father’s tongue back
to speech and even hunger, but of course we couldn’t,
because it had disappeared. It had been served on the devil’s
platter with garlic onion tomatoes, bay leaf, clove,
peppercorns, soy sauce, even sherry, butter, and grated Edam
cheese, with that aroma of something rich and foreign. His
silent tongue was already luxuriating in a multitude of
essences, pampered into piquant delight.
Perhaps, next he should sell his esophagus,
then his stomach. I would if I had the chance to
be that pampered. To know for once what I
would never taste. I would be soaked, steamed,
sautéed, basted, baked, boiled, fried and feted
with only the perfect seasonings. I would become
an epicure. On a rich man’s plate, I would be
initiated to flavors of only the finest quality. In his
stomach, I would be inducted to secrets’ I would
be the ‘inside girl,’ and I could tell you the true
nature of sated affluence.
The End

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