That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

Then I had two good trunks, not boxes, with spring locks, in which I could keep everything safely and neatly. These trunks were the admiration of my fellows. Later in life I have thought of the value of the impression those trunks made on the minds of my room-mates. The whole outfit of a man is a delineation of character. It has a subjective influence on the man himself and reveals to others the style of the owner. It seems nothing would humiliate me more than to go among strangers with a box or trunk, the hinges broken, the lock gone and the thing bound up with rope. I would certainly make an allowance, as I always have done, for poverty. I have never, since I was taken up by my best friend, been in want of money; yet I have seen so many to whom an ana was of more value than rupees to others, that I have not only a respect, but a profound sympathy for the poor. Still I cannot excuse negligence or laziness in not repairing a hinge or lock to a box, when it would require but little labor or expense.

Boys will be boys the world over, and I never yet saw a boy whose mouth was not open like a young bird’s, ready for something to eat. We were allowed only once a week to make purchases, and the mittai and boxwalas knew the day as well as we did, and never failed to come, and though it was not down in the rules that we should see them we always met them and on time. Many were the talks we had about what we should purchase next time. It soon became known that I was a liberal buyer, and I am proud to say that I was also a liberal giver. This made me many a friend and warded off many a bad cut that I might otherwise have received. There was nothing great in this, no real true feeling or friendship. It proves nothing but this, that boys as well as men know on which side their bread is buttered. How frequently we see men, brainless idiots, without a virtue or grace to recommend them, fawned upon by men of intelligence, of honor or without honor, for the sole and only reason that they have money. Let there be a carcass, though tainted, the vultures will surround it. My instinct was not so dull but that I saw through this personal attachment of some of the boys, not all of them, I am glad to state, for quite a number of them whose pockets were rather pinched, liked me not only for my sweets, but for my own sake. I know this, for years after, when I met them, they would say with a warm grasp of the hand and a kindliness of voice. “Japhet you were kind to me at school.” Such expressions are worth more than Government Stocks and far better than lying, empty inscriptions on a tombstone after one is dead.

But there were ripples now and then. Soon after the term opened the new boys began to make up the different teams, clubs and societies. There was one team rather high, inclusive of the larger boys of what they considered the “first class” and exclusive of any that did not quite come up to the views of their set. In short, they were aristocratic, and I could never understand on what this was based. In looks they were inferior to others; their manners were rude and coarse; in their studies they were below the average, and some of them did not pass their “exams;” yet they presumed to be the set of the whole school. It is not only in school that we see this assumption of superiority, for in life similar scenes are enacted.

I have often been amused by the strutting and parading of men who are in society. I knew one, the son of a London tailor in the civil service, who would have taken oath that he had never seen a goose; another, the son of an engine driver, who I know would have sworn that he really did not know what an engine was, but then he was so ignorant that he would not have known his own father, the engine driver, had he met him in “society.” And of the aristocracy itself, it might not be safe for many of them to look up their pedigrees, for fear of running against a pirate, a ruffian, or a scamp of some kind.

I saw something of this in the manners of the set, but paid little attention to it, as they were mostly very civil to me; probably for the reasons I have given. I was fully occupied, and this is the best preventive of devils being born in one’s self.

One day, as I was seated on a bench behind a bush reading a book, I overheard some one ask, “Why not take Japhet?” “What! that Eurasian?” said the other. This startled me. I had almost forgotten that other name of mine, but this remark revived it. I remained quiet, but as they passed on I saw that he who had repeated the name was one of the four who had been the cause of Johnny’s punishment. Had he been any other I would have felt the slur more than I did. I had no idea what the word meant, as I had concluded it was but a chance nickname that boys often give each other. But now being uttered by this boy, who could not have heard it before, I thought there must be something in me or about me that made the name applicable to me; that there must be a meaning to it, and resolved to say nothing until I saw Mr. Percy again. Yet I could not forget it.

When I went up to the room I surveyed myself in a small mirror I had. My hair was black, but other boys had hair as black as mine; some had red hair; others white; some yellow. I preferred the black, so the question about the hair was settled. Some boys had pale, sickly complexions, others reddish-yellow, and some had faces as brown as mine, so I could see nothing in my face to make me an oddity, such as to be called by a particular name. I stood erect, had well-fitting clothes, and saw nothing out of shape or style, so gave up trying to solve the mystery and went back to my book.

When I have thought of this I have smiled at the simplicity of my ignorance, and wondered why I did not inquire of some one what “Eurasian” meant. One reason was that I was too proud to confess my ignorance; but another and a greater one was a fear that there might be something in it to my detriment, and I would delay the knowledge of it as long as possible. It has been one of the weaknesses of my life to put off the disagreeable as long as possible, though sure it must inevitably come sooner or later.

I think it was the fear of hearing something unpleasant that kept me silent. I concealed my fear, however, and I doubt if any one ever suspected that I had thoughts of the opprobrium cast upon me by this name. I resolved to make up any defect or deformity by my standing, not only in my classes but in our social life, by my proficiency and courtesy, and I think in a great measure I succeeded, for except by a very few, who occasionally in a mocking way tried to give me a snub, the others treated me not only with respect, but considerable deference. One of those who would have crowded me out, if he could have got others to join him, was a great lubberly fellow, coarse in feature and dull in intellect. He was the son of a chaplain on the plains who was compelled to marry the daughter of his charwoman before he left college. This I heard years after, and it was well I did not know it then. It is a wise provision of Providence that we do not know everything about our fellow-mortals. The mother of this boy, as I saw her years after, was an adipose creature, a fine specimen of good living and poor thinking. Once, calling on her husband to make some inquiries, the only remark I heard her make was, “Henry, I think that rooster will make a fine curry one of these days,” referring to a pullet in front of the veranda.

The father was a “so so” sort of man, almost emaciated as if he gave his wife all the fat and nearly all the lean to eat. He had a recipe for a rum punch that he was offering to everybody, so that the profane of his flock called him the “Rum Punch Padri.” He was a good-natured, fidgety man, no sooner commencing anything than he was off to something else. He showed his nature in the performance of the Church service, for I never saw a padri get through with it quicker than he did. He never made a pause, and seemed never to take breath. From the time he commenced to the finish, it was a race between himself and the congregation; he to see how far ahead he could get, and they to keep in sight of him, for they would hardly begin “Good Lord” than he was far away into the middle of the next sentence. This reminds me of what a friend, the surgeon of a man-of-war, told me of their chaplain, one Sunday morning, betting a bottle of champagne that he could get through the service in fifteen minutes. He went in for it and came out with his watch in his hand, throwing off his gown, claimed his champagne, and got it. But the “Rum Punch Padri” was a truthful man, for he frankly said one day that so many services were a great bore. He was not to blame so much for his haste, for he had to make up for his wife’s slowness—and she was so slow! I often thought that if I had such a wife—but I will not say what, as it is not always best to say just what one thinks.