SOME BENEVOLENT ASSIMILATION
That by teaching the Filipinos the American branch of the English language it was expected to transfuse into them the customs, ideas, and ideals of the speakers of that tongue, the Maestro vaguely knew. But that this method would meet with the vigorous and somewhat eccentric success that it did in Señorita Constancia de la Rama, the Visayan young lady whom he had trained to take charge of his girls' school, he had not dreamed. So, taken unaware by the news, he flopped down on a chair with a low whistle that finished off into something like a groan as the situation presented itself to him in its full beauty. And then, taken by that perverse desire which, in time of catastrophe, impels us to rehearse all of the elements that go to make our woe particularly unbearable, he began to question the urchin who had brought the note from Mauro Ledesma, one of the native assistant teachers of the boys' school.
"Señor Ledesma gave you that note, Isidro?"
"Yes, Señor Pablo, the little Filipino maestro gave it to me," answered Isidro, careful in his discrimination of masters.
"Oh, yes, Señor Pablo, he was in the house—he was altogether inside of the house!"
The Maestro eyed the boy with sudden suspicion. He thought that he had detected a joyous note in the statement of the native teacher's whereabouts. But Isidro's return glance was liquid with innocence.
"And he called you?" went on the Maestro.
"Oh, no, Señor Pablo, he did not call me! Ambrosio, his muchacho, called me! Señor Ledesma, he stayed inside!"
Again the Maestro started, for Isidro's sentence formation seemed suspiciously appreciative. But the little face he searched was wooden.
"He called you from the door?"
"From the window, Señor Pablo. The door, it was locked. He called this way—" (here Isidro described with his right arm a furious moulinet). "He said, 'sh-sh-sh-sh-sh,' and then he moved his arm this way—" (again the moulinet), "and then he stopped his arm and moved his finger this way—" (here Isidro held up his hand before his face and moved the index finger several times toward his nose in a gesture full of mysterious significance).
"And then you went in?"
"Yes, Señor Pablo. They opened the door, oh, just a little, like that—" (Isidro placed his hands palm to palm with an interstice between them just wide enough to allow the wiggling through of a very lean serpent), "and I went in and they shut the door again and put the bed up against it."
"Well, well; and Maestro Ledesma, he was inside?"
"Oh, yes, Señor Pablo, he was inside. He was writing this letter. And I think Señor Ledesma is very sick, Señor Pablo, because when he was writing he was all the time saying, 'Madre de Dios' and 'Jesus-Maria-Joseph!' and making noises like this."
And Isidro convulsed himself in an effort that resulted in a vague imitation of the wail of a carabao calf.
"And he gave you the letter when he had finished?"
"Yes, Señor Pablo, that is the letter," said Isidro, pointing to the note on the table which had been the Maestro's before-breakfast thunderbolt. "He said, 'run and give this letter to Maestro Pablo'; and so I went, but I did not go out by the door."
"You didn't?"
"No, Señor Pablo. Maestro Ledesma, he said I must not go out by the door. So they tied a rope around me, and I went out by the window, in back, and I ran here, and I did not stop to play cibay on the way, Señor Pablo."
But Isidro's virtue was destined to go unrewarded. The Maestro was deep in a re-reading of the disastrous missive:
Much Señor Mine and Revered Teacher and Adviser in my Times of Calamity
I beseech you, my venerated Teacher and in many ways Ancestor to come to my succor in this my most deplorable state, and pull away from me the blackness of Despair that is at the all-around of me.
I am a prisoner in my own house. In fear and trembling I dare not sleep, I dare not eat, and I cannot leave my habitation to go to the school and perform my sacred duties of teaching the ignorant and unhappy youth of my sore-tried country the blessings and deliverance of the great country under the rustling shadows of the stars and spangles which you have come so many miles across the wetness of the sea to pull the black veil of ignorance from our eyes.
Your Maestra, the Señorita Constancia de la Rama y Lacson, is camped in my sugar fields, in front of my house, and she will not decamp.
With loud threats of vengeance and audacious accusation she declares that she will marry me.
But I do not want to marry her, most excellent sir, I do not want to marry your Maestra, the Señorita Constancia de la Rama y Lacson!
O sir, my revered Master, I am all alone, my ancestral father and mother being for a few weeks at our other hacienda, and I implore you to save me from this my desperate state. Come to me, oh please, and drive the she-wolf from my door, and you shall ever receive a gentle rain of unspeakable gratitude from
The Sore Heart of
Your humble Pupil
And Beseecher
Mauro Ledesma y Goles.P.S. Viva America in Philippines! Viva Philippines in America! M. L. y G.
"Go to school, Isidro," said the Maestro, when he was through, in a voice so weak that the boy looked up quickly, wondering whether everyone was ill that fine, fragrant morning. "Tell Señor Abada to take charge till I come."
The Maestro felt the necessity of some deep, careful thinking. For certainly, of all the difficulties which, in his two years' career, he had alertly fought and conquered, none had ever confronted him of nature so delicate.