That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

I would not lisp a word about this if it were not for their passing as people of culture and refinement, and more, or worse, as Christians.

While away from India, I almost forgot that I was born under a curse, but I was so forcibly reminded of it on the steamer, returning, and on reaching Bombay, that my old feelings came back with renewed vigor, more so on account of my wife. I endeavor to act like a man. I will not say gentleman,—as that seems to be a special society made article of which I think God is ashamed and disowns—and with courtesy and kindness, but I am instantly and always in India, made to feel that I am an intruder, as I really am. But who was the author of my intrusion and the cause of my confusion? Therein is the sting and bitterness.

Instead of asking why I, or we, cannot let this subject drop, should not you, high-toned merchants, ladies, gentlemen, teachers, preachers, Christians, followers of Jesus, all of you, show that your practice has some relation to your creeds and professions? My experience had taught me what to expect, and I was prepared for anything that might happen, even the worst, and this nearly always did occur. A man may rough it and bear any amount of brunt for himself, but if he has a particle of soul of manhood in him, as a husband, he cannot bear the thought of a slight or a snub to his wife without taking offense, especially when he is the innocent cause of it.

We were a kingdom by ourselves, and supremely happy, yet I knew we must see people and I was in constant dread. The time soon came.

There were to be some sports, and all the station were expected to be present. Even society likes a crowd to look on, though the unregenerate residuum are kept outside the ropes. I thought this a good opportunity to make our first public appearance, so in our phaeton, drawn by a pair of the best steppers in the station, we were driven to the parade ground. I saw that our coming excited considerable curiosity, and to tell the truth, I was not the least displeased at this. A number of my acquaintances came up to greet me, for I had some friends, and don’t wish it to be understood that because there are lots of cads and snobs, that I think all the better class of people belong to these grades. I was proud of this recognition. I have always had pride as every one should have, and mine, myself being the best judge of it, was an honest kind, based on my good intentions and self respect as a man. I never forgot the saying of Mr. Percy, “Charles, be a man.” He was a man who hated any false way, a manly, noble man, pure and clean, true as steel, and one in whom Jesus, or any other good person, would have been delighted as a companion, a friend without guile. To be a man, to have subdued all the baseness that pertains to the flesh, and to have the honesty, purity, courage and nobility that belongs to real manhood, is what it seems to me to be Godlike. When one has reached that condition he has obtained what the religious call “salvation,” and is prepared for the life to come. There are so many pigmies—no that is not the word—as they are only pigmies in goodness, but giants in evil—coarse-minded, foul-worded, sordid and base in everything, deceivers and seducers, living in the slime and filth of vice. They are the eels and slugs of humanity, living in the mud, while the pure and good are like the delicate trout that can live only in the springs at the source of the streams, but here I am going astray again.

I said that I had pride. I was proud of my wife and the way she received my friends. There was not a woman present who was her superior in appearance, manners or dress, and I knew, with her spirit, she could hold her own with the best of them, and I was not mistaken. As others came up to our company a white-haired, white-faced, flashily dressed swell, with an air of self-importance, putting his one-eyed glass to his eye, bowed to my wife with the remark, “Pardon me, but doncher know, I think I must have met you before.” This was said with a bold, patronizing air, with a London cockney tone and accent. My wife not at all disconcerted, with a laugh in her voice, replied, “Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, I remember you well. It was years ago, in Roorki, at a croquet party, when you told me that if I preferred that Eurasian I could do so. And to show you that I made use of the liberty you gave me, allow me to introduce you—Mr. Smith, Mr. Japhet, my husband.”

I would rather have lost the value of my best horse than to have missed that scene. It was so sudden—a flash of Irish wit. Mr. Smith scarcely nodded, though I made as graceful a bow as I could. His white face turned scarlet, and he seemed to be stricken dumb with all eyes upon him. I think he would have blessed his stars if the stand had broken down at the risk of killing a score of people, if a woman had fainted or a horse had rushed among us, but nothing happened.

I think it was not her words alone, but the sight of me, “That Eurasian,” one who had claimed to be the son of Mr. Smith, the Commissioner. This seemed to give a paralysis to his mentality. For a few moments, an age it seemed, he stood gazing as if trying to get the remnants of himself together, he, slightly bowing, turned away with his blushes thick upon him. I saw at a glance of the company that my wife had made her first innings with great eclat. There is nothing like winning at the start. It gives courage to the winner and commands respect from others. I need not say that I felt intensely pleased with my wife, not only for the independent, capable spirit she showed, but for her brave recognition of me, her husband. How else could I feel? I must also say that I was greatly pleased with the utter discomfiture of my white-faced brother, Mr. Smith. Some very goody-good people might say that such a feeling was wicked, but I cannot help that. I confess to being a little wicked at times, but my wickedness is not of the low, debased kind. I despise stealing, and yet I would delight in tripping up a thief who was trying to escape. In the same spirit, I am delighted when impudence and arrogance takes a tumble. The theory is, that when you are smitten on one cheek you should turn the other also for a smite, but when is it ever put in practice? I doubt if it is practicable. I know that if I had acted in that way, I would not only have had both my cheeks knocked away, but would have lost my head as well. I have a theory of my own, which is this, especially in dealing with Christians. They always teach the turning the other cheek doctrine, though they never act upon it. Yet, as a man of honor, I am bound to take them at their word, that they always do as they wish to be done by. So, when any one of them hits me on the one cheek, I must logically believe that, as a gentleman and a Christian, he wishes me to do unto him as he did to me, and I give him as good in return, and, to show my generosity, go him a little better as interest on his investment. How am I to do differently?

If, when he states his doctrine, I should doubt his word, he might say I was no gentleman, so when I take him to mean just what he says, he certainly should not find fault with what he gets.

I know there is much of preaching that becomes extorted, tired out, completely exhausted before it reaches practice. It is strange what different notions there are. Once a prominent Christian defrauded me out of quite a sum of money that I had loaned to assist him. He was not poor, or I could have overlooked the debt. After waiting, running and dunning him until my patience was exhausted, my temper raised to welding heat, and I was on the verge of using, not the Queen’s English, but rather that of King George the Fourth, this very religious debtor of mine said, “Mr. Japhet, I am afraid you are not showing a Christian spirit.” The cheek of this pious cheat and thief, talking “Christian spirit” to me! I scarcely need say that I gave him a little of his personal biography that he probably did not relate to his family or friends. There is a great deal of what the English call “rot” in all this pious twaddle among some religious people that is repugnant to my taste, heathen though I be.