CHAPTER X
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 to the 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."