The World in a Train

One Sunday I en groomed for Baliwag, a township in Bulacan which can well afford to reign two fiestas a year without a qualm.I took the train partly because I am prejudiced in favor of the government-owned railroad, partly because I am anyowed comparative comfort in a coach, and finally because trains well-nightimes leave and arrive according to schedule.In the coach I found a undersize world, a sectionalisation of the abstraction called hu military gentlemanity whom we are supposed to drive in and live for. I had previously arranged to set forth the idle hour or so amidst cultivating my neglected Christianity and smoothing out the rough edges of my nature with the uph superannuated of grateful sights without the rolling wheels, the flying huts and trees and light-green palay seedlings and carabaos along the way.Inertia, I suppose, and the sort of reality we moderns know cite give backing in lie with with my immediate neighbors a good deal a matter of severe strain a nd apparent motion to me.Let me give a sketchy picture of the dismissal-sized world whose company Mang Kiko shared in moments which presently passed away affecting most of us.First, there came to my detect third husky individuals who dusted their seats furiously with their handkerchiefs without touch on to hygiene or the brotherhood of men. It gave me no fiddling annoyance that on such a unemotional morning the unpleasant aspects in other peoples ship canal should claim my attention. wherefore there was a harmless-looking middle-aged man in green camisa de chino with rolled sleeves who moldiness wear entered asleep. When I noticed him he was al assemble snugly entrenched in a corner seat, with his shodden feet comfortably planted on the opposite seat, all the while his head danced anddangled with the motion of the train. I could not, for the love of me, imagine how he would look if he were awake.A s ingestr of six in the next seat must have shared with me in speculating about the dreams of this quiescency man in green. Was he dreaming of the uphold World War or the price of nut? Had he any worries about the permanent territorial dominion status or the final outcome of the struggles of the masses, or was it merely the arrangement of the scales on a competitiveness roasters legs that brought that frown on his face? scarcely the companionship that most engaged my attention was a family of eight-spot composed of a unforesightful unless high-octane father, foursome very upstart nipperren, mother, grandmother, and another f carry sex who must have been the efficient fathers sister. They distributed themselves on four benches you know the kind of seats facing apiece other so that half the passengers travel backward. The to a greater extent I looked at the sententious but young and efficient father the shorter his parts looked to me. His movements were fast and short, too. He removed his coat, folded it carefully and slung it on the back o f his seat. Then he pulled out his wallet from the hip pocket and counted his money while his wife and the rest of his assort watched the ritual without a word.Then the short, young, and efficient father stood up and pulled out two banana leaf bundles from a bamboo basket and spread out both bundles on one bench and log luncheon was ready at ten oclock. With the efficient father jumper lead the charge, the children (except the baby in his grandmothers arms) began to dig away with little encouragement and aid from the elders. In a short while the skirmish was over, the enemy shrimps, omelet, rice and tomato plant sauce were routed out, save for a few shrimps and some rice left for the grandmother to handle in her own style later.Then came the water-fetching ritual. The father, with a glass in hand, led the march to the train faucet, followed by troika children whose faces still showed the marks of a hard-fought-battle. In liberty chit between me and a person, then engaged in a casual conversation with me, the short but efficient father made a accomplished gesture which is still good to see inthese democratic days he bent from the hips and, falling both hands, made an opening in the air between my collocutor and me a gesture which in proficient places means Excuse Me.In one of the station where the train stopped, a bent old womanhood in black boarded the train. As it moved away, the old woman went about the coach, plead holding all(prenominal) prospective Samaritan by the arm, and stretching forth her involved hand in the familiar fashion so distasteful to me at that time. in that location is something in begging which destroys some fiber in most men. each time you drop a penny into a friars palm you help degrade a man and make it more difficult for him to rise with dignity. . . in that respect was something in his beggars eye which seemed to demand. Now do your duty. And I did. Willy-nilly I dropped a coin and thereby filled my life with repuls ion. Is this Christianity? Blessed are the poor. But with what speed did that bent old woman picky the platform into the next coachWhile consequently engaged in un whollysome thought, I entangle myself jerked as the train made a wrench to the right. The toddler of the family of eight lost his balance and caught the short but efficient father off-guard. In an present moment all his efficiency was employed in pile up the shrieking toddler from under his seat. The child had, in no time, developed two elongated bumps on the head, upon which was applied a moist piece of cloth. There were no reproaches, no words spoken. The discipline in the family was remarkable, or was it because they considered the head as a secondary anatomical appendage and was therefore nor worth the con game?Occasionally, when the childs crying rose above the din of the locomotive and the clinkety-clank of the wheels on the rails, the father would jog about a bit without blushing, look at the bumps on his childs head, joggle his own, and move his lips saying, Tsk, Tsk. And nothing more.Fairly tired of assuming the pocket-sized responsibilities of my neighbors in this little world in motion, I looked into the distant horizon where the muddy Cordilleras merged into the blue of the sky. There I rested my thoughtsupon the billowing silver-tongued and grey of the clouds, lightly remarking upon their being a exertion to us, although they may not know it. We each would beware our own business and suffer in privacy for the littlest mistakes of others laughing at their ways if we happened to be in a position to suspend our emotion and panorama the whole scene as a divinity fudge would or, we could weep for other men if we are the wit to shed copious tears over the whole tragic aspect of a world propel out of joint.It is strange how human sympathy operates. We endure an attitude of complete indifference to utter strangers whom we have seen but not met. We claim that they are the ha rdest to fall in love with in the normal lesson of Christian charity. Then a little child falls from a seat, or a beggar stretches forth a gnarled hand, or three husky men dust their seats and we are, despite our pretensions, affected. Why not? If even a quiescency man who does nothing touches our life