Anita; a tale of the Philippines

Front matter

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Contents

THE SUNDAY SING. JOAQUIN’S FEET Get HIM INTO TROUBLE ..........

JOSE AND THE IDOLS. CALIGULA CUL- TIVATES ANITA’S ACQUAINTANCE ..

Mrs. WALLACE SERVES TEA, THE BOYS DORM ETORY sare oie

Chapter I

THE SUNDAY SING. JOAQUIN’S FEET GET HIM INTO TROUBLE

SPLASH! splash! splatter!

The screen-door of the little detached kitchen at the rear of the bungalow stood wide open, contrary to instructions, and Joaquin flung the dish-water (also contrary to instructions) far down the path and over the little garden-plot.

“Good for the flowers,” he grunted to himself. “ Why should these Americans be so particular about little things? Dish-water down the sink, clean water for the garden. Why not smash two mosquitoes with one slap by pouring the dish-water where it will nourish the flowers? ”’

But Joaquin had failed to observe the silent approach of a little ragged girl through the parting bushes, and he was suddenly assailed with shrill childish vituperation.

** Close relative of a pig! Why do you fling water upon me, and foul water, too?” scolded the child.

“Ai, Ai,” said Joaquin, “but you should look where you are going and not run heedlessly into trouble.”

“Look where I am going,” replied the child as she stretched her hand tentatively toward the rail bordering the path. ‘“ Oh, if I only could!” With this she turned full toward the open doorway where bE

Joaquin was standing, and he observed at once that the little face had that blank, sorrowful expression produced by sightless eyes.

“ Abaw,” said Joaquin, “I know who you are. You must be little Anita, the blind girl, who runs with the beggar crowd.”

With all Joaquin’s surface taciturnity his white cotton house-jacket covered a kind and sympathetic heart. Moreover, he was too much of a genuine democrat in spirit to feel himself at all superior to this little bundle of rags, most of whose waking hours were spent in the company of the beggar crew who made their regular mendicant visits from house to house through the town.

“Wait a minute,” said he, “I have two fine ripe bananas.” Slam went the screen-door of the kitchen behind him, and in a moment he emerged with two fat, red bananas, one of which he handed to the little

“Come,” said he, *‘ sit with me on the door-step. I’m sorry I threw the water on you. I did not see you. I have been washing all the cups and saucers and there were a great many of them. Sefiora is going to have all the Americans here tonight for what they call ‘the Sunday sing,’ and I was getting ready for it.”

*What’s that?” inquired Anita.

“Why, all the Americans in town come here Sunday evenings and have a good time together. They sing a lot, and talk about all sorts of things. Then they drink chocolate, and eat hundreds and hundreds of sugar cookies, and go home.”

“What do they say?” asked the child, well-nigh breathless with interest.

“TI can’t tell you very much about it, for they almost always talk in English, but I know they talk about the schools and the government and re- Higion and what to eat, and sometimes they talk about us.”

“TI wish I could see them and hear the singing! ”’ exclaimed the little ragged child.

Joaquin looked her up and down with an expression of whimsical uncertainty. ‘“ Well,” said he; “Tm afraid you wouldn’t fit into the circle very well, but I’ll tell you what we will do. You shall hide in the big cupboard in the kitchen. It will only be an hour or so until they come, and when they have all gathered and are busy talking, you shall steal around the house to the front veranda and hide among the big pots of foliage plants. You will be able to hear everything there.”

Mrs. Wallace stood on the veranda at the front of the house awaiting her guests. The evening breeze from the sea stirred the strands of curling brown hair about her forehead, and wandered away to the bamboo thicket at the side of the house where it played among the myriad delicate spear-shaped leaves. With the coming of dusk the intense heat of the day had given place to the refreshing coolness characterizing the Philippine night. It had been one of those intense flaming days which result when tropical sun and cloudless sky have repeated themselves in burning succession for a period of weeks. It had brought, however, no cessation of labor.

Morning service, Sunday school, afternoon visit to a neighboring village, and now the evening gathering. A smile wreathed her lips, however, as she gazed out over the quiet town. The night was moonless, but the multitude of tropical stars shed a soft radiance which made clearly distinguishable the familiar landmarks of the picture. The bungalow stood upon an eminence at the edge of the town. A broad, white ribbon of roadway led to the banks of the river which curved through the center of the picture.

Upon the veranda within a very few feet of Mrs. Wallace crouched little Anita in the shadow of the great jardiniéres. Her whole being was absorbed in hearing, in her anxiety to lose no detail. At this moment the rasping scrape of iron tires on the sandy road was heard, and a horse-drawn carriage emerged from the darkness. It was San Jacinto’s only public equipage, a two-wheeled, buggy-topped carriage with heavy shafts curving at the end as though to hold up the diminutive pony which might rather be said to amble ahead of the vehicle than to draw it after him. The white-coated driver seemed to have serious misgivings as to how long the animal might feel inclined to continue progress, and accompanied every step with the continuous encouragement of a throaty clicking and a forward motion of his heavy lips. The carriage stopped at the gate of the compound, and Mrs. Wallace met the first of her guests, Mr. and Mrs. Sylvester, the superintendent of schools and his wife, at the top of the flight of steps leading to the house. In a few moments

Fa other guests arrived, until about twenty were assembled in the sala which occupied the center of the house and opened with large double doors upon the veranda.

One of the rare privileges of the week was this opportunity for the little company of expatriates to meet in informal social intercourse. The ‘“ Sunday sing ’”’ was valued by all of them. It furnished an opportunity to discuss the events of the week and the latest news from America. Moreover it was the nearest approach to a formal Christian service in English which any of them had the opportunity of enjoying.

Mr. Wallace was not himself musical, but he knew the value of hymns as an expression of Christian faith and valued these weekly opportunities of thus leading the thoughts of his fellow Americans toward God. He was already seated beside the little organ with a penciled list between his fingers ready to suggest the first number.

“Does any one know whether Cal is coming tonight?” said Mr. Wallace. He was beginning to grow a little anxious, for Cal usually played for the gatherings, and he was beginning to fear that it would fall to the lot of Mrs. Wallace to pump the tunes out of the little organ. Caligula Crum was undeniably fat and perspired easily, but it was a less exhausting task for him than it would be for Mrs. Wallace at the close of a fatiguing day.

“Here he is,’”? was the reply. And indeed it became sufficiently evident that Cal was on his way, for he could be heard warbling sentimentally but musically along the road “Stars of the Summer Night,’ accompanied in a high tenor by a young Filipino, Alfredo, whom he had invited to the sing for the improvement of his English.

The song was interrupted at the gate, and Alfredo and Cal ascended the steps together. It was Alfredo’s good fortune that he was walking at Caligula’s left, and in keeping with the malign star of the latter’s destiny that he should be on the side chosen for Anita’s hiding-place.

Joaquin’s curiosity had finally gotten the better of his discretion, and he had stolen around the house and insinuated his bulky form between the potted plants by the side of little Anita, but failing to realize the length of his nether extremities and the magnitude of his bare feet he had permitted the latter to protrude from the hiding-place, so that although still in the shadow of the doorway, they impeded free ingress. Hence Alfredo’s dignified entrance to the sala was accompanied by a somersault from his companion, and the ejaculation of ‘‘ Howly murther,”’ for Cal sometimes relapsed into his original Irish in moments of stress. Joaquin, for his part, rolled out into the light of the doorway, hugging one foot in his arms and uttering an emphatic Abaw which serves the Filipino for the expression of a great variety of emotions.

* What’s all this? ” exclaimed Mr. Wallace, hastening to the door and dragging to the light not only clumsy Joaquin still hugging his damaged foot, but also the shrinking little beggar child, who quailed like a frightened bird in his grasp.

Restored to his two feet, Joaquin began to explain in voluble Visayan how it happened that he and little Anita had been thus ambushed, while Mrs. Wallace soothed the fears of the frightened child.

“Come, Anita,” said she. ‘‘ That’s your name, isn’t it? You shall sit by me in this little chair and listen to your heart’s content.”’

An expression of wonder mingled with the fear written upon the child’s face; wonder not only at the sound of her own language from the lips of a foreigner, but also at the kindness expressed in the tone.

+ NO; no)) no, she replied, “[°am’ afraid: of ‘all the Americans; let me hide in the dark. I am used to the dark.”

“Why, she’s blind,” said Mrs. Wallace, turning’ the child’s face more fully to the light. ‘ Look, her eyes are covered with pale blue scars.”

“I know who she is,” interjected Caligula, who by this time had recovered his equilibrium, and his dignity. ‘‘ She is the little blind girl whom one sees so often at the end of the bridge with the group of beggars.”

“ Well, whoever she is, she shall stay and listen to the singing, and if she does not want to sit by me she shall hide among the plants, and we will put some soft cushions there for her to sit on.”

Thus it came to pass that little Anita listened to the singing which followed as an acknowledged guest instead of a palpitating eavesdropper, and nothing was said when Joaquin threw himself down full length in the shadow beside her, taking the

~ precaution to extend his lower limbs into the darkness behind the plants.

“Now folks,” said Caligula, squeezing his knees beneath the diminutive keyboard of the little organ, “are you all ready? What shall it be? ‘ Rock of Ages,’ or ‘ My Darling Nelly Gray?’ You pays your money, and you takes your choice.”

* Cal, old man,” replied Mr. Wallace, “if you can sufficiently repress your ardent spirits, we will start with ‘ Fling Out the Banner,’ and after that we will sing ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul.’ You and Miss Burton will sing the duet, and we will join in the chorus.”

“You’re the generalissimo,” responded Caligula and immediately broke into the stirring notes of the hymn first suggested.

It detracted in no degree from the vigor and enthusiasm of Cal’s leading that Mr. Wallace had suggested that he and Miss Burton sing the opening lines of the next number as a duet. Apart from the exquisite pleasure which he always derived from part singing with other trained voices, Cal had discovered a peculiar delight in singing’ with Miss Burton. Opportunities had been rare; once at a school concert, once before at the Sunday sing they had joined their voices, but Cal had recognized that the overtones of the two supplemented each other and blended to his utmost satisfaction. He did not yet realize that his particular approval of her voice and musical execution had extended itself to a general approval of her stature which was short, her eyes which were blue, her hair which was golden, her bearing which was dignified, and the shape of her nose which was slightly tiptilted and at times expressive of scorn.

The duet proved unction to Cal’s soul and was thoroughly appreciated by the entire audience. “Haven’t you something special to sing for us?” inquired one of the group, addressing Miss Burton.

“Oh, I knew you would want her to sing,” said Mrs. Wallace, “ and I persuaded her to bring some music. After Mr. Wallace has read from the Scripture I am sure she will be glad to sing for us.”

In the back of the hymn-book were selected readings, and it was one of these which the missionary had chosen to read to the group, following it by a few words in which he spoke of the position of peculiar responsibility in which all those present were placed.

“We are a little group of Americans,” he said, “away out here about eleven thousand miles from home. We represent the flag, the country, and American ideals in the midst of a people who are learning to look to us for moral and political guidance. Most of us are school-teachers or provincial officials and have peculiar responsibilities of our own, but there is one responsibility which is common to us all, and that is to show to the people among whom we are placed an example of Christian citizenship which will reflect credit on the country we represent. The Filipino people are bright, alert, and able. They have just emerged from a long period of repression and are ready for leadership in an uncommon degree. America has accepted this responsibility, and our own special task has broader implications than the mere duty of the day.”

Behind the green and red laurels on the veranda Joaquin had been carrying on a running comment on the gathering for the benefit of little Anita.

“The long fellow is Mr. Wallace,” said he. “ He has a big, heavy jaw. “You have to jump when he speaks. But he is always good-natured. He teaches us the American game called baseball. You hit the ball with a stick and run like a wild water-buffalo.”

“Ts he the man who talked a long time? ”

“Yes, you see he’s a preacher. And he has very long legs. Once when he was preaching in the Protestant chapel his little girl Agnes climbed on the platform behind him, put her arms around his knees, poked her head through, and smiled at the people. Senora was shocked, but Mr. Wallace laughed and went right on preaching.”

“Why he must be just like us,” interpolated Anita.

“Yes, he’s a regular Filipino. The pudgy fellow who fell over my feet is the school-teacher, Mr. Crum. The other day when we played ball he fell down just at the end of a home run and rolled all the rest of the way.”

“T thought you worked here.”

“Oh, I do, but Sefiora sings a little song,

“Work all the time, never play, Makes Joaquin a sour fellow.”

“She must be very kind.”

“ She certainly is, but she’s funny too. Queer how she objects to ants. The other day there were a few

[ 10 | ants in the soup. She said it must all be thrown away. Oh yes, I threw it away. Ask Conching and Catalena and José.”

The conversation about the room had suddenly stopped and Joaquin ceased his chatty comment too. Mr. Crum played a brief introduction, and Miss Burton’s rich contralto suddenly filled the room with melody. It was a simple solo setting of the “ Light of the World,” but the throbbing sweetness of it held them all in the thrall of its enchantment. The refrain was repeated over and over again, softly and ever more softly,

Once I was blind, but now I can see, The light of the world is Jesus.

“What is it? What is she singing?” eagerly whispered Anita in Joaquin’s ear.

“T can’t understand it all, but it talks about being blind and then being able to see.”

“Oh, tell me about it, tell me about it,” said Anita. “It is the most beautiful song I have ever heard.”

As Miss Burton completed the last verse of the song, Joaquin had caught the words sufficiently to interpret them for Anita.

Once I was blind, but now I can see, The light of the world is Jesus.

“Ah,” sighed the child, “I don’t know what it means, but it sounds good. ‘ Once I was blind, now I can see.’ Blind, blind. They know nothing about it, but I know, I know. I wonder what that means, ‘The light of the world is Jesus.’ ”

Chapter II

JOSE AND THE IDOLS. CALIGULA CULTI- VATES ANITA’S ACQUAINTANCE

AT the open window of a rather well-built house on Calle Tréce de Mayo sat a Filipino man of some thirty years of age chewing the cud of sad refiection. His face and figure expressed the tenor of his reverie; his shoulders were bent and his brow was contracted, and every now and then he would rise and pace to the back of the room, returning to take his seat again at the window, muttering to himself the while, very strangely.

“The Santiago is worth fully fifty pesos. I paid sixty to the carpenter who made it. And is it not in perfect repair? True, the nose is a trifle broken, but we do not value our saints for their beauty alone.

“Then there is my Santa Maria. Last week Senior Perez offered me thirty pesos just for the mantilla of velvet and gold embroidery which I gave her when mother had cholera. |

* Then there is the beautiful! image of Jesus. It is surely worth three hundred pesos. Ay! One cannot buy such workmanship nowadays. The faces are wooden and without expression. They put heart into their work in the old days.

“Then the shrine; it has real glass and a border of gold. No one in San Jacinto has such a shrine.

Altogether they are worth five hundred pesos. Perhaps I could get more.

“ But the pastor says I must throw them away. Ay demi! I could do a great deal of good with five hundred pesos. It would enable me to offer a large subscription to the new chapel.

“They will worship images anyway, and if I do not sell Senor Perez my image of Jesus, he will send to Paris, and perhaps not get nearly so large an image and one which will be of very much less holiness.” |

At this point footsteps were heard on the stairway. The newcomer was an elderly man with lined and wrinkled face. His skin was of a sallow brown color and upon the right side of the nose there was a deep cavity resulting from an attack of smallpox suffered many years previously. His coarse hair, originally black, now presented a large admixture of white, looking like a shoe-brush with alternate white and black bristles.

The young man first introduced, whose name was José Buenaventura, was delighted to see his friend Perez, of whom he had just been thinking, and together they entered into a protracted course of question and counter-question, polite interest and deprecatory deference extending to the remotest ramification of each other’s family connection.

One matter which was touched upon in the conversation was of absorbing interest to José, albeit he did not allow himself to display too deep a concern. |

“Have you heard,” inquired Senor Perez, “ that there is a new teacher in the public school, sent from Manila to teach English to the children? Her name is Senorita Dolores Santecilla.

“T was at the wharf,” he continued, ‘‘ when the Manila boat came up the river yesterday, and saw her disembark. She has the face of an angel, hair as deep as the night, and eyes like shining planets to light it. I shall certainly hope to cultivate her better acquaintance.”

José was not especially pleased to hear such sentiments from the lips of his friend Perez, for he himself had encountered the young lady in question, shortly after her landing.

He had been visiting in the house of the American pastor, Mr. Wallace, when she arrived, bringing a letter of introduction. Mr. Wallace had presented José to the new maestra, and the luminous eyes and raven hair which had proved too much for the impressionable heart of the Spaniard, Perez, had produced also a profoundly disturbing effect on José’s peace of mind. Hence he responded shortly:

“Yes, I have seen her,’ and rose to accompany sehor Perez, who was now about to leave, to the door.

Having by this time, at least to his own satisfaction, conveyed the impression that his visit was prompted by no ulterior motive, Senhor Perez felt that it was time to broach the real object which had occasioned his call.

“By the way, my friend,” said he, ‘‘ how about your image of Jesus? Have you decided upon a price?”

[ 14 |

José had been awaiting this moment, being well versed in the native method of barter and trade.

“T really do not know that I care to part with the image,” he replied. ‘* You see, it has been in the family so long. We are much attached to it. Then too, we are under so many obligations to it for help in difficulties. We are in sore need of money, however, and our grief at parting with it might be partly compensated by the payment of three hundred and fifty pesos.”

“Ay! That is a great pity,” replied Senor Perez. ““T have but two hundred and fifty pesos. It is all I have been able to raise by borrowing from the members of my family. I am afraid we shall have to continue praying to the little shabby image we have had so long that it is almost worn out.”

Upon this Sefor Perez took his leave, followed by José’s “ Vaya con Dios,” fully satisfied that he could have the image for three hundred pesos whenever he cared to buy it, while José remained in the comfortable assurance that here was a customer for the image for which he had no further use.

José had but recently become convinced of the truth of the Protestant teaching and had learned to pray to the God who is worshiped in Spirit and in truth. It may seem singular to the reader that José should have contemplated the possibility of selling his images to others, but it must be borne in mind that he had been habituated through long custom to regard them with veneration, and knew that others still did so. Besides which, José was a man of experience and thrift and could not lightly make up his mind to sacrifice so much negotiable property. Hence the struggle within his soul.

As José lingered at the head of the stairway, responding to his visitor’s last Adios, a slight, childish figure fluttered around the post of the door below and up the steps toward him. There was nothing uncertain in the gait of the little one, and yet the deft fingering of the banisters and the evident feeling for familiar landmarks, as she made her way swiftly upwards, might have told one that she was blind. From the street behind her came the shrill cries of a number of street children who had been tormenting her: “ Abaw, pobre! Imol! Yawa! Go and tell your Protestante confessor that the goat bucked you.”

* Hallo, Anita,” called José from the upper story, as the child panted her way toward him. “ What’s the matter, little one? What have they been doing to my little blind pickaninny? ”

The little girl threw herself into his protecting arms and told him that the children had set the goat upon her and persecuted her for coming to his house ~ and making a friend of a Protestante.

“Why don’t they like you, José? They call you Protestante and devil, and say that the American pastor has taught you to poison wells, and yet you are so good to me and have fed me so many times when I have been hungry.”

“Tt is like this, Anita,” responded José, “a long time ago, when the good Jesus, our Saviour, was here in the world, he was the friend of all those who were sick and sad and miserable. He fed many and many a hungry one, and made the lame walk, and even gave sight to those who were like you and could not see, dear little Anita. And yet the proud people hated him and called him Yawa (devil) and flung stones at him. There were only a few people who loved him, and he told them that they would surely be persecuted for his sake, and since that time, my little one, those who truly love Jesus and try to serve him have always suffered.”

“How strange,” said the child, “ that they should call him such names and fling stones at him when he was so good and helped so many, even curing the blind. How I wish he could cure me!” she passionately added.

“Child, who knows but Jesus might make you better if we were to ask him; perhaps he has been waiting for you to tell him your need.”

* T’ll tell him now, José.”

No need for the little one to close her eyes. Clasped in José’s arms, she bowed her head and said:

* Jesus, I am blind, and sometimes my eyes hurt very much. Please make them all right again, so that I can see Sefior José and all the flowers. Amen.” And then, “Do you think he will do it, José? ””

“We must trust him, little one. He never refused any one in the old days.” And thus, seated beside the window Sefior José repeated to the child stories of the divine, unchanging love and of him who laid his healing hand upon so many in those old days.

suddenly Anita sat up straight in José’s lap and pd)

said: ‘‘ José, I believe you are telling me the very same story which Miss Burton sang about at Mr. Wallace’s house last night. Listen, José, it was a beautiful song. I'll sing it for you.”

For a child Anita’s voice was singularly strong and pure. She had memorized the refrain quite accurately, and the sweet words and music rang in the rafters of the quiet room:

Once I was blind, but now I can see, The light of the world is Jesus.

‘Who sings of Jesus? ” called an old cracked voice from beyond the partition. ‘“‘ Come, mother,” answered José, raising his voice, “‘ come and hear little Anita sing her new song.”

The creaking of an old rocker was followed by a shuffling step in the next room, and a bent and wrinkled dame made her appearance at the entrance to the room.

With the ready courtesy derived from his ancient Spanish forebears José rose at once, met her at the door and imprinted a kiss upon her hand. Little Anita who evidently entertained a deep affection for the old lady, followed his example and drew the wrinkled hand lovingly across her cheek.

“Ah, child,” said the old lady when she was seated, “I am becoming almost as blind as you. Sing me the song about Jesus the light of the world.”

Again the childish voice rendered the sweet refrain.

But apparently the mother’s attention had wandered.

[ 18 |

“José,” she said, when Anita was silent, “‘ I overheard your conversation with Senor Perez. Why did you not close the bargain with him? You know how much we need the money.”

** Mother,” he answered, “I have not yet been able to make up my mind to do it. The words on the wall of the chapel come to my mind constantly: ‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image. Thou shalt not bow down to them nor worship them.’ Shall I tempt Senor Perez to sin?”

“My son, it would not be you, but his own evil heart and darkened mind.”

“Yes, mother, I know the argument, and perhaps you are right, but I want to think about it further.”

Anita had meantime been listening carefully to the noises from the street. Turning now to José she said: “ The children have all gone, I think. Can I go now?”

“Yes, dear,” he replied, “‘ your persecutors have latte?

Rapidly and unerringly she made her way down the stairway and out into the street, singing softly as she went the happy refrain of Miss Burton’s song.

Passing the corner of the high school she brushed the coat of a passer-by in the other direction.

“What is that?” said a surprised voice; “ what are you singing? ”

It was Caligula Crum, principal of the high school, who was making his way home in the late afternoon.

Anita stopped and turned to him. ‘“ You were at Mr. Wallace’s house. You fell over Joaquin’s feet and played the organ.”

“Yes, so I did,” said Caligula. ‘“‘ Clumsy, wasn’t it? I’m always doing something like that.”

~“T like you though,” answered Anita. ‘“‘ You are kind and good-natured, and always laughing. I think you are fat too, aren’t you? You sound fat.”