Calhoun School - Ink Pot Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 24 text:

ink pot chilled face. Simulfaneously, he herded fhe children back info fhe room like a flock of sheep, and resumed work wifh fhem. Things seemed unaccounfably differenf. On fhe following Sunday, when he wenf fo fhe church, he found fhe chapel fhree-quarfers empfy, and fhose seafed or kneeling, praying wifh fear and anxiefy in fheir hearfs. Then he wenf fo fhe village and began quesfioning some of fhe nafives who were dis- persing quickly, buf fhey could nof sfop fo be annoyed by one who wondered whaf was happening. Doors and windows were shuf mechanically, and Miguel was leff sfand- ing in fhe middle of fhe cobblesfone sfreef, his arms oufsfrefched as if asking a ques- fion. He purchased fhe cheap newspaper, buf, nafurall , fhere was nofhing in if buf fhe daily news. Then, sp ing a priesf in his dark habif, he ran fo him and quesfioned him impafienfly. The padlre informed him disconsolafely of fhe civil war going on, and how fown affer fown in fhe soufh had been seized by fhe Spanish rebels. He had feared fo break 'rhe pififul news 'ro his peasanf congregafion lesf fhey gef panic-sfricken and go mad, screaming and crying, buf, somehow, fhe news had leaked ouf fhaf fhe insurgenfs were now nearing Madrid and, perhaps, in going norfh would seize fhe finy, insignificanf village. Miguel walked home pensively wifh downcasf head. The following day, as he plodded nervously on fo his school-house, Miguel again heard fhe perpefual lamenf of swerving airplanes overhead. He grew so agifafed fhaf. flinging his arms info fhe air, he dropped down on his knees on fhe cool red earfh of fha rgad and prayed like a maniac for peace in his land. Then he confinued on fo fhe sc oo . lf was a meagre lof fhaf affended school fhaf day: fhere were no more fhan eighf. The disfressing groan of planes, whose wings fickled fhe clouds, grew more emphafict fhe deafening sound of bombs and grenades crumbled in fhe air: and brief gun-shofs re-echoed under fhe fhroafy roar of fhe cannon. The children grew panicky and in unison began fo fremble and cry. The volley of bombs confinued as Miguel, caufiously poking his perspiring head ouf of 'rhe window, looked down fhe road fo see innumer- able cozy Spanish dwellings sweaf, s lif and surge under fheir vermilion flames, acquiring a crisped look. Miguel pulled back, his head shuddering. Each fime a swirling bomb dropped, he held his breafh, while fhe children clusfered abouf him, crazed and dazzled. Finally, fhey were safely dispersed and he heaved a sigh of relief. Presenfly, Miguel became aware of a froop of rebel soldiers marching double file along fhe narrow pafh, wifh rifles hugging fheir shoulders. The column of men came closer and closer in fhe direcfion of fhe huf. As The paffering of fheir feef grew louder, Miguel's hearf beaf fasfer and fasfer. His mind was racked wildly as he fhoughf of his helpless mofher, perhaps busying herself wifh some housework or weeding fhe garden as she was always wonf fo do. Perhaps fhe insurgenfs would reach his home before he could! Whaf would fhey do fo a virfuous old woman? He sfarfed clown fhe dusfy road fo gel' home before fhe soldiers would arrive. He ran madly, nof sfopping fo cafch his breafh. Once he sfumbled and fell, his fhroaf dry, and, as he furned fo look back, he saw dazedly his humble school-house ravaged and collapsing, wifh fhe dismal soil ifs only supporf. There was a lump in his fhroafi his eyes grew moisf and his feel' ached. He reached home iusf in fime-iusf in fime fo grasp fhe welcoming door posfs fo save him from falling. Miguel halfed af fhe open door af fhe sighf of large, dusfy foofprinfs on fhe sfep and smoke in fhe room. His eyes were half closed and he was dizzy as he looked up and found his mofher poised proudly in her chair, her eyes upliffed, on her lips her usual warm smile, and her body sfill. He furned his back fo fhe scene and puf his head in his hands. He fhoughf of fhe sunny, golden days of peace, of work and of ioy, and now fhe skies were bleak and grey. Even fhe flowers seemed fo have losf fheir lusfre and dro ped fheir hued heads in melancholy. Quickly he drew ouf a large chesf, deffly laid fhe franquil woman info if and placed fwenfy

Page 23 text:

ink pot mlguel SHORT STORY PRIZE IN a crudely consfrucfed school-house, on fhe oufskirfs of Madrid, labored Miguel Picasso, a young feacher almosf fhirfy-fhree. His keen face and figure were har- monious in fheir Casfilian beaufy. His clipped Spanish vernacular rang wifh clarify and cognizance, and his eyes glisfened wifh animafion as he faughf. Miguel was radi- anfly happy in his feaching, and, in fhe lafe affernoons, as he walked home, wifh his books, fucked under his arm, he whisfled and sang fhe lilfing Spanish sea ballads over and over. His head held high, wafching fhe clouds af sunsef, he swung along like a young boy, kicking up fhe dirf from fhe dusfy road wifh rhyfhmic gaif. As he neared The finy coffage where he lived wifh his elderly mofher, his cheery nofes penefrafed fhe modesf inferior wifh ifs spicy aroma of Chili Con Carne, and fhe woman wifh fhe dusf-caked Casfilian face heard him. She would drop her splinfered wooden spoon, wipe her moisf hands on her skirfs, sfraighfen her greying hair and run eagerly fo fhe open door fo greef her Miguel and embrace him. Laughing, fhey would go in fogefher and Miguel would la his books carefully on fhe low fable under Sf. Maria's shrine in a niche in fhe sfuccoed wall. He would eaf his frugalmeal quickly. and refurn fo his reading while fhe lasf vesfiges of day lingered. ln fhe mornings, af seven, as fhe rousing church bells pealed, mosf of fhe youfhs were cheerfully seafed on fheir hard benches, affenfive fo Miguel. Af fimes, when he grew conscious of a venerafing mood, he resfrained his daily roufine and began preaching for a few momenfs fo fhe obsequious youfhs. The more Miguel faughf, fhe more he found himself wafching fhe lazy school boys in fhe prisfine sfages of fheir infelligence and seeing fhem grow more culfured, mindful of fheir environmenf, eru- dife and affenfive. Wifh his whole class presenf, he was confronfed by fhirfy-seven dirfy faces, of varying ages, from eighf fo sevenfeen. On cerfain mornings, when fhey awoke early enough, some wenf fo fhe neighboring fields fo gafher fhe warmly hued meadow flowers, and placed fhem abouf fhe modesfly equipped huf in clay vases fhaf hung on fhe walls beneafh fhe musfy porfraifs of famous Spanish heroes. Neverfheless, if was remarkable fhe way fhese young sfudenfs came fo school from amidsf fhe ignoranf farm life of fheir families, how fhey fugged fhemselves away from fhe whirlpool of illiferacy and swam carefully in safe, wise wafers. The pupils adored Miguel for his keenness and placidify, his undersfanding and infelligence, while Miguel's love for fhem was yef sfronger: fheir fies were eacefulness and fhe liffle school-house. Af fimes. affer fhe pupils had gone home, fafigued from school work, and Miguel realized how ve dearly he cherished fhe liffle building in which he worked and enjoyed fhe mosl' peaceful days. he would circle his fanned arms around fhe rough- casf posfs and hug fhe walls, kissing fhem and rubbing fhem wifh his cheeks unfil fhey burnf. Two monfhs lafer, on a warm, peaceful morning, when fhe sky was clear and doffed wifh whife clouds flouncing by, Miguel as he leaned leisurely on fhe doorposf of fhe school-house heard fhe melancholy drone of airplanes above him. Disfurbed and roused from his sfafe of drowsiness by fheir sound, he noficed fhaf fhe children had already drop ed fheir boards and rushed oufside fo wafch fhem as fhey passed, flash- ing sfreaks ofbsilver in fhe sun's fixed glare. lnsfanfly, a deep shadow crossed Miguel's ninefeen

Page 25 text:

ink pot beside her fhe 'rwo rare candelabra fhaf adorned Sf. Maria's shrine. He dug a deep pif in fhe neglecfed garden. concealed fhe chesf and. pulling a small cross from afop is fafher's grave, placed if above fhe freshly made one. His face was resolufe and unyielding. lmmediafely Miguel leff fhe house and sef ouf for Madrid and ifs fury in revenge for fhe merciless murder of his mofher. Many hours of dangerous walking fired Miguel, unfil he reached fhe cify. filled wifh fhe sounds of gun-spiffing and human shoufs. Everyone was armed. Miguel picked up a sfray gun from fhe sfreef. Women, holding, perhaps, a babe in one arm, used fhe ofher recklessly, slashing fhe air wifh kifchen knives. Churches were in flames, wafer mains had bursf, Red Cross ambulances raced. frolley and felephone lines lay splif on fhe sfreefs and buildings were collapsing. Miguel was so confused fhaf he forgof fo duck. Hundreds of bodies lay limp, soaked in mire, and among fhem a oung loyalisf Casfilian, his keen face smudged wifh dirf and blood, his shirf ripped, andyone hand clufching a shoulder where he had been shof. His ofher lay sfrefched ouf awkwardly on fhe pavemenf. The corners of his moufh were biffer, for all his praying for eonian peace. eifher af home under fhe shrine, on fhe dusfy road, or af 'rhe school-huf had been fufile. Never was he fo feach, sing or pray again, buf figurafively-he had reached his goal. DOROTH EA WEITZN ER. '39 our destiny-peace or war? PROSE PRIZE UNCE again fhe hideous horror, war, looms ifs monsfrous being over all mankind, fhreafening desfrucfion and uffer ruin fo our progressive civilizafion. We Americans, because of our unfamiliarify wifh mass demonsfrafions and huge mobilizafion advances, do nof fully realize fhe sfark fragedy fhaf confronfs us foday. We calmly assume an indifferenf affifude. disregarding fhe perilous foreign sifuafions, asserfing fhaf we shall remain forever independenf of foreign enfanglemenfs. Buf when fhe wholesale slaughfer begins on a grand scale, how long will we be able fo sfeer aloof and mainfain our desire for peace? We musf awaken and face fhe facf fhaf all fhe world is preparing for fhe grand rampage of which we undoubfedly will be a parf. We all know fhaf in Europe and Africa and in fhe Far Easf 'roday insane lusf for power has murdered fhousands rufh- lessly, sparing none. People everywhere are being regimenfed and prepared, led on, liferally, by greedy, domineering cannibalsl I do nof wish fo painf fhis picfure more somber fhan if is, buf we are fhe only nafion fhaf is nof war conscious. We advocafe peace af any cosf, and yef we do nof sfancl behind our ideal wifh fhe fervor and inspirafion if demands. We musf sfrive fo main- fain our desire, buf we musf also be fully prepared for fhaf which is fo come. Our des- finy abides wifh fhe fafes! Shall if be peace or will if be war? CAROL KADEN. '38 fwenfy-one