John Sayles - A Moment in the Sun

“Tis gggreat news from the islands,” says Gilhooley. “Victhry has bin wan at a pittance — the haughty Dago vanquished with barely a show.”

“Manila is ours, then?” queries Officer O’Malley, jiggling his keys.

“Fer the time bein it is, it is. The Stars and Stripes gallantly flappin oer the pallum trays, the downbaten Spaniard shipped home with his tail betwixt his legs. Whither we kape the place or not, that’s another tale altogither.”

“The Fillypeens—”

“Thousands of islands it is, from the size of the Auld Country down to some not bigger than Battry Park, each with its complymint of grateful salvages.”

“We’ve enough salvages already,” frowns the roundsman. “Or have ye nivver strolled through the Tinderloin on a Saturdy night?”

“It’s mar kets we want, Pat, or so says the powr behind the trone.”

“Mark Hanna himself, is it?”

“An appytite with legs and a mighty repository of balloon juice, but a jaynyus win it comes to the spondoolacs. Whin the President does a jig, it’s Hanna that’s pullin the sthrings.”

“Markets in Manila,” muses the officer. “If it’s exotic goods I’m afther I could easily stroll over to Chineytown—”

“We’re not to buy from thim ,” explains the horse-follower. “They’re to buy from us . As well as the Chinamen and the Japanese and the whole gang of yella monkeys as they’ve got over there. Providin a positive outflow of resarces and a ginerous influx of the auld roly-poly.”

“And can they afford it at all?”

“We’re only discussing the chayper sart of goods, O’Malley, nothin you or I might purchase. Have ye seen the suit that’s hangin in Hymie Ziff’s store winda?”

“What would a nekkid salvage be wantin with a chape Jew suit?”

“Ye’d be surprised. I’ve bin readin up on it — did ye know that on sortin iv the islands the majoority is Cathlicts?”

“They’re all Cathlicts on Skelly Michael back home,” says O’Malley, “and a more salvage, poorly dressed lot ye’ve nivver seen.”

“The idee is,” Gilhooley continues, “to bring thim the fruits iv dimocracy and cappytilism first, which projuices a desire for the finer things in life, like shoes or newspapers or whiskey.”

The policeman appears distraught. “Is there no whiskey there at all?”

“None that I’ve heard of.”

“Me admiration for our byes in uniform incrases.”

“Think iv all thim barefoot Fillypeeny byes who could be out rushin the cans fer the workingmen or shinin the shoes of thim what has shoes—”

“Unimplymint is a turrible thing—”

“—but instead have naught to do but hang about and kick the cocoanut.”

“A turrible thing.”

“Don’t I know it meself? Think if these new automobiles was within the means iv any but the Asthors and the Vanderbilks — no more horses. And without horses what’s there left staming on the streets fer yers truly to shivvel off into a wagon?”

“So it’s democracy, is it? Will they be sindin Croker over?”

“Not the Tammany brand, that’ll come later. No, I belave it’s Jiffer son ian dimocracy will be the first dose.”

“The lucky divvils.”

“It’s all part iv a natural progrission — first you had the concept of immynint domain, then it was mannyfist distiny, and now we’ve got binivilint assimilation, which leads, inivitably, to cappytalism. Plant the desire to improve yer lot and thin install the twelve-hour day.”

“How long is their days at the present?”

“Sunrise to sunset, and not a moment of it spent in gainful implymint. Mostly they run errands for the friars.”

The policeman winces in sympathy. “Franciscans, is it? Ah, the poor, sufferin brown bastards.”

“Aye, Franciscans, and iv the acquisitive variety.”

“Now, Franciscans aren’t the worst of the orders. They’ll go easy with the rod, is my experience. But yer Christian Brothers—”

“Sakes, set them byes on ’im and there wouldn’t be a Fillypeeny left standin.”

The copper ponders for a moment. “So — we kape the flag flutterin above, injuice thim to buy our chape suits, and in the course of time innerjuice the finer concepts iv patronage and quid pro quo.”

“Tis the very thing Senator Hanna advises.”

“A sound course of action.”

“Ah, but there’s a sorpint in the Garden.”

“Wherivver ye’ve got pallum trays there’s sure to be sorpints crawlin about.”

“This wan’s name is Aggynaldo.”

“An Eyetalian in the Fillypeens! And is he an arnychist as well?”

“He’s only a Fillypeeny insurrictionalist, is all. Wan iv their ginrals that was on our side agin the Spaniard, and now perhaps he isn’t innymore.”

“That quick, is it?”

“Imagine, if ye will, what the poor monkeys are thinkin — here they’ve bin fightin agin the Spaniard since shortly after the Flood, and in stames Admiral Dooley to knock the tar out iv the Dago’s flotilla—”

“Our byes to the rescue, jist like at the San Wan Hill—”

“Ah, but there the Cubing insurrictos had their own flag at the ready—”

“Many’s the time I’ve seen it, hung outside the hoonta office on New Street.”

“And the Fillypeenys might’ve had some sort of a banner waiting, fer all I know, but the race goes to the swift, or in this case to thim what’s got the Great White Flate floatin in the harbor set to bombard Manila with dinnymite. So there’s a bit iv a dustup around the fort — Murphy, the policy banker from Twelfth Street, says it was in the bag before a shot was fired, and he ought to know — and poor Aggynaldo and his stalwarth companions look up to see the Star-Spangled Banner itself wavin high over the walls.”

“Ye say the battle was not on the up-and-up?”

“D’ye know Finnegan that works on the gas lines?”

“He’s felt the hard ind iv me stick more than wonst.”

“And d’ye remimber last August when his missus set out afther him with a lead sash-weight in her hand—”

“And Finnegan run into the station hollerin bloody murther—”

“And him no great friend of the byes in blue—”

“He’d curse us to Hell as soon as look at us.”

“Aye, but at the moment he was in mortal peril from a far more turrible inimy. Can ye imagine fallin into the hands iv Big Annie Finnegan in all her fury?”

“A fate worst thin Death itself.”

“Well, thim Spanish Dons trapped in the fort in Manila was thinkin the same thoughts as Finnegan. Better their kaysters thrown on a quick boat back to auld Madrid than their noggins on a pike in Manila.”

“Which manes this Aggynaldo is in Big Annie’s boots.”

“He takes a smaller size,” corrects Gilhooley, “but the principle is the same. He goes to Admiral Dooley, does Aggy, and he says — in Spanish now, fer that’s what the eddycated wans spake, none of yer googoo lingo fer thim — he says, ‘Thanks fer yer help in the matter,’ he says, ‘and whin exactly will ye be pullin anchor?’ And the Admiral strokes those great white chop-warmers he wears and he says, ‘Ye’ll be informed whin inny consinsus has bin arrived at.’ Bein a polite way iv tellin the little monkey to bugger off. So it’s our byes with their kit and rifle versus the salvages with their bolo knives, waitin fer the other brogan to fall.”

“And will they lift a man’s tonsure, the Fillypeenys?”

“Worst than that — they’ve got torters and depprydations to make a red Injin blush fer shame.”

“There’s bows and arras involved?”