During the great heat of the day, after lunch, or “tiffin” as it is called, everyone sleeps a restful hour or two. Therefore visiting and dinners are carried on long into the night, when it is cooler.
To keep out the sun, instead of glass, opaque mussel shells are used in the many little frames of the windows. This makes a pearly, soft light, like moonshine in the house, even on the brightest, hottest day.
I noticed that women stood in the streams, and pounded clothes on smooth, round rocks.
“That’s our way of washing, out in nature’s laundry,” explained Filippa’s mother.
When Fil and Filippa were aroused each morning, I noticed that their mother did not touch or shake them, and I ventured to ask why she called so long and loud, even though she was standing over them. I remarked that in our land, a father would soon shake his lazy boy awake.
“You shock me,” replied Fil’s mother. “We in the Philippines believe that it is most unlucky to disturb the sleeping spirit of a person by a touch. When the spirit is ready to answer to the call, it is ready to awake and come back into this world.”
“Why, how superstitious!” I exclaimed, perhaps owing to my lack of real manners; for good manners should allow for differences on unimportant things.
“Not more superstitious than you are, when you refuse to pass under a ladder, or to begin a voyage on a Friday,” Fil’s mother answered. Then I realized that every person, every race, and every nation, and every color of mankind have their faults as well as their virtues, weak points as well as strong and good ones. There is something good in even the worst of us; and, perhaps, something bad in the best of us!
“I can testify that you Filipinos surpass my people in one thing,” I said.
“Thank you. What is it?” asked Fil’s mother and father together.