OUR ISLANDS AND THEIR PEOPLE.
it stolidly now. Her nose is flat and thick-skinned. The cavities are haplessly visible, and a play of the nostrils is wholly impossible. Hence the fine charm of sensitiveness is denied her. The nose of the Filipino woman is for breathing purposes only, and it is the most ugly of her uncomely features. Her brow is insignificant and hair grows low upon it. Her lips and teeth are of a hue best expressed by bronze-vermilion. Such is the combined stain of tobacco and the betel nut. Her hair is dead black. The lackluster effect is probably caused by continued exposure to the sun. Frequently it falls down to her waist and is never braided. When freshly combed it presents a drippy appearance, because it is soaked to make it shine.
a This is not a dream-face I have been picturing. I realize this harshly, but it'is the face of the Filipino woman without the pock-marks. There are a good many things about her. In some respects she is uncannily good, to an extent which white men cannot understand in a dark woman. Her virtues will not be forgotten, but as a race she is the most thoroughly and largely pockmarked creature imaginable.
country if streams such as these were the only available ones. A rushing memory always smites me when I approach one of these overworked drains. Frequently an odor is vibrant with memory; and always there comes back to me a torrent of imperishable recollections of one hot day I entered the walled city of Shanghai, and was seized with an hysterical frenzy to get out once more.
a The Filipino woman splashes about in the water of these streams. She collects large, smooth stones upon the bank, and pounds the articles to be laundered upon them. And, beholda most marvelous of miraclesa out of the corruptible comes clean clothes. At least they look white. She washes her own garments first, and the sun has dried them by the time she has pounded the spots off the articles of the other members of the family. Meanwhile her bare baby, who has not worried whatever about clean clothes or otherwise, rolls about on the wet, warm stones and waits for his bath. After he has been dipped and rubbed excessively, he is placed back upon the stones, and the sun wipes him dry. Then the mother dons her clean linen and combs her hair while it is still shiny with ditch water.
a There are two things you will never see among these women a a pretty face or a soiled garment. Mostly in the daytime she is either washing her clothing, her babies or herself. Even to a man, the structure of her apparel is simple. The whole is built about a cord which is fastened about her waist. Certain draperies are partly tucked under this cord and partly held in place by an unoccupied hand. A small garment, the shape of a pillowcase, with the bottom end free and loosened places in the sides for arms, is thrust over the head, leaving the arms and shoulders bare. The woman is then attired. Often when she is working at the river banks, or busy in her shack, the upper and lower garments are laid aside, but the cord about her waist is never unfastened.
a She has a mania for washing, and so long as water is handy for her laving purposes, she doesna t seem to mind its nature nor the wherefore of its presence. There are numerous little streams about Manila, especially in the rainy season. They are backwaters from the bay, and in a manner painfully deliberate they drain the city. There would be no suicides by drowning in the white mana s
a The martial law in Manila does not approve of this sort of thing, and the soldiers who enforce the law are called upon to prevent these little affairs of the mothers and babies. And since neither the language nor the habits of the soldiers and the Filipino women are in sympathy with each other, explanations are difficult. The womana s mother, and her mothera s mother washed their garments and their babies in these places. Nobody bothered them. She cannot understand why these white men with guns intrude upon her ancient customs. She doesna t like the white man anyway. Her eyes tell him so, and she wishes he were back in his own land.
a This strange unsmiling creature loves the tiny brown atom which is with her on the river bank. She has none of the coy ways of other women. She will not smile at you and put mischief and mockery in her eyes. If she [possesses any of the fine mysteries which make the life of a man sweet and sad, the white man does not see them. To him she is foreign, implacablea sexless. But because she has a baby-talk for her little ones, and fills her heart with them, the white man remembers that she is a woman;
GROUPS OF FIUPINOS IN THE MARKET AT CAVITE.