THE BOY WITH THE SMILE
(1898)
It is doubtful whether the common people of any country are so rarely
surprised, or taken unaware, as those of Mexico. At a moment's notice,
the commonest indian, who may have scarcely been outside of his own
town in all his life, may start to go across the country. Astonishing
incidents appear to create no more surprise in their minds than the
ordinary affairs of every day. In January, 1898, we revisited Cholula.
As we alighted from the street-car we noticed a boy, some fourteen years
old, whose most striking characteristic was his smile. He wished to
serve as guide, to show us the pyramid, the convents, the chapel of the
natives. On assuring him that we knew far more about the lions of his
town than he, he was in no wise abashed, but joined himself to us for
the remainder of the day. He accompanied us to see the blessing of the
animals in the great churchyard. He displayed an interesting knowledge
of English, answering "yes" quite perfectly to every sort of question,
and repeating the two words, which are well known the whole world over
as American-English, on all conceivable occasions. When at evening he
saw us safely on the street-car he left us with the same smile with
which he had received us. On our next visit to Cholula much the same
thing happened, but learning that we planned to stop at Cuauhtlantzinco
on our way to Puebla, he stole a ride upon the car, for the sake of
accompanying us. He was a rather handy boy, good-natured and anxious to
please, so that, later in our journey, we hired him for several days and
let him do what he could to help us.
Much later, when at home planning the details of our next extensive
journey, the thought struck us that it might be well to make the boy
with the smile a member of our party. It seemed as if, in going into
districts rarely visited by strangers, it would be well to have the
party as largely Mexican as possible. If, however, the boy were to
accompany us, it was necessary that he should first learn something of
our work and needs, and perhaps of English. Accordingly, I decided to go
to Cholula and bring the boy up to the States.
The resolution was so hastily taken that there was no time to send word
to the boy himself. Going straight to Cholula, I had some difficulty in
finding his abode. I knew that the boy had no father, that his widowed
mother had but one other child, a girl younger than the boy himself. I
had once seen the mother and the little sister; I also knew the street
on which they lived. Arriving at the street, however, no one apparently
had ever heard of the boy. One and another through the whole length of
the street was questioned, but none knew his name or recognized his
description. Excepting that I knew that trait of Mexican character which
assists acquaintances to seclusion, when they are sought by strangers, I
should have despaired. As it was, I kept on asking, and finally, from a
child who could hardly speak on account of youth, I discovered the house
which I sought. It was a little hut set back behind a yard of growing
corn. I had inquired at the houses on either side and at the house
across the road, as also of a man working in the corn in the yard
itself. But everyone had been profoundly ignorant of the boy's
existence. Walking up to the house, I found the door open, and the
mother and the little girl within. The moment the woman saw me, she
said, "_Que milagro, Señor_!" (What a miracle, sir!) and rising, gave me
a warm embrace. The little girl did the same. "And where is Manuel?" I
inquired. "Ah, sir, he has gone to Puebla on an errand for a gentleman;
but he will be back on the street-car at half-past ten. Pray wait, sir,
till he comes."
The house consisted, like most of its class, of a single room. The walls
were built of sun-dried bricks of adobe. Entrance was by a single door.
There were no windows. The floor was clay. The flat roof was scarcely
six feet above the floor. The furniture, though ample, was scanty. A
little earthen brazier for heating and cooking, a stone _metate_, a
rubbing-stone for grinding corn-meal, a table heaped with bundles and
boxes containing the family clothing, and a chair were all. There were
no beds, not even the mats which so frequently, among the poor of
Mexico, take their place. Several pictures of saints and of the virgin
were pinned against the wall, and there were signs of tapers which had
been burned before them. A bird or two in wooden cages, a rooster and a
little dog lived in the house with the family.
After answering various questions from the good woman and the little
girl, I finally stated that I proposed to take Manuel with me to my
country. He would stay with me there for six months, after which he
would come back and accompany me for three months longer on a journey
into southern Mexico. "If I have your consent," I said, "we leave
to-day." Immediately the woman answered, "Sir, it is for you to say."
Just then, however, the little girl, Dolores, began to cry. "Tut, tut,
Dolores," said I, "I am sure you want Manuel to go away and visit a
strange country and have a fine time; and think of the pictures that
he can bring you to show what he has seen. And more than that, it is
already half-past ten, and you shall go down tothe street-car to meet
him, and tell him that he must come straight home, for fear that he will
loiter on the way; but do not tell him I am here, nor say anything about
his going away, for we wish to surprise him." Drying her eyes, and
smiling almost as the boy himself, Dolores started to run to the
street-car line, and presently fetched Manuel home in triumph. As he
entered and saw me, he said, "_Que milagro, Señor_" and kissed my hand.
Having asked, as Mexican politeness requires, a variety of questions
about his welfare, I finally said, "Well, Manuel, how would you like to
go to Puebla with me for the day?" "Sir, it is for you to say." "Very
good," said I. "And if I should conclude that it was best to take you to
Mexico for a few days, what would you say to that?" "I am entirely in
your hands, sir," he replied, "to do your orders." "Well," said I,
"suppose I took you to my own country and kept you there for six
months?" and the boy replied, "Sir, you are my owner; it is for you
to command." "Very well," said I, "get ready, and we will go on the
street-car, at twelve o'clock, to Puebla."
[Illustration: THE CROSS; SAN NICOLAS PANOTLA]
[Illustration: THE BOY WITH THE SMILE]
Telling his mother that she should put together the few articles of
which there might be need, we started for the noonday car. As we left,
I suggested that she and the little girl come to the city, during the
afternoon or evening, to bid the boy good-bye, as we should leave on an
early train the following morning. They came at nightfall. She had his
small possessions tied up in a carrying cloth, and her mind was stored
with bits of excellent advice and admonition as to his conduct and
behaviour in his new surroundings. After Dolores and her brother had
given each other a, farewell embrace, the mother said a few words to the
boy, who knelt upon the floor of the room and crossed his hands upon
his breast. The mother then gave him her parting blessing, and sent him
forth into the outside world.