OUTDOOR SOUTHWEST - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

IPOMOEA TREES AND WILD CACTUS GARDEN, MORELOS
in the sparse furnishings of his office,
he produced a broken cardboard box
containing a few scattered timbres
and began sorting out the ten 30centavo
stamps requested by Mom.
"Uno," he counted, tearing off a
single stamp and handing it to Mom.
"Dos," tearing off another and tendering
it. "Tres . . ." and so on, for
the full ten stamps.
After the postmaster had completed
this onerous piece of business
it occurred to Mom that it might be
a long while before we found another
postoffice, and that a stamp in hand
was worth several somewhere else.
She accordingly produced three more
pesos and asked for another ten
stamps. Instead of swatting her, or
tossing her out of the office as he
probably felt like doing, El Casco's
postmaster heaved a deep sigh, looked
only slightly annoyed, and began
counting and tearing off, individually,
ten more stamps.
# # #
"BANK NIGHT" IN THE BACK-
COUNTRY: Mom is never happier
than when she is making others
happy, and that evening at Tempoal
she was in her glory—a bit of ribbon
and some lace for this little girl who
looked as if she might like to sew;
some marbles and a couple of plastic
soldiers for this boy; some bright construction
paper and a crayon for this
artistic-looking youngster — and for
every child, without fail, two or three
of the pretty Christmas cards we had
saved over the seasons.
Although every child in the group
was quivering with anticipation to
learn what he or she should receive,
I have never known a more orderly
12 / Desert Magazine / October, 1961
crowd. There was no pushing or
jostling, no loud talk, no horse-play.
On two occasions older boys motioned
to Mom to give something to the
tinier ones instead of to themselves,
and once a boy of nine or ten years
quietly called her attention to a little
fellow who had arrived late and was
in danger of being overlooked. Nearly
every child, as he received his gifts,
thanked her with a softly spoken,
"Gracias, sennra!"
During much of the program, an
elderly man and woman had been
looking on from the sidelines. As the
last child took his departure and we
got in the truck to leave, the old man
stepped forward, removed his hat and
clasped it over his breast, and in-
clined his head in a little bow. His
face was handsomely wrinkled, a very
kind face, and his voice was as soft
as the south wind whispering over
meadow grass. He said this was a fine
thing Mom had done, that she had
made all the little ones happy, and
when the little ones were happy,
everyone in the village was happy.
# # •
AT THE DURANGO MARKET:
In the course of our browsing through
the market we spotted some good
looking green peas and thought it
would be interesting to have a few
for supper. Without inquiring the
price, Mom asked for two pesos'
worth. With the pea-vendor piling
pods on the scoop of his scales, one
double handful after another, the
pile mounted higher and higher.
"Good grief!" exclaimed Mom, at
last. "How many is he going to give
us? How can we ever eat all those
peas'."
Perhaps the produce man understood
a bit of English; or maybe he
could interpret the tone of her voice.
In either case he glanced up coyly
and stopped putting peas on the scale.
Even at that, he had filled our shopping
bag half full of them for only
16 cents.
* * »
A CHICKEN FOR SALE: The small
amount of stock offered by some of
the Indian women at the market at
San Cristobal las Casas was truly
pitiful. One young woman, sitting on
the ground outside the market building
and shivering in the chill morning
air, was cradling on her lap a
single red hen. As she awaited a pur-
CAMP AT 10,500 FEET ALTITUDE, IN THE PINES NEAR PUEBLA