San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1925-08-27
Listen, World!
Her Power
By Elsie Robinson


Nita declares she isn't maternal.
"Of course / love Jerome and the
children she says smoothing her
boyish bob and lighting a cigarette,
"but / have no intention OF letting
them absorb my life. That sort OF
thing is bad for children and djsas-
trous for the mother. There is really
nothing beautiful in the old fashion
conception of mother love. 1t was
simply a reflection of woman's
economic slavery. She was nothing
but a bond servant There was no.
pride or dignity in her service. The
new idea is so much better for every.
one. Both of the children call me
Rita" and treat me as they would
a big sister. We are perfect COM
rades but have never fused over
them and i never shall"
/ was reading about one the other
day. 1t was in Harry Foserter's hook,
"A BEACHC0MBER IN THE
ORIENT" Two young men had
been tramping through the jungle, they
were Mt the breaking point from
fatigue and heat. Suddenly after
agonizing hours, they sighted en-
isolated matched hut with shady
porch.
"We staggered toward it." writes
the author, dropped upon its bamboo
floor and collapsed.
"A native woman found us there.
She was an aged bag with white hair
and wrinklcd face. She was small
and extremely thin; her bare legs be-
meath a short skirt were pipc-stcms;
her breasts hung naked like strips
of parchment the skin chung tightly
to her skull-like checks: her teeth,
protruding bc-ond her withered brown
lips. were black.
Ugly? Never had I seen such an
apparition. 1t was as though we had
come upon a messenger of death.
But she brought us coconuts.
Squatting upon her skinny heels, the
split them open with knife. She
raised our dizzy heads and poured
the cooling beverage down our parched
throats. And as she ministered to
our needs, there came into her slant
ing eyes q kindness that transformed
her into a thing of beauty. 1t was
the spirit of the eternal mother, which
recognized no distinction of creed or
color
And Henri and ! who dcspIsed
!, and scorned the yellow race. accepted
hSr offerings and blessed that little
mother. Then, having blessed lrr.
we slept upon her bomboo floor until
Ecnri's dogs announced the coming
of our caravan by licking us frantical-
ly in the face"
am thinking too Of another moth
er whom I knew. She was n great,
brawny Italian woman living in an
almost deserted mining camp on the
Mother Lode, in. the Sierra Nevada
mountains. She. had been born there
in the gold rush days and had never
gone out" When ] first met her
she had never seen a train and could
hardly read. She was bronzcd and
thewed like a giant from hard work
in the grudging soil of her garden
patch and long journeys by foot over
the rough hills. She could handle a
single jack as well as any man and
had often done so working beside her
husband gophcring for gold.
Garden work and mining, however
were the least of her achievements
For twenty years she had brought
irto life every mountain babe in that
district and had prepared for death
every worn human shell. Nothing
daunted her. She had walked ten
miles through the blazing sun to care
for lonely prospector down witt
smallpox, and stayed with hin
through appalling hours. until III
was able to fend for himself. Shc
had fought fire on the hills one day
and taught her small daughter Il
hemstitch on the next. Her ,hom'
was mere huddlc Of scrubbed
boards. yet to have eaten polcnta un
der the vine Of her yard was to hav
toasted with the epicureans.
That old jungle .woman-m!
viantcss of the Mother Lodge sup
pose they were. the products o
Economic dependence" And yet
wonder IL Rita will ever grip life al
they have done?, ,
Copyright. 1925. King Feature Syn, Inc