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"Aha!" young Edward Bonshaw cried; for no apparent reason, the scholastic then resorted to Latin. "Haud ullis labentia ventis!" he proclaimed to Pepe.
Brother Pepe's Latin was beginner-level. Pepe thought he'd heard the word for wind, or possibly the plural; he assumed that Edward Bonshaw was showing off his superior education, which included his mastery of Latin, and that he was probably not making a joke about the chicken feathers blowing in the wind. In fact, young Bonshaw was reciting his family crest--a Scottish thing. The Bonshaws had an identifying plaid--a tartan thing. The Latin words on this family crest were what Edward recited to himself when he felt nervous or insecure.
Haud ullis labentia ventis meant "Yielding under no winds."
My dear Lord, what have we here? Brother Pepe marveled; poor Pepe believed the content of the Latin was religious. Pepe had met those Jesuits who too fanatically patterned their behavior on the life of Saint Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order--the Society of Jesus. It was in Rome where Saint Ignatius had announced that he would sacrifice his life if he coul
d prevent the sins of a single prostitute on a single night. Brother Pepe had lived in Mexico City and Oaxaca all his life; Pepe knew just how crazy Saint Ignatius Loyola must have been to ever propose such a thing as sacrificing his life to prevent the sins of a single prostitute on a single night.
Even a pilgrimage can be a fool's errand when undertaken by a fool, Brother Pepe reminded himself as he stepped forward on the feather-strewn tarmac to greet the young American missionary.
"Edward--Edward Bonshaw," Pepe said to the scholastic.
"I liked the Eduardo. It's new--I love it!" Edward Bonshaw said, startling Brother Pepe with a fierce embrace. Pepe was awfully pleased to be hugged; he liked how expressive the eager American was. And Edward (or Eduardo) immediately launched into an explanation of his Latin proclamation. Pepe was surprised to learn that "Yielding under no winds" was a Scottish dictum, not a religious one--not unless it was of Protestant origin, Brother Pepe speculated.
The young midwesterner was definitely a positive person and an outgoing personality--a joyful presence, Brother Pepe decided. But what will the others think of him? Pepe was wondering to himself. In Pepe's opinion, the others were a joyless lot. He was thinking of Father Alfonso and Father Octavio, but also, perhaps especially, of Sister Gloria. Oh, how they will be unnerved by the hugs--not to mention the parrots-in-palm-trees theme of the hysterical Hawaiian shirt! Brother Pepe thought; he was happy about it.
Then Eduardo--as the Iowan preferred--wanted Pepe to see how his bags had been abused when he had passed through customs in Mexico City.
"Look what a mess they made of my things!" the excited American cried; he was opening his suitcases so that Pepe could see. It didn't matter to the passionate new teacher that the passersby at the Oaxaca airport could see his strewn belongings.
In Mexico City, the examining customs officer must have torn through the colorfully dressed missionary's bags with a vengeance--finding more of the same unsuitable and oversize clothes, Pepe observed.
"So understated--must be the new papal issue!" Brother Pepe had said to young Bonshaw, indicating (in a small, disheveled suitcase) more Hawaiian shirts.
"It's all the rage in Iowa City," Edward Bonshaw said; maybe this was a joke.
"A possible monkey wrench in the ointment for Father Alfonso," Pepe cautioned the scholastic. That didn't sound right; he'd meant a possible fly in the ointment, of course--or perhaps he should have said, "Those shirts will look like monkey business to Father Alfonso." Yet Edward Bonshaw had understood him.
"Father Alfonso is a little conservative, is he?" the young American asked.
"An underdescription," Brother Pepe said.
"An understatement," Edward Bonshaw corrected him.
"My English has rusted a small size," Pepe admitted.
"I'll spare you my Spanish, for the moment," Edward said.
Pepe was shown how the customs officer had found the first whip, then the second. "Instruments of torture?" the officer had asked young Bonshaw--first in Spanish, then in English.
"Instruments of devotion," Edward (or Eduardo) had answered. Brother Pepe was thinking, Oh, my merciful Lord--we have a poor soul who flagellates himself when what we wanted was an English teacher!
The second suitcase in upheaval was full of books. "More instruments of torture," the customs officer had continued, in Spanish and English.
"Of further devotion," Edward Bonshaw had corrected the officer. (At least the flagellant reads, Pepe was thinking.)
"The sisters at the orphanage--among them, a few of your fellow teachers--were quite taken with your photograph," Brother Pepe told the scholastic, who was struggling to repack his violated bags.
"Aha! But I've lost a lot of weight since then," the young missionary said.
"Apparently--you've not been ill, I hope," Pepe ventured.
"Denial, denial--denial is good," Edward Bonshaw explained. "I stopped smoking, I stopped drinking--I think the zero-alcohol factor has curtailed my appetite. I'm just not as hungry as I used to be," the zealot said.
"Aha!" Brother Pepe said. (Now he has me saying it! Pepe marveled to himself.) He'd never had any alcohol--not a drop. The "zero-alcohol factor" had not once curtailed Brother Pepe's appetite.
"Clothes, whips, reading material," the customs officer had summarized, in Spanish and English, to the young American.
