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Brilliant Star

july-august 1985 [Page ii]

Dear Children

Dear Children,

Here's a quiz! What place do these things make you think of? Bright colors, warm sunshine, lively music, people walking and talking. It could be almost anywhere, couldn't it? So let's add these: faces of every hue—black, brown, beige, pink, and cream; spicy foods with lots of chiles; many Indian languages. Are you getting any closer? No? Then we'll add a little more: ponchos and sombreros, jungles and deserts, llamas and alpacas, corn bread and flour tortillas. Ah-hah! You're right! We're in Latin America, so called because here most of the people speak Latin languages, such as Spanish and Portuguese.

This issue of Brilliant Star is about Latin America, stretching all the way from Mexico to Tierra del Fuego and from Chile to Surinam. Here is your family of man, ready to teach you some Spanish songs and a Latin fairytale and to take you on an expedition down the river. We hope you enjoy your travels and learn something new. Write us in Spanish or Portuguese when you learn how!

Con mucho amor, your Editor

About the cover

"Camille by the water," by Paula Henderson, of Wilmette, Illinois, 37 inches by 49 inches, completed in 1984. The artist explains: "This painting is concerned with a quiet, contemplative moment; the kind of reflection necessary in our daily life to open our inner eye and deliver inspiration and to open our outer eyes to the physical beauty of God's creation."

Correction

In the March-April 1985 issue of Brilliant Star the illustration credit for "Conversation Between Two Angels" inadvertently appeared on page 32 rather than page 5 where it should have appeared. Our sincerest apologies to Winifred Barnum Newman who is the very fine artist who illustrated the story for us. Ms. Newman also appears in this current issue of Brilliant Star.

Brilliant Star

Brilliant Star is a publication of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States. It is published six times each year, in January, March, May, July, September and November. Copyright ©1985 National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States. World rights reserved.

Address manuscripts and other editorial contributions to Brilliant Star/Radpour, Suburban Office Park, 5010 Austin Rd., Hixson, Tn. 37343. Manuscripts should be typewritten and double-spaced throughout. Brilliant Star does not offer monetary compensation to its contributors. Return postage should be included if manuscript is to be returned. Single copy $2.50; 6 issues (one year) $12.00; 12 issues (two years) $23.00; foreign, surface email, one year $15.00, two years $28.00; foreign, air mail, one year $25.00, two years $47.50. An index for the preceding year's issues is available for $2.00.

For subscriptions, change of address and adjustments write to Brilliant Star Subscriber Service, Suburban Office Park, 5010 Austin Rd., Hixson, Tn. 37343. All other correspondence should be addressed to Brilliant Star/Richards, 4 Village Dr., Yardville, N.J. 08620. Printed in the U.S.A.

Brilliant Star is intended for children of all ages and strives to:

• develop the child's awareness of the oneness of humanity
• increase the child's conscious awareness of his spiritual nature and the need for its development
• provide practical approaches to viewing life's difficulties
• develop the child's reasoning power and stimulate his love for the order of the universe
• provide a standard by which the child may learn to relate to others with love and justice
• assist parents and teachers in developing all of the child's hidden talents and virtues

Editorial Board

Mary K. Radpour, Managing Director Mary K. Radpour, Editor-in-Chief Deborah Bley, Assistant Editor Mimi McClellan, Music Editor Rita Leydon, Art Director Rita Leydon, Production Janet Richards, Secretary Keith Boehme, Consultant [Page 1]

what’s inside

Letters From Our Friends 1

High in the Andes 4 a visit to Bolivia with Amy Baker

Esteban’s Quest 6 a story by Deborah Bley and Mary K. Radpour

Korinna and the Pollera 14 a photo essay by R. Gregory Shaw

Fold and Snip a Nine-Pointed Star 16 by Aileen Poehls

A Day in the Life of a Prop... a Human Background 18 by Alice Moore

Let’s Eat Mexican! 20 by Janet Richards

A Job for Mrs. Quigley 22 a story by Judy Conlin

The Sea 26 a poem by Chandra Armistead

Treasure Hunt! 28 an Atlas activity by Debbi Bley

Hoy Es El Día 30 a song by Gregg Shaw

Book Nook 32

Parents’ Page 33

1 [Page 2]

Letters from our friends

All of these children would like pen pals. Won’t you write to them?

Vahid Farahani c/o Talaksoon Khedemi 550 Stafford Run Rd. Stafford, TX 77477

Stefany Tyler P.O. Box 341 Neah Bay, Washington 98357 Stefany writes, “My sister already has 4 penpals! Please write to me, too!”

Lillie Covey 234 Pine Ridge Dr. Marshfield, MO 65706 likes skating, biking, volleyball and collecting stickers

The Bahá’í children of Santa Maria, California Bahá’í School would like to have penpals from other countries. The children’s names are: Fawn Johnston, age 10; Jennifer Parker, age 10; Jason Parker, age 8; and Justin Bouser, age 11. You can write to them in care of their teacher: Karen Johnston 3201 Tepusguet Road Santa Maria, California 93454, USA

Sierra Van Manen is 6, and is from Beulah, Colorado. She sent us this beautiful drawing of the Shrine of the Báb, and wrote: “I hope you put this picture I made into Brilliant Star. This is the first picture I ‎drawed drew‎ for you. Love, Sierra”

The Bahá’í class of Sterling Heights and Washington, Michigan, sent us a photo of their Bahá’í class. One of the children, Rickie Weiss, told us, “Having a Bahá’í class is fun because we have a real teacher that teaches real things.”

Eight year old Mariya Lincoln, from Linn County, Oregon, drew these ripe fruit trees.

Sarah Frey lives in Freeport, Maine, and is 9 years old. She drew this happy girl! [Page 3]The Westminster Bahá’í School in Westminster, Maryland, wrote us about their children’s classes. They said, “Our names are Tim Booth, Andaleeb Badiee and Mytra Myers. Our school meets on Sunday. We learn about Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Sometimes we have crossword puzzle games. We like to read Brilliant Star magazine. Bahá’í love from Tim, Mytra and Andaleeb.”

This picture is from Laura Lincoln, age 6, Linn County, Oregon.

Dear Brilliant Star,

We use your magazine in our classes and enjoy it very much. We made some pretty crystal gardens from your recipe. Here is a photo of our class. Keep up the good work!

Sincerely,

Colby, Mariya, Laura and Serena from the Linn County, Oregon, Bahá’í Community

Blanche Grant, who is a great friend of Brilliant Star, wrote us about her grandson, Jullien Grant-Wilson. He is one year old in this picture of him in his favorite shirt! Jullien lives in Hawthorne, California.

Katerina French is 8 years old and is a pioneer with her family to Valdivia, Chile. She sent us a picture about her mom and dad, and it says it is “para mi papá y mi mamá.”

Marietta McMurray of Cleveland, Tennessee, sent us this drawing of autumn leaves and a poem:

Leaves falling down, down, down

red yellow brown falling down

on the ground.

Such a pretty sight. [Page 4]

High in the Andes

A Visit to Bolivia!

by Amy Baker illustrated by Teresa Dominguez

“Buenos días. ¿Cómo estás tú?” “Good morning. How are you?” If you lived in Bolivia, you might hear this each morning when you woke up. There you could have a home high in the snow-capped Andes mountains where city people speak Spanish and country people speak the ancient Inca Indian languages, Quechua and Aymara.

Bolivia is famous for its llamas and alpacas. Their wool is clipped off and dyed [Page 5]with bright blues, reds, and greens, and then used to make warm blankets and clothing. Though Bolivia is near the equator, parts of it are so high that the temperature at night drops well below freezing. In the daytime, the temperature rises to 70 degrees at times. You would get up in the morning, wash your face from a pan of icy cold water, slip into several layers of wool clothing, and start your day with potatoes, rice, or bread.

Bolivia also has hot jungle land, for parts of it are close to sea level. In the dense jungles there are brightly colored parrots, other exotic birds, tarantulas, many animals, and insects. Beautiful tropical orchids bloom high in the trees. The jungle is a favorite place for people who search for animals for zoos and for people who want new kinds of flowers for floral shops. There are also dozens of kinds of rare woods which are cut and shaped into vases, bowls, statues, and musical instruments. Here you would have a breakfast of bananas and papayas. They are raised and shipped to higher parts of Bolivia where it is too cold for fruit to grow.

The country people of Bolivia work hard to raise corn, rice, potatoes, beans, fruits, and other foods. Then they load their produce onto trucks and go to nearby towns and cities to sell the food. For most Bolivians, this has been the way of life for their families for many generations, working in the fields, weaving clothes or baskets, and selling their products to the business people in the cities.

And the cities are beautiful, too! There is a central park or plaza in each small town, with places to walk or sit and talk. In the larger cities there are several plazas, with flowers and trees adding wonderful color and shade. During the middle of the day these plazas are nearly empty. Everyone who can goes home to take a siesta, or afternoon nap. But all morning and in the early evening the plazas are alive with people, talking and visiting. Children run and play. Men like to sit and talk or play checkers, watching the rest of the world go by. Buses, taxis, and bicycles zoom along the streets. Many people walk wherever they go. Children in their school uniforms skip through the plazas on their way to and from classes.

Bolivians love parades and celebrations. There are parades for weddings, for national holidays, for religious Holy Days. There is a special Children’s Day each year, just as we have a Mother’s and Father’s Day in the United States. Children receive presents, have parties, and can buy miniature items from special booths set up in the streets. Tiny cans that look like Campbell’s soup cans, no bigger than the tip of your little finger, are on sale. There are tiny cereal boxes, dollhouses, clothing, books, and toys. These are all to bring good luck to the children, who hope to have enough food, furniture, other household goods, and clothes when they grow up. There is even play money printed on tiny pieces of paper. What fun!

During these many special festive times of the year, Bolivians play their musical instruments: wooden flutes, papyrus reed flutes, stringed instruments like our guitars (called charangos), and drums. The people love to dance and sing, and they have costumes decorated with bright beads and dyed feathers to go with their other clothing.

When you think of places you might like to visit, think of Bolivia in South America. “Hasta luego, mi amigo” (Until later, my friend). ■ [Page 6]​​ [Page 7]

Esteban’s Quest

by Mary K. Radpour and Deborah Bley © 1985 Mary K. Radpour and Deborah Bley illustrated by Keith Kresge

Había una vez—there once was—a young man named Esteban. Small in size, he was very proud, and a little vain, and wore fine leather boots with high heels to make himself taller. He was the son of a simple but honest man who harvested coffee in the green mountains. Esteban prided himself on being a big man in the eyes of the people of his village. He was the bravest and strongest among all that he knew, but San Pedro de las Montañas was a very small village indeed...

A time came that the governor of the province sought a husband for his daughter Violeta. He sent messengers throughout the land to announce a Quest. The prize would be Violeta’s hand in marriage. The messengers all warned, however, that only the bold dare to try this Quest.

Esteban was the first in line when the messenger came to his village. He thought, I’ll prove to Violeta and everyone that I’m the strongest and best, then she’ll surely choose me for her husband.

“Your name?” the messenger asked him.

“Esteban Lopez Hernandez.”

“Next of kin?”

Esteban laughed aloud, but inwardly he shivered. “Surely this will not be so hard that someone will need to call for my bones.”

“The governor wishes us to record next of kin,” the messenger insisted.

“My father, then—Diego. No mother,” he said brusquely, not wanting anyone to hear the tremble sometimes in his voice as he spoke of his mother. He then took the scroll bearing the governor’s seal.

He soon bid his father goodbye, and shouldered a pack of things for his journey. When he had walked about a mile outside of the village, he sat under a tree and read the details of the Quest from the scroll:

First, a treasure won through great effort, and a knowledge of its true value.

Second, the answer to a riddle set by the oracle of the sea, whose home no one knows.

Third, the conquest of La Bruja Fea, the fearsome witch of the full moon.

You have six weeks only. [Page 8]Esteban was glad that he was alone. The treasure should not be difficult, he thought, and I am clever with riddles. But the thought of La Bruja Fea made him tremble. He had heard stories of her, and sometimes thought that he heard her scream when the moon streamed across his cot.

He mastered his shaking, said “Ha!” and snapped his fingers. “That for the old witch!” But he looked over his shoulder as he set off for the mountains.

In the mountains there was a big cave, and a dragon had lived there for many long years. He was now too old to fly abroad and frighten the folk of the mountains, but it was said that he still had a fierce temper and that he guarded a rich treasure hoard.

Esteban found the cave and sneaked up to it, to see if the old tales were true. There lay the old, gray-scaled dragon—asleep.

“Lagarto! Lagarto viejo—you old lizard!” Esteban called to the dragon from the mouth of the cave.

Smoke curled from the dragon’s nose, and he opened an eye. He shifted his weight to reveal not a pile of gold as Esteban had hoped, but a single shimmering diamond and two amethysts, beautiful and deep purple.

“Oh, mighty dragon,” Esteban called. “Where is your famous treasure! I see only three jewels.”

The dragon yawned and an evil smile twisted his lips. “Why, brave warriors like you have come and taken all of my treasures right out from under me while I slept. They were far too clever for me.”

Esteban felt flattered at being called a brave warrior, and was thinking that if others had stolen some of the dragon’s riches, it should be easy for him.

Suddenly, the dragon leapt to its feet and sent a huge column of fire out of the cave, singeing away Esteban’s eyebrows! “Stupid boy!” the dragon roared. “No ignoramus such as you will take my precious treasure! Old dragons may not be able to fly, but they can still RUN!” And the dragon hurtled toward Esteban with surprising speed.

Esteban hardly had time to draw his small knife when the dragon’s head caught him square in the middle, knocking his breath away and driving him to the ground. The dragon stood over him, sparks coming from his nose, and trembling with rage.

Esteban scrambled to his feet and backed up, ready to fight, when suddenly the dragon got a peculiar look on his face. He drew a ragged breath, then keeled over on his side, dead of his anger, or old age—or more likely, both!

Esteban was stunned. He hadn’t even had a chance to raise his knife against the dragon. His heart was still pounding when he ran into the cave and pocketed the diamond and amethysts. Perhaps these gems are more precious than they look, he said to himself. After all, I know I’m small, but I’m the best! He thought how impressed Violeta would be when he told her how he had overcome the dragon and stolen the gems. He swaggered out of the cave, chest puffed out, and he looked again at the dead dragon.

The dragon looked somehow dignified in death, like some great old king who had reigned for years, and had met a hero’s death. He’ll soon be food for the wild animals and birds, Esteban thought grimly. A vulture on a nearby tree cried out, as if in agreement.

It almost seems a shame... he thought. But, NO! I don’t have time to make a grave for him. I’ll run far behind the others in the Quest. Another vulture joined the first in the tree, and they croaked their awful song, waiting for Esteban to leave.

He shook his fist at the birds and began the hard task of finding and carrying stones to pile around and over the old dragon’s body to keep the animals from him. He finished the cairn as the sun set, and he made camp for the night next to it. He slept poorly, though, with the jewels sticking him through his pockets.

The next morning he rose early and set off toward the sea. When the dragon’s grave was just a speck to be seen in the distance over his shoulder, he came to a tiny village. It was only a few houses. He was very hungry.

A plain woman came out of her simple house and greeted him. “Good day, young traveler. Where are you going so early, and have you eaten?”

“Good day, señora,” he answered politely. “I am on a Quest to win the hand of the governor’s daughter, and I arose early and have walked without breakfast.”

“I see that you are pressed for time,” she answered, “but I have some food you could eat as you walk, and also something for you to take with you, if you would.” She beckoned him into her home.

The smell of corn cakes and coffee filled the room, and made Esteban think of home. “I am called Tía Amalia,” the old woman said, and Esteban introduced [Page 9]himself. She bustled about, fixing a leather pouch with coffee, and wrapping corn cakes and some plain cheese in banana leaves. “So you want to marry my little Violeta?” She looked deeply into Esteban’s eyes, and he felt she was testing his very soul.

He looked down. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Tía Amalia laughed. “I was a skillful nurse when I was younger, and I cared for Violeta in her infancy. I have seen her only a few times as she has grown up, but I love her deeply. You will not find one of sharper wit or more grace than Violeta. I hope you will prove worthy of her.”

Esteban felt a shame he could not name, but was moved to ask, “What can I do to serve you before I go on?”

Tía Amalia smiled, pleased. “You could chop my firewood for the day, and then I will give you what I wish you to carry back to Violeta.”

After Esteban had chopped enough wood for several days, Tía Amalia waited at the side of the road, her hand closed around something small.

“Please take this gift to Violeta. It is not much. My dark hair was once the talk of the province—and not silver as it is now. But silver is better for making a ring!” and she laughed.

Esteban took the woven ring from her. It was very light, but also very strong, and gleamed in the morning sun as if the hairs were real threads of the finest silver. He tucked the ring into his pocket, and said, “I promise I will give this gift to Violeta. It is lovely. Thank you also for the food.”

He set off down the road on the long journey to the sea.

He traveled for days until he finally found himself watching the sun set through the waves. He had looked and looked for the oracle to give him the riddle, but had not found her. As he sat on the sand at the water’s edge, he watched the tiny fish playing in the crests of the waves, and laughed in spite of his weariness and disappointment.

As he looked closer, a beautiful woman seemed to appear right out of the wave itself. She walked toward him, hand outstretched in welcome. Esteban stumbled to his feet, speechless.

“I am the Oracle of the Crystal Sea,” she said. “I have the riddle you seek, but I can say it to you only once. Are you ready to hear?”

Esteban nodded, hardly believing that the object of his search had come to him.

The Oracle began:

“The riddle is this:

I bring men to tears

yet heal broken hearts,

Cast down kings

and lift up mountains,

Govern the seasons

and master the stars.

I am always with you, yet

never there.

I am the only certain thing

in life—

the only thing that is forever.”

Then she stepped back into the waves and melted into the water, leaving Esteban rubbing his eyes in the evening sun. He repeated the riddle to himself several times, to memorize it.

“Oh! That’s easy,” he said. “It must be sorrow. No! Sorrow does not have anything to do with the mountains. Then, happiness. Wait! Happiness does not last forever. What about strength? But strength does not govern the seasons ... Oh! This is harder than I thought!” He was still [Page 10]puzzling over the riddle when he set off for the last dangerous part of his quest: the search for the witch, La Bruja Fea.

Remembering the eerie shadow of the trees in the full moon, he set off for the woods. After a week of hard travel, he reached the edge of the forest, and was glad to find a still pool to wash away the dust of his journey. As he bent over the water, he was surprised at his reflection. The soft good looks of the San Pedro boy were gone. Though his eyebrows were just starting to grow back and his nose was peeling from sunburn, there was something strong and real in the face he saw. “I look almost fearless,” he said out loud, but he suddenly shuddered with a feeling he was being watched. He spun around but saw only a shadow in the trees, perhaps from a cloud passing overhead—but perhaps not.

As he traveled deeper into the woods, he thought he heard soft laughter, sometimes to his right, sometimes to his left. He heard leaves rustle ahead, and he knew something was leading him on. He followed, his heart in his mouth.

He stumbled into a clearing where a stone house stood. A baby cried inside and he walked to the door. A figure jumped out and threw a net over him, with a scream of delight. La Bruja Fea had him!

Esteban struggled and fought, but it only pulled the net tighter.

“That’s it!” laughed the witch. “Fight hard, big man,” she taunted.

Esteban stopped struggling and waited. If my strength won’t win, maybe my wits will, he thought, but he had never been more scared.

La Bruja Fea led him into her house and chained him to an iron ring set in the stone hearth. The baby was a little boy, about two years old, and the witch had him penned in a crib with high sides. He was still crying.

“Here, Carlito,” the witch said to the baby. “Eat this bread.” She handed the baby a coarse brown crust, and he gnawed happily on it. “I’m fattening him up,” she said to Esteban, licking her lips hungrily.

Esteban was horrified. “Where did you get that baby?”

“Oh, he’s just an orphan. I stole him,” she answered carelessly. “And now, what to do with a lean young man from San Pedro...Shall I eat you for dinner and save Carlito for dessert? Or shall I have Carlito first, to sharpen my appetite?”

“You don’t scare me,” lied Esteban. “I’m not afraid of you, Bruja.”

She laughed softly. “You will be, my friend. You will be. You are a bigger fool than I thought.” She put a huge pot of water on the fire and began slicing onions into it.

Carlito’s dark eyes peered at Esteban from his pen, and he smiled at Esteban. Esteban thought his heart would break at his own helplessness.

Soon the water was bubbling in the big pot. La Bruja Fea squeezed Carlito’s knees, to test his fatness. The baby laughed with pleasure at being tickled.

“Yes,” the witch said slowly, watching Esteban. “I think I’ll have Carlito first.”

“No! You mustn’t!” Esteban pleaded, straining against his chains. “Take me, take me first!”

Terror filled the witch’s eyes and she gave a shrill cry. “Ohhhh! You horrid man!” Smoke began to curl [Page 11]from under her black gown.

“Don’t say that!” she shrieked.

But the more Esteban begged to be first, the thicker the smoke became.

“You wretched human!” she screeched, dissolving in front of his very eyes. Finally, there was a flash of flame.

When the smoke cleared, Esteban found his chains broken. All that was left where La Bruja Fea had stood was a lump of coal. Esteban was bewildered. Somehow, he had conquered La Bruja Fea without even knowing how. It had something to do with being human, but he didn’t know what.

Carlito held out his arms to Esteban. Esteban walked shakily to Carlito, picked him up, and held him tightly. Then he stooped and picked up the lump of coal. It was already cold, and he put it in his backpack, discouraged that this was the only proof of his conquest. Some victory, he thought. Who will ever believe that this is La Bruja Fea?

Esteban left the house with Carlito on his shoulders. It would take over a week to get back to the governor’s palace, and time was running out. Esteban soon discovered that while Carlito was delightful, most of the time was spent caring for him. It took more patience than he sometimes had. Carlito was often hungry, and into mischief. He was bright and curious and asked why, why, why. The child was like a shadow to Esteban, whom he adored. Esteban never had a moment to himself. Yet he was beginning to love the child.

When they were one day’s journey from the governor’s palace, they made camp for the last time. A storm was coming, and Esteban pulled the blanket around them both tightly. Thunder rolled and lightning filled the sky.

“Esteban, why is it dark?”

“Because it is nighttime.”

“Esteban, why?”

“Because the sun has set.”

“But, why?”

“Because...because... Oh! Do be still!” Esteban snapped at the child.

Carlito’s eyes filled with tears, and Esteban held him closer.

“I’m scared,” Carlito whispered.

“Me, too—and tired,” Esteban confessed, surprised at how easy it was to admit it to this child. “But we are nearly home, and I’ll stay with you.”

Esteban arrived at the palace as the sun was setting and the last men were coming out from seeing Violeta. They were milling about in the courtyard, waiting for her decision. When they saw Esteban approach, they laughed and pointed and poked each others’ ribs. Esteban had to smile, in spite of his embarrassment. The finely dressed men looked at him and saw his raggedy clothes and his eyebrows just starting to grow back. His worn boot heels made him lean back a bit, and Carlito completed the picture, holding onto Esteban’s pant leg, thumb in mouth. “I look more like a nursemaid than an adventurer or a suitor,” Esteban smiled ruefully.

He was quite certain that he had no chance of winning Violeta’s hand among these rich men and their chests of gold. But after so many hard weeks, he just had to see it through.

“Esteban Lopez Hernandez!” The page called his name, and Esteban went to meet Violeta. Baby Carlito toddled behind him, britches drooping. [Page 12]“Well,” said Violeta, a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her violet eyes. “Who are you?”

He thought of all those rich noblemen who had already been to see Violeta. For a moment he was tempted to say, “I am Esteban Lopez Hernandez, son of a wealthy farmer and heir to a vast fortune.” But he answered simply, “Esteban Hernandez, and this is Carlito.”

“And how did you fulfill the Quest?” Violeta asked.

“Señorita, La Bruja Fea had this child in her keeping for some evil purpose, fattening him up,” he said, not wanting to frighten Carlito. “She captured me, but when I said for her to do away with me instead of him, she turned to smoke and then to fire, and all that remains of her is this coal.”

He produced the lump of coal from his backpack. “Carlito is an orphan, so I have brought him with me, [Page 13]in hopes of finding him a new home.”

Violeta touched the child’s hair, and he hid shyly behind Esteban’s leg.

“And the treasure?”

Esteban took the diamond and two amethysts from his pocket. “These amethysts are like your eyes,” he mumbled, “though this is all of the dragon’s treasure I could find.”

“These jewels are the treasure!” said Violeta. “How did you come by these?”

Esteban remembered the story he had been ready to tell about bravely killing the dragon, then he sighed, even more sure that he had lost the contest for her hand. “I met the old dragon in the mountains, and he really was fearsome. He singed the eyebrows right off of me,” and Esteban laughed and pointed to the stubble growing back. “I tried to gather my courage to fight him, but the truth is that he was so mad at me, that he rolled over and just died. I walked right into his cave and got these gems. But he was a brave old beast and full of fire to the end.”

Violeta looked hard at Esteban. “Is there anything else?”

Esteban remembered the simple gift of Tía Amalia, but as he searched his pockets, he could not find the ring. He swallowed hard and said, “I bring you love and greetings from your nurse, Tía Amalia. She sent a gift, but I have failed in my trust and have lost it.” He hung his head. Violeta was silent.

At last she said, “And the answer to the riddle?”

Esteban answered, “I’m sorry, señorita. I have puzzled and puzzled, but still I do not know.”

In despair and shame, he knelt with his hands on his knees. As he sank to the floor, his last bit of pride slipped away. How far I’ve come, he thought, from the cocky Esteban who was so sure he’d win Violeta. How I’ve changed!

With that thought came a whisper of excitement. Change! he said to himself. That’s it! I’ve got it!

He fell back in his excitement and recited the riddle aloud quickly—

I bring men to tears

yet heal broken hearts,

Cast down kings

and lift up mountains,

Govern the seasons

and master the stars,

I am always with you, yet

never there.

I am the only certain thing

in life—

the only thing that is forever.

“The answer is change!” he shouted. And as he moved to his knees to stand, he felt the thickness and shape of the woven ring. He reached into the tattered seam and pulled out the ring.

“I will say goodbye and wish you well in your marriage, but first, here is the gift of Tía Amalia.” He gave the ring to Violeta, bowed and turned to leave.

“Esteban, wait! I want to speak to you, please,” Violeta called.

He turned and stood before her.

“You have fulfilled the Quest as no one else has,” she began. “You found the witch, and your selflessness made her vanish, though your humility kept you from knowing why. When you did not know the answer to the riddle, you did not try to hide it with bluster or bluff. You chose honesty, and at last found the answer in yourself.

“Others may have laid chests of gold at my feet, but you brought jewels from the dragon. Your effort in telling the truth to me took courage, for only you knew the truth of how those jewels were won. The gems are almost as perfect as that courage and truth.

“When you found Carlito, you brought him all the way with you, although you must have known he would slow your progress and test your patience. You have won his trust and love through your patience and tender heart. You will make a fine father one day.

“When you thought that you had lost Amalia’s gift, you said that you had broken a trust. Though her gift is simple, it is more precious to me than gold, because of her love. There is a high sense of honor in you, and a sharp eye to know the value of her gift.”

Violeta’s father stepped into the room from behind a door where he had listened to Violeta’s interviews with all of the young men. “My daughter is a keen judge of a man,” he said to Esteban, holding his gaze.

Esteban stood silently, torn between hope and fear.

Violeta came and touched his hand. “You have shown courage, humility, honesty, wisdom, a tender heart, patience and selflessness. These things are the real measure of a man’s strength. I choose you, if you will have me.”

And so, on a sunny day, Esteban placed the woven ring on Violeta’s finger and became her husband. Carlito found a happy home with the governor’s household, as an adopted brother to Violeta. Most of all, Esteban Lopez Hernandez was loved by all in the province, and it was often said that he was a man of true strength, all the days of his life. ■ [Page 14]

Korinna and the Pollera

Photos by R. Gregory Shaw and Ann Hoos Text by R. Gregory Shaw

Korinna Shaw is nine years old and has lived in Latin America all of her life. When her Panamanian friend, Ani, offered to dress her in a traditional costume of Panama, Korinna knew it was going to be a special day!

In Panama, the people have a saying: “Everybody envies the girl in a pollera.” A traditional, handmade costume, the pollera is often saved for years and years and passed from mother to daughter.

First came hours of preparation! Ani tightly braided Korinna’s hair and placed the gold combs and special pieces called tembleques. Tembleques are made of wire and beads and look like flowers, butterflies or even scorpions! Korinna had to have her ears pierced—ouch!—for earrings.

Petticoats were carefully arranged under the purple-flowered dress. Finally, the traditional jewelry, bracelets and necklaces of gold, were the finishing touch.

To celebrate, Korinna visited the gardens at Panama’s Bahá’í House of Worship. Her “papi” (father) dressed in traditional style, too, in an embroidered montuno. [Page 15]The day ended with a visit to the Spanish ruins of Old Panama.

Every year, there is a National Pollera Festival in Panama. Prizes are given and a Queen of the Festival is chosen. Korinna thinks she knows how the winner must feel. "Dressed in a pollera," she says, "I felt just like a queen." [Page 16]

Fold and Snip a Nine-Pointed Star

by Aileen Poehls (who learned from J.F. Strain) illustrated by Rita Leydon

1. Take a piece of paper and fold it in half. Fig. A

2. At the midpoint of this first fold, fold again, twice, so that you have folded it into thirds. Fig. B and Fig. C

3. Fold into thirds again. It is easier if this time you fold one to the front and one to the back. Fig. D and Fig. E

4. Fig. F shows the reverse side of Fig. E. Cut on the dotted line. The deeper the angle, the pointier the star will be.

5. Unfold...and marvel at your new skill. [Page 17]The nine-pointed star is one of the symbols of the Bahá’í Faith. How to produce one has been a mystery to most of us for many years, but now we will shed some light on this mystery for you. It is really very simple once you know how. Most things are like that.

A.

B.

C.

D. FOLD UNDER

E.

F. CUTTING LINE [Page 18]

a Day in the Life of a Prop ... a Human Background

text and photos by Alice Moore © 1985

Have you ever been a prop? A background? Maybe you have been a flower in your school play. Well, this job was sort of like that.

The shooting (that’s photographer’s talk for taking pictures) was to start around noon and last until early sunset. I was to bring my fishing pole, wear shorts, a ‎hawaiian Hawaiian‎ shirt and no shoes! My little brother Scott came along too.

When you are at a shoot, lots and lots of pictures are being taken, and if you are the background, you are not the main subject. I had to stay in the general area and play the part. This time I was a little boy fishing...this is really what I like to do, so, to look like I was really fishing, I really did.

And guess what! I caught a small manta sting ray. My brother [Page 19]Scott was the first to notice that I had caught something. Scott and I decided to take the sting ray up on the beach so we could examine it better. Our sting was catching the eye of other kids on the beach and we met Kris, Leia and Darin. Everyone was interested in my catch.

After we all had a chance to look, touch and talk about the manta, I had to toss it back into the ocean. We couldn’t keep it because it wouldn’t have made a good pet.

After that it was back to work... ■ [Page 20]

Let’s Eat Mexican!

by Janet Richards illustrated by Rita Leydon

Tacos

12 corn taco shells ½ lb. ground beef 1 small onion, chopped 1 clove garlic, minced 1 tablespoon chili powder ½ cup water 2 tomatoes, chopped shredded lettuce 1 cup shredded sharp cheese

In skillet, cook beef, garlic and onion till tender. Drain off fat. Be careful—it’s hot. Stir in chili powder and water. Bring to boiling. Simmer for 15 minutes.

Arrange taco shells on baking sheet. Warm in 350° oven for 5-10 minutes. Stuff each shell with some of the meat mixture, tomatoes, cheese and lettuce. Top with Salsa.

Salsa (makes 2 cups)

1 large ripe tomato, peeled 2 green onions with tops 1 can (4 oz.) chopped green chilies, drained 1 large clove garlic, minced

Chop tomatoes and onion very fine. Combine with other ingredients. Let it stand for 15 minutes to develop flavor.

Fresh Pineapple

Select a nice ripe one at the market and serve sliced at room temperature.

Serve on a bright tablecloth with crepe paper streamers as runners. After dinner, plan to have a turn at a piñata that you have made out of papier maché and filled with little treats! [Page 21]--BLANK-- [Page 22]

A Job for Mrs. Quigley

by Judy Conlin © 1985

“I’m bored,” Mrs. Quigley complained to her fat dog, Shinny. “I’ve washed, cleaned, dusted, polished and tidied. Now there’s nothing left to do.” She sat down in the spotless kitchen, her double chins quivering as a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth. “Why do people have to retire when they get old anyhow?”

Shinny rested her head on Mrs. Quigley’s lap and waited for the tales about the ‘grand old days’ when Mrs. Quigley was a maid at the largest hotel in the city. She had polished the doorknobs and brass railings till they shone like gold, and kept the rooms in such perfect order, they were fit for the finest ladies and gentlemen. The fringe on the carpets in the lobby was always straight, and every guest had a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Over the years, the carpets began to fade and the furniture to fray, and fewer and fewer fine ladies and gentlemen came to stay. Mrs. Quigley still worked very hard, but, like the hotel, she, too, began to grow old. Then, one day the manager told her that she must retire. There was a party and gifts, but there was no more job.

Since then, Mrs. Quigley never had enough to do, and Shinny, though only a dog, knew she was often sad.

“I know,” Mrs. Quigley said so suddenly she startled Shinny, who had drifted off to sleep. “We’ll visit Mrs. Motler and her seven children. There’s always plenty to do there.” Two dimples replaced the frown, as Mrs. Quigley strapped a basket of cleaning supplies around Shinny’s broad middle. [Page 23]The two strolled across town to the Motler cottage making frequent stops, as Mrs. Quigley dusted street lamps, swept the curb, and polished parking meters. A mound of toys in the Motler yard came into view, and Mrs. Quigley hurried happily through the gate to begin picking them up.

“Wait,” Mrs. Motler called from the front door. “Don’t pick those up. The children are having a yard sale.”

“Oh my,” sighed Mrs. Quigley, “I did want to help. I’ll weed the garden instead.”

“Sorry, Benny is earning money for football by weeding.”

“How about letting me help with the housework?”

“Not today, thank you. My seven helpers did it yesterday. Why not have a cup of tea with me?”

A disappointed Mrs. Quigley drank her tea thinking she’d at least have a dirty cup to wash. When she finished, however, the littlest Motler took the cup saying, “Me wash?” Her mother nodded proudly.

“Come, Shinny. We must be off.” Mrs. Quigley kissed the children and waved good-bye.

They rounded the corner to try a different route home. Suddenly, Mrs. Quigley peered through her glasses. “Somebody has messed up the road, Shinny. Look at those big funnels left out in the middle. Some car might hit them. We better go to work.”

She began removing the road markers. Shinny nudged a few with her nose, then sat down and wagged his tail which swept some of the dirt.

“Whatsa matter, Lady? You crazy or something?” A man was yelling and waving his arms. “We’re working on this road. Now put those markers back.”

“He certainly is grouchy. I was just trying to help.” Mrs. Quigley was close to tears, as she and Shinny finished and started down a sidestreet. They wandered up a little hill, and the view made Mrs. Quigley’s dimples reappear.

“I love it,” she exclaimed. “What a glorious mess.” Old furniture, knick-knacks and trash were strewn in a wide circle in front of them. [Page 24]Happily, Mrs. Quigley unpacked Shinny’s basket and went to work. Shinny pawed cobwebs from a sign which read TOWN DUMP. “That must be who lives here,” said Mrs. Quigley. “I’ve never met Mr. Dump before, but I’ll bet he’ll be surprised when he comes home tonight.”

A dumptruck pulled up along side them and the driver called out, “What are you doing? Get out of the way so we can dump another load.”

Mrs. Quigley gathered her supplies and her dog and sadly continued on. Nobody needs us, she decided as they trudged along. Eventually, they came to a little stream and sat down to rest. There were bottles and papers strewn around, and Mrs. Quigley mechanically began to pick them up. Reaching through a maze of weeds and brush to gather up a plastic bag she could use for waste, Mrs. Quigley spotted an upended bench. Spurred on by her find, she eagerly searched through the overgrown foliage, Shinny obediently digging where she directed.

They found old, dilapidated picnic tables, some broken playground equipment, and the remains of a charcoal grille.

“Why, this is the abandoned Wilderness Park,” she exclaimed. “I bet we could make it nice again, Shinny.”

For the next several days, Shinny and Mrs. Quigley cut weeds, picked up the trash, painted and repaired old equipment (though Shinny mostly got his tail in the paint), and put little signs beside the wildflowers identifying them. Mrs. Quigley had never been so happy, and Shinny had never been so tired. Work doesn’t last forever, however, and Mrs. Quigley was depressed as she swept the tiny paths through the park, for she wondered what in the world she was going to do next.

Sighing, she was about to pack up and leave, when a shiny black limousine that everyone knew belonged to the mayor came over the hill. “I guess we’re going to get kicked out of here too,” she murmured, as Shinny covered his face with his paws.

The Mayor walked up to them looking very serious. Mrs. Quigley curtsied and Shinny stuck up his paw to shake hands. “I hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” Mrs. Quigley said worriedly. “I was only trying to keep busy.”

“Wrong? No, you’ve done everything right. This park was abandoned because no one would keep it up. I’d like to make you O.P.K. (Official Park Keeper). The job doesn’t pay much, but it’s yours if you’ll take it.” [Page 25]“I will,” said Mrs. Quigley and the Mayor pinned a shiny medal on her apron.

“Woof,” Shinny said as he sat up and begged.

For a minute the Mayor was perplexed. Then he began to chuckle. “Of course, you can be the O.P.K.H. (Official Park Keeper’s Helper),” he said pinning another medal on Shinny’s collar.

Mrs. Quigley and Shinny kept the park in such perfect order, it was fit for the very finest ladies and gentlemen, who began to come from all over to visit and stay at the old hotel. So, the hotel was busy and elegant once again. Shinny was a much thinner and healthier dog because of all the fresh air and exercise he got trying to keep up with Mrs. Quigley. But happiest of all, Mrs. Quigley never felt bored or useless again, because she had an Important Job. [Page 26]--BLANK-- [Page 27]

The Sea

by Chandra Armistead, age 7 Milford, Connecticut © 1985

The soft green sea gliding in the wind,
whistling in your ears.
On summer days we play there
and find pretty things good to keep.
On stormy days it rains and rains for days and days
and never stops until you say
“please.”
The sea gulls glide along the sky,
And trees begin to dance,
And big sand dunes fill the air.
And in the night time when it’s quiet,
It is sleepy and everything is still.

illustrated by Patti Van Horn © 1985 [Page 28]

Treasure Hunt!

by Debbi Bley

Would you like to become an explorer? We are sending you on a journey to find many things in South America! You will need an atlas and a spirit of adventure. A dictionary and encyclopedia may give you some extra clues, but the atlas is your main tool in this search. When you are all done, you will know lots more about South America, from Panama to the tip of the continent. Now that you are becoming a geography expert, we’d love it if you would find maps of Mexico and the countries of Central America, and send us questions for those countries!

1. In what country is the Bahá’í House of Worship located?

2. This lake is 12,500 feet above sea level, is 3200 square miles in size, and is the biggest lake in South America. Find it and tell us its name!

3. This river is one of the two longest in the world. What is its name and in what country does most of it flow?

4. This is the big mountain range that runs down the continent, and is the home of many Indians who speak the Quechua language. What are these mountains?

5. These plains in Argentina are where you might find some of the South American cowboys, called gauchos. What are they called?

6. These two South American countries have no ports on any oceans. Which two countries are they?

7. These islands lie way off the coast of South America — to the west — and belong to Ecuador. They are famous for their wonderful plants, birds, and animals, especially their giant tortoises and their iguana lizards. What is the name of these islands?

8. The Rio de la Plata — the river of silver — separates these two countries. What are the countries?

9. The southernmost point of South America is Cape Horn. What country is it part of? [Page 29]illustrated by Rodin Petsef © 1985

10. Tierra del Fuego means ‘Land of Fire’, but it is as far away to the south from the equator as part of Alaska is to the north! What continent is Tierra del Fuego near?

11. The port of Salvador in Brazil is also called ‘Bahia’! In the Tablets of the Divine Plan, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá says, “Visit ye especially the city of Bahia, on the eastern shore of Brazil. Because in the past years this city was christened with the name, Bahia, there is no doubt that it has been through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.” Find the city of Bahia, which may appear as Salvador in your atlas.

12. This country was the center of the empire of the Incas. Its capital is Lima (say ‘LEE-mah’). What is the country?

13. The Spanish word for ‘equator’ is the name of this country, and it is spelled nearly the same as our word in English. The equator passes right through this country. Can you find the country, and the equator?

14. This country is famous for its coffee, but it also produces gold, platinum, emeralds, and oil! Part of its coastline is on the Caribbean Sea, and the other coast is on the Pacific Ocean. What is the country?

15. Simón Bolivar, a South American statesman, was born in Caracas, which is the capital of this country. What country is it?

16. These three countries are right next door to Venezuela, in the northeast corner of South America. Find them and name them! [Page 30]

Hoy Es El Día

Israeli Folk Song Flavor words and music by Gregg Shaw

Hoy es el día de la puerta de la Gloria.

Hoy es el día de ‘Alí, el Báb. Hoy es el día de la puerta de la Gloria. Hoy es el día de ‘Alí, el Báb.

‎há’u’lláh Bahá’u’lláh‎. Hoy es el día, hoy es el día, hoy es el día de Bahá’u’lláh. Hoy es el día, hoy es el día, hoy es el día de ‎ba Ba‎há’u’lláh. [Page 31]Hoy es el día de la Gloria de Dios. Hoy es el día de Bahá’u’lláh. (two times) Hoy es el día, hoy es el día...

Hoy es el día ‎de del del‎ Siervo de la Gloria. Hoy es el día de ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. (two times) Hoy es el día, hoy es el día...

Hoy es el día de la unidad del mundo. Hoy es el día de la Fe Bahá’í. (two times) Hoy es el día, hoy es el día...

Hoy es el día, hoy es el día, Hoy es el día de la Fe Bahá’í. (two times) Hoy es el día, hoy es el día...

© 1974 R. Gregory Shaw

illustrated by Winifred Barnum Newman [Page 32]

Book Nook

Review by Jeannie McKenna

• Naw-Rúz, March 21
• First Day of Ridván, April 21
• Ninth Day of Ridván, April 29
• Twelfth Day of Ridván, May 2
• Declaration of the Báb, May 23
• Ascension of Bahá’u’lláh, May 29
• Martyrdom of the Báb, July 9
• Birth of the Báb, October 20
• Birth of Bahá’u’lláh, November 12
• Day of the Covenant, November 26
• Ascension of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, November 28
• Ayyám-i-Há, February 26
• Ayyám-i-Há, February 27
• Ayyám-i-Há, February 28
• Ayyám-i-Há, February 29
• Ayyám-i-Há, March 1

I Am a Bahá’í

by Deborah Christensen, illustrated by Pepper Oldziey and John Solarz, Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1985.

In I Am a Bahá’í there are lots of pictures to color and plenty of spaces to draw your own. So just don’t read this new collection of Sunflower books, create and participate!

Deborah Christensen takes you on a tour of Bahá’í communities around the world, and makes special stops at the house of the Báb and our very own House of Worship.

I Am a Bahá’í is really four books in one: My Bahá’í Community, My Bahá’í Feasts, Our Bahá’í Holy Days and Holidays, and Our Bahá’í House of Worship. They’re all chock full of fun activities to help you learn all about being a Bahá’í in your very own community and in the whole, wide world.

Special Strengths

by Gail Radley, illustrated by Joe Boddy, Bellwood Press, Evanston, 1984.

Special Strengths is a book that tells not only one but four stories. The Eagles Wings, Opossum and Small Fox, The Ant and the Eagle, and The Little Lemming Who Wouldn’t are all included in this new book by Gail Radley.

As you can tell from the titles of the stories, the characters are all members of the animal kingdom. This special menagerie has a set of problems that they are able to overcome by learning through their extraordinary adventures.

Reading about how the pompous eagle finally finds his true self or how the little lemming finds the will to follow her own heart just might help you find the special strengths that are hidden within yourself. ■ [Page 33]

Parents’ page

Good Parents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . by Mary K. Radpour with Edie Osborn

What constitutes good parenting? The best evidence of what has been good parenting lies in the outcome — in the children themselves. Each of us, every one, is someone’s child. So Brilliant Star searched out a number of outstanding children — people who have demonstrated excellence of character and have given outstanding Bahá’í service. We then asked these children, now parents themselves, to share their memories of good parenting. The following are their tributes to their own parents and to the excellence of their teaching.

“My mama never taught us about the oneness of mankind in words. But she filled our home with guests of every conceivable language and color. With her comfortable visits over cookies and lemonade, discussing with good humor whether a belch is a sign of appreciation of a good meal or a rude mistake, she taught us hospitality, tact, and courtesy, and an appreciation for all people — all at the same time.”

A black American Educator, mother of three.

“When I was a teenager, I began experimenting with smoking with my friends. I never smoked in front of my mother, but I didn’t hide the cigarettes from her sight, either. I guess I wanted some recognition from her that I was now a young woman and not a child. But when she said: ‘I see that you’ve been smoking with your friends,’ I was worried. I acknowledged that I had been smoking and she asked me to do her a favor. Puzzled, I asked what. ‘I would like for you to decide,’ she answered. ‘Decide what?’ I asked, though quite sure she was going to ask me not to smoke. ‘I would just like for you to decide,’ she said. ‘Decide to smoke or decide not to smoke. But don’t smoke with your friends until you’re addicted and then say five years from now that you’d like to quit but can’t because you got the habit as a teenager. Just decide. Whatever you decide, I’ll accept. But make a decision.’ ‘O.K.,’ I agreed, feeling proud that I could decide for myself. So I did decide. I decided not to smoke. What other decision could a rational, independent young woman make? Smoking was dirty, expensive, bad for your health, and gave you bad breath. I was too sensible, too mature, and too responsible to make any other decision. But I must credit my mother with having given me that identity; had she not believed in me, how could I have believed in myself?”

A white American psychotherapist, mother of four.

“When I was not quite five, I was hospitalized to have my tonsils removed. My mother was expecting my baby brother at any time and therefore couldn’t come be with me in the hospital. So my father came. I developed some complications from surgery and was very ill. I remember my Dad weeping, telling me how sad he was that I was so sick. It touched me as a special sign of his caring, and I remember it still that way today. I recall he also brought a little record player with a book and record of Peter and the Wolf. To this day, my most treasured memories of my Dad are of our reading together. From him I developed a love of words and a love of music.”

A white American poetess, songwriter, and singer, mother of one.

“I never knew how special my Dad was until I visited other families who unthinkingly squelched creativity, curiosity, and experimentation. Dad would always say: ‘Those boys would have all the presents that they got on Christmas morning broken down and rebuilt as something else by Christmas afternoon.’ As he said this, he shone with pride. And if I recall correctly, he had been down on the floor with us, dismantling toys too. My brother and I both love our work, and we’re pretty good at it. I really give my dad credit for that!”

A white German-American electronic engineer, father of one daughter.

“I knew that my father would give his life for me, and I would as well for him. When we were little, we were never in my memory spanked, and he and my mother were very generous with praise when we were responsible. He believed that children were too tender and sweet to ever be treated roughly. But my most vivid memory of his training of me is from when I was 13 or 14. My mother had interrupted my play to ask me to go get her purse for her, upstairs, and I was most irritated at being sent so, like a child. When I came down to the landing of the stairs, I tossed the purse to her as she stood waiting at the foot of the stairs. But before the purse arrived in mid-air, I was dizzy from the slap my father had administered to my cheek. ‘Never,’ he said, ‘never ever again treat your mother with such disrespect!’ I never did so again. Though my pride and my cheek were both stinging, I knew that day that I was a man in my father’s eyes and that I would need to behave as one, which meant never failing to be courteous.”

An Iranian-born American businessman, father of four, known for his courtesy.

Answers to “Treasure Hunt!”:

1. Panama
2. Lake Titicaca
3. Amazon River, Brazil
4. Andes
5. Pampas
6. Bolivia, Paraguay
7. Galápagos
8. Argentina and Uruguay
9. Chile
10. Antarctica
11. Brazil
12. Peru
13. Ecuador
14. Colombia
15. Venezuela
16. Guyana, Surinam, French Guiana

[Page 34]This photograph was taken by Alice Moore who lives in Los Angeles, California. © 1985 Alice Moore

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