To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

I began reading a Spanish novel to make me sleepy, as I had frequently done before. I read until my eyes and arms grew tired, when the book dropped and I began to doze off. Just then I was aroused with a start by a sudden loud knocking, and upon raising up and looking over the foot of the bed saw the swarthy mestizo bell boy’s curly head projecting into the room. He was smiling like a satyr as he triumphantly announced that the mineral water had come. I did not return the smile, but again dug my way out under the edges of the mosquito bar, slipped on an extra garment, pulled away the trunk and admitted him. After depositing the box he lingered as if he expected to open it for me; but by using considerable patience and many forcible expressions I finally got him out, undressed again, crawled under the edge of the bar, tucked it in laboriously and lay down to dry, and finish my siesta in peace. But neither sleep nor soothing thoughts nor alleviating breezes would come. So I tried to read myself to sleep again, but the book would not functionate. I wanted to get up and stand behind the door ready to hit the bell boy’s head with a chair the next time he peeked in; but that would have made me drip. Besides it would have done him no good, for he would never have known what struck him. So I lay still....

After a long time the cathedral clock struck two and I felt thankful that the siesta was half over. After a still longer time I began to think that the middle-aged clock had run down. But it had not, for it finally struck half past. After another long interval of weary waiting, I began to grow sleepy again, when the clock struck three, and my siesta ended just when it was going to begin. A faint breeze had begun to stir, and I had forgiven the bell boy and could have taken a peaceful nap, but had to keep my appointment with Doctor Echeverría. Encouraged by the faint breeze, I hoped, by moving about slowly and systematizing the work, to be able to slip into my clothes without saturating them with perspiration.

I became thirsty and wanted the bell boy to bring a hammer and open the box of mineral water. But there was no way of calling him, not even a gas pipe to pound on. So I put on my overcoat, stole across the hall, through the empty room opposite and found him lounging on the veranda ready to halloa whenever the gong sounded. I gave him my message, returned to my room and waited, pitying the poor Spanish people for not knowing better than to select for the siesta the only two hours in the day during which it is impossible to sleep.

In about fifteen minutes the boy appeared with an old shoe and broke open the box with it. I felt toward him as the Spanish banqueters felt toward Columbus when he stood the egg on an end. I could have done it myself if I had known how it was going to be done. I now made the mistake of my trip to the tropics, for I gave the boy a fee, a harmless-looking Colombian twenty-cent piece. I had felt like murdering him for doing his duty an hour before, and wished to do the right thing now by myself. He promptly accepted the money but did not go away. He asked what else he could do for me. Could he not clean the room, fill the water pitcher, open another bottle, etc. He was as persistent as an insurance agent to whom you have rashly given your age. I said “no” after each question, and after the last one said as loudly and emphatically as possible that I did not want anything, not even him. He stood and looked blankly at me with that powerful silence which is the safe refuge of empty intellects. He was not an insurance agent. The insurance agent does not understand the value of silence. But to use strong terms in Spanish does not come natural to a student of the language, for the books and teachers only teach mild and proper words, and the Spaniards one meets and practices upon use only polite phrases. So I found it difficult to convince the fellow that I was furious. I could only be furiously polite. Yet to give a person a piece of your mind is, after all, to give away a portion of your own without adding anything to his, or getting anything in return. Hence I gave up trying to explain anything and shouted:

“No, no! Nada, nada! Vayase, vayase! Aburr-r!” (No, no! Nothing, nothing! Begone, begone! Adieu!)

Then a ray of intelligence illumined his countenance, and he said in a low, matter-of-fact tone of voice, “Me voy” (I go), and slowly walked out.

But this was only the beginning of the troubles brought upon me by the silverpiece. A goldpiece could not have done worse. Every time I went upstairs either the male, or else the female, chambermaid would follow me into my room to tidy it or ask to do some errand. Or, if I was not followed, he or she was sure to open the door about the time I was in demi toilette, for they always tried the door before knocking. In my disgust and haste to get them out I would mix up my Spanish metaphors and polite phrases and stutter helplessly, particularly if it was the female chambermaid with her mature although maidenly smile. As there was but one key, I began leaving it in the door during my absence so that they could bring as many pitcherfuls of water and clean up the room as often as it pleased them, and thus earn their twenty cents without my help. Upon entering I invariably locked the door and at the first knock called out, “No, no! Nada, nada! Vayase, vayase! Aburr-r!” imitating as closely as possible the manner of students giving their college yell. Finally they came to understand, and would start away as soon as I commenced. I had conquered them. But I had learned that the conqueror’s lot is not a happy one. Let others go through the strenuous process of conquering. Passive peace is good enough for me.

Finally I became so habituated to answering the knocking on the door with my imitation college yell that I gave it one day when Doctor Echeverría knocked, and thus frightened him away. He asked me afterward with whom I was having words—he had never heard one of our college yells. So I told him the whole story, and asked him the best course to pursue with mestizo boys and musty old maids. He told me to have faith, hope and charity, but most of all hope—to order them around a great deal in order to show that I expected service and was going to pay for it, but not to fee them until the day of my departure. We followed out this plan with our table waiter and obtained good service. As in doing everything else, a man who gives tips should learn how.

When at last my toilet was finished I went down to the office with a good color and a moist skin. Doctor Echeverría and Señor McGill had been awaiting me for some time, and thought that I must have slept long and well during my siesta.

Señor McGill was fond of horses, in accordance with the prevalent fashion among Panama bachelors who, in lieu of taking a wife, were in the habit of taking a horseback ride every afternoon. And the ladies smiled upon them, apparently in approval. After we had been to the cable office to send the doctor’s cablegram to his wife at San José, the señor took us to the highest-toned boarding stable in town, where were kept eight so-called fine horses. He admired them greatly and pointed out one or two good qualities in two or three of them. But I picked out three or four bad points in five or six of them, and told him that, as a bachelor and lover of horses, he should neither accept a horse nor a wife without asking some one with experience to point out their bad qualities, since good qualities could be overcome, but bad ones never. The fine (?) horses were imported, the best and largest one from Brazil; yet even that one, although of heavy Percheron shape, was rather small and scrubby, a work horse but not big enough to work. The tropics may be a good place for wild animals who take their exercise by night, and domestic animals who do not take any; but animals and men who habitually do active hard work, develop poorly and degenerate rapidly. If a man or an animal, however, does not and will not work, the tropics are the place for him. An amount of active work that is necessary to keep a man well and in working order in Chicago would soon kill a white man in Panama, while an amount of inactivity that would make a man sick in Chicago does him good there.