The Bridgeport times and evening farmer. (Bridgeport, Conn.) 1918-1924, 1918-01-12
LAUGHING SLAVE
CONQUEROR OF
MASTER PIzARRO

(By Willard Price, in World Out
look for January.
My ancestors were the proud Incas
Pizarro came with chests hungry
for gold and swords thirsty for blood
The descendants of the Incas are
now slaves. I am a slave. And yet I
laugh laugh at my conquerors. Not
openly. Not when they are looking.
But when their backs are turned I
laugh.
That terraced farm on the shore of
Titicaca was mine. 1 owned it. The
white thieves came with smiles and
smooth words and documents, which
they said promised me much and on
which 1 should make my mark. sign
ed.
The lend is now theirs and I am
theirs. The very sweat on my brow
belongs to my masters.
My brother went to La Paz for the
festival While friends took him to
drink. When he was maudlin they
gave him a paper to sign.
1t is ten years now that he has been
burrowing holes like a rat through
the mountain, hunting silver for his
white friends. His eyes water in the
daylight. If he tries to escape he
will escape only into prison.
The food I raised went to my mas
ters My children starved. I sold two
boys and girl to white men of Are
quipa and the money I used to feed
the others. When it was spent they,
too, were sold-to save their lives.
There is no music of high voices now
and no small hands tug at my poncho.
L plant my corn in a universe that
seems as if it would burst with silence.
But when I see my masters my
heart lifts-and I laugh.
For, after all, they are the slaves
and I the master!
I toll for them. Their hands are
soft. They have forgotten how to
work. The fire of enterprise has died
out in their souls, smothered with
comfort. Their bodies are flabby with
idleness Their brains are soaked with
! WINE So long have they looked to
others to do that they have lost the
skill of doing.
They cannot manufacture the wool
we shear for them. They send it to
the mills of England and it returns as
clothing. They send out the rubber
we tap, the cacao we gather-it goes
afar to countries where great minds
have not belittled themselves by en-
Shaving the little minds, and returns
to this land as Europe-made tinWar2
and copperware, Carnegie steel rails
Wa.lkover shoes, rubber goods, made
il, Massachusetts,, bars of chocolate
from Brooklyn.
My masters stroll about the plaza
and keep their finger-nails polished
They have enslaved me in toll and
I have ensIaved them in idleness and
Incompetence.
A life of ease has weakened Their
bodies, dulled their minds. A life OF
tyranny has darkened their souls. Dis
sipation and corruption are the bitter
fruit of their triumph.
They are my slaves. am their con-
queror.
! Before them I cringe and bow
When they turn away laugh. In the
cathedral I search out the GLASGOW
cred bones of Pizarro. If no one is
near I laugh a1oud-and my laugh is
echoed from image to image until all
the marble saints roar at the jest and
the great hollow church, as hollow as
the soul of a cruel man, thunders in
derision Pizarro, who thought he
was a conqueror! PiZarro, who led his
followers into spiritual bondage!
Yet as laugh M heart b1eeds-for
my home, my land my children. For
my country. Yes, even for my en-
shaved conquerors. And L look. up to
the sunlight that streams through the
high windows and pray that there
may some day come a deliverer with
freedom for allU