Americans -- Philippines -- Fiction; Short stories
But she soon found Abada invaluable. He had evidently been subjected to
a rigid training; naturally he took upon himself all the smaller
troublesome details of her work. Also he knew his own people thoroughly
and was precious in lifting for her the uniform veil of stolidity. And
he had ingenuity. He propounded a plan by which the children came washed
to school; he interested the parents in the clothing of their offspring,
so that now the room rustled with starch. The rivalry of the town
factions he diverted adroitly into a race for the favour of the Maestra.
After a while, though, she noticed that Abada's brilliant suggestions
came always on Monday mornings; also that on Sundays the little mild
man, a stick in hand, wended his way across the plaza and then down the
road leading to Cantalacan. This vexed her, and the next propositions of
her assistant were ignominiously rejected. That morning she mapped out
her own course. She planted vines that with tropical vigour forthwith
began to climb the bare walls. At the windows she hung wonderful
orchids. She draped two American flags in flaming panoply behind her
desk, improvised of dry goods boxes. The supplies had come from Bacolod
(very strangely, in ox-carts belonging to the municipality of
Cantalacan). The maps upon the walls, the blackboards and charts upon
their tripods, the shelves of books gave to the place an air of study
and quiet. Thanks to Abada's constant visits to parents, his free use
(she did not know that) of Don Francisco's name, the attendance was
rising by leaps and bounds; the schoolhouse was full of gentle brown
goblins. Her soul was sweet with the feeling of being loved.
And yet she could not shake the old tyranny. An emptiness was within
her; an emptiness it was, and yet it weighed like lead. Above, about
her, the alien, incomprehensible Land flamed, fierce, inimical. She
dreamed of grassy meadows beneath apple trees; through the flowering
branches voices passed, voices of her own kin and race, sympathetic and
intimate.
One day she had an idea that filled her with wild joy. She would give a
dinner and invite Mr. Wilson and Mr. Tillman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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