The Reign of Greed - 19

hypocritically, in a loud voice, at the same time winking to the
others. "St. Pascual Bailon--"
At that moment there appeared the face of Placido Penitente, who was
accompanied by the pyrotechnician that we saw receiving orders from
Simoun. The newcomers were surrounded and importuned for news.
"I haven't been able to talk with the prisoners," explained
Placido. "There are some thirty of them."
"Be on your guard," cautioned the pyrotechnician, exchanging a
knowing look with Placido. "They say that to-night there's going to
be a massacre."
"Aha! Thunder!" exclaimed Chichoy, looking about for a weapon. Seeing
none, he caught up his blowpipe.
The silversmith sat down, trembling in every limb. The credulous
simpleton already saw himself beheaded and wept in anticipation over
the fate of his family.
"No," contradicted the clerk, "there's not going to be any
massacre. The adviser of"--he made a mysterious gesture--"is
fortunately sick."
"Simoun!"
"Ahem, ahem, a-h-hem!"
Placido and the pyrotechnician exchanged another look.
"If he hadn't got sick--"
"It would look like a revolution," added the pyrotechnician
negligently, as he lighted a cigarette in the lamp chimney. "And what
should we do then?"
"Then we'd start a real one, now that they're going to massacre
us anyhow--"
The violent fit of coughing that seized the silversmith prevented
the rest of this speech from being heard, but Chichoy must have been
saying terrible things, to judge from his murderous gestures with
the blowpipe and the face of a Japanese tragedian that he put on.
"Rather say that he's playing off sick because he's afraid to go
out. As may be seen--"
The silversmith was attacked by another fit of coughing so severe
that he finally asked all to retire.
"Nevertheless, get ready," warned the pyrotechnician. "If they want
to force us to kill or be killed--"
Another fit of coughing on the part of the poor silversmith prevented
further conversation, so the workmen and apprentices retired to their
homes, carrying with them hammers and saws, and other implements,
more or less cutting, more or less bruising, disposed to sell their
lives dearly. Placido and the pyrotechnician went out again.
"Prudence, prudence!" cautioned the silversmith in a tearful voice.
"You'll take care of my widow and orphans!" begged the credulous
simpleton in a still more tearful voice, for he already saw himself
riddled with bullets and buried.
That night the guards at the city gates were replaced with Peninsular
artillerymen, and on the following morning as the sun rose, Ben-Zayb,
who had ventured to take a morning stroll to examine the condition of
the fortifications, found on the glacis near the Luneta the corpse
of a native girl, half-naked and abandoned. Ben-Zayb was horrified,
but after touching it with his cane and gazing toward the gates
proceeded on his way, musing over a sentimental tale he might base
upon the incident.
However, no allusion to it appeared in the newspapers on the following
days, engrossed as they were with the falls and slippings caused by
banana-peels. In the dearth of news Ben-Zayb had to comment at length
on a cyclone that had destroyed in America whole towns, causing the
death of more than two thousand persons. Among other beautiful things
he said:

"_The sentiment of charity_, MORE PREVALENT IN CATHOLIC
COUNTRIES THAN IN OTHERS, and the thought of Him who,
influenced by that same feeling, sacrificed himself for
_humanity, moves (sic)_ us to compassion over the misfortunes
of our kind and to render thanks that _in this country_,
so scourged by cyclones, there are not enacted scenes so
desolating as that which the inhabitants of the United States
mus have witnessed!"

_Horatius_ did not miss the opportunity, and, also without mentioning
the dead, or the murdered native girl, or the assaults, answered him
in his _Pirotecnia_:

"After such great charity and such great humanity, Fray
Ibañez--I mean, Ben-Zayb--brings himself to pray for the
Philippines.
But he is understood.
Because he is not Catholic, and the sentiment of charity is
most prevalent," etc. [62]


CHAPTER XXIX
EXIT CAPITAN TIAGO

Talis vita, finis ita

Capitan Tiago had a good end--that is, a quite exceptional
funeral. True it is that the curate of the parish had ventured
the observation to Padre Irene that Capitan Tiago had died without
confession, but the good priest, smiling sardonically, had rubbed
the tip of his nose and answered:
"Why say that to me? If we had to deny the obsequies to all who
die without confession, we should forget the _De profundis_! These
restrictions, as you well know, are enforced when the impenitent is
also insolvent. But Capitan Tiago--out on you! You've buried infidel
Chinamen, and with a requiem mass!"
Capitan Tiago had named Padre Irene as his executor and willed his
property in part to St. Clara, part to the Pope, to the Archbishop, the
religious corporations, leaving twenty pesos for the matriculation of
poor students. This last clause had been dictated at the suggestion of
Padre Irene, in his capacity as protector of studious youths. Capitan
Tiago had annulled a legacy of twenty-five pesos that he had left
to Basilio, in view of the ungrateful conduct of the boy during the
last few days, but Padre Irene had restored it and announced that he
would take it upon his own purse and conscience.
In the dead man's house, where were assembled on the following day many
old friends and acquaintances, considerable comment was indulged in
over a miracle. It was reported that, at the very moment when he was
dying, the soul of Capitan Tiago had appeared to the nuns surrounded
by a brilliant light. God had saved him, thanks to the pious legacies,
and to the numerous masses he had paid for. The story was commented
upon, it was recounted vividly, it took on particulars, and was
doubted by no one. The appearance of Capitan Tiago was minutely
described--of course the frock coat, the cheek bulged out by the
quid of buyo, without omitting the game-cock and the opium-pipe. The
senior sacristan, who was present, gravely affirmed these facts with
his head and reflected that, after death, he would appear with his
cup of white _tajú_, for without that refreshing breakfast he could
not comprehend happiness either on earth or in heaven.
On this subject, because of their inability to discuss the events
of the preceding day and because there were gamblers present, many
strange speculations were developed. They made conjectures as to
whether Capitan Tiago would invite St. Peter to a _soltada_, whether
they would place bets, whether the game-cocks were immortal, whether
invulnerable, and in this case who would be the referee, who would win,
and so on: discussions quite to the taste of those who found sciences,
theories, and systems, based on a text which they esteem infallible,
revealed or dogmatic. Moreover, there were cited passages from novenas,
books of miracles, sayings of the curates, descriptions of heaven,
and other embroidery. Don Primitivo, the philosopher, was in his
glory quoting opinions of the theologians.
"Because no one can lose," he stated with great authority. "To
lose would cause hard feelings and in heaven there can't be any
hard feelings."
"But some one has to win," rejoined the gambler Aristorenas. "The
fun lies in winning!"
"Well, both win, that's easy!"
This idea of both winning could not be admitted by Aristorenas,
for he had passed his life in the cockpit and had always seen one
cock lose and the other win--at best, there was a tie. Vainly Don
Primitivo argued in Latin. Aristorenas shook his head, and that too
when Don Primitivo's Latin was easy to understand, for he talked of _an
gallus talisainus, acuto tari armatus, an gallus beati Petri bulikus
sasabungus sit_, [63] and so on, until at length he decided to resort
to the argument which many use to convince and silence their opponents.
"You're going to be damned, friend Martin, you're falling into
heresy! _Cave ne cadas!_ I'm not going to play monte with you any more,
and we'll not set up a bank together. You deny the omnipotence of
God, _peccatum mortale!_ You deny the existence of the Holy Trinity--
three are one and one is three! Take care! You indirectly deny that
two natures, two understandings, and two wills can have only one
memory! Be careful! _Quicumque non crederit anathema sit!_"
Martin Aristorenas shrank away pale and trembling, while Quiroga,
who had listened with great attention to the argument, with marked
deference offered the philosopher a magnificent cigar, at the same time
asking in his caressing voice: "Surely, one can make a contract for a
cockpit with Kilisto, [64] ha? When I die, I'll be the contractor, ha?"
Among the others, they talked more of the deceased; at least they
discussed what kind of clothing to put on him. Capitan Tinong proposed
a Franciscan habit--and fortunately, he had one, old, threadbare, and
patched, a precious object which, according to the friar who gave it to
him as alms in exchange for thirty-six pesos, would preserve the corpse
from the flames of hell and which reckoned in its support various pious
anecdotes taken from the books distributed by the curates. Although he
held this relic in great esteem, Capitan Tinong was disposed to part
with it for the sake of his intimate friend, whom he had not been able
to visit during his illness. But a tailor objected, with good reason,
that since the nuns had seen Capitan Tiago ascending to heaven in a
frock coat, in a frock coat he should be dressed here on earth, nor
was there any necessity for preservatives and fire-proof garments. The
deceased had attended balls and fiestas in a frock coat, and nothing
else would be expected of him in the skies--and, wonderful to relate,
the tailor accidentally happened to have one ready, which he would part
with for thirty-two pesos, four cheaper than the Franciscan habit,
because he didn't want to make any profit on Capitan Tiago, who had
been his customer in life and would now be his patron in heaven. But
Padre Irene, trustee and executor, rejected both proposals and ordered
that the Capitan be dressed in one of his old suits of clothes,
remarking with holy unction that God paid no attention to clothing.
The obsequies were, therefore, of the very first class. There were
responsories in the house, and in the street three friars officiated,
as though one were not sufficient for such a great soul. All the
rites and ceremonies possible were performed, and it is reported
that there were even _extras_, as in the benefits for actors. It was
indeed a delight: loads of incense were burned, there were plenty
of Latin chants, large quantities of holy water were expended, and
Padre Irene, out of regard for his old friend, sang the _Dies Irae_
in a falsetto voice from the choir, while the neighbors suffered real
headaches from so much knell-ringing.
Doña Patrocinio, the ancient rival of Capitan Tiago in religiosity,
actually wanted to die on the next day, so that she might order even
more sumptuous obsequies. The pious old lady could not bear the thought
that he, whom she had long considered vanquished forever, should in
dying come forward again with so much pomp. Yes, she desired to die,
and it seemed that she could hear the exclamations of the people at
the funeral: "This indeed is what you call a funeral! This indeed is
to know how to die, Doña Patrocinio!"


CHAPTER XXX
JULI

The death of Capitan Tiago and Basilio's imprisonment were soon
reported in the province, and to the honor of the simple inhabitants
of San Diego, let it be recorded that the latter was the incident more
regretted and almost the only one discussed. As was to be expected,
the report took on different forms, sad and startling details were
given, what could not be understood was explained, the gaps being
filled by conjectures, which soon passed for accomplished facts,
and the phantoms thus created terrified their own creators.
In the town of Tiani it was reported that at least, at the very
least, the young man was going to be deported and would very
probably be murdered on the journey. The timorous and pessimistic
were not satisfied with this but even talked about executions and
courts-martial--January was a fatal month; in January the Cavite affair
had occurred, and _they_ [65] even though curates, had been garroted,
so a poor Basilio without protectors or friends--
"I told him so!" sighed the Justice of the Peace, as if he had at
some time given advice to Basilio. "I told him so."
"It was to be expected," commented Sister Penchang. "He would go
into the church and when he saw that the holy water was somewhat
dirty he wouldn't cross himself with it. He talked about germs and
disease, _abá_, it's the chastisement of God! He deserved it, and he
got it! As though the holy water could transmit diseases! Quite the
contrary, _abá!_"
She then related how she had cured herself of indigestion by moistening
her stomach with holy water, at the same time reciting the _Sanctus
Deus_, and she recommended the remedy to those present when they should
suffer from dysentery, or an epidemic occurred, only that then they
must pray in Spanish:

Santo Diós,
Santo fuerte,
Santo inmortal,
¡Libranos, Señor, de la peste
Y de todo mal! [66]

"It's an infallible remedy, but you must apply the holy water to the
part affected," she concluded.
But there were many persons who did not believe in these things,
nor did they attribute Basilio's imprisonment to the chastisement of
God. Nor did they take any stock in insurrections and pasquinades,
knowing the prudent and ultra-pacific character of the boy, but
preferred to ascribe it to revenge on the part of the friars, because
of his having rescued from servitude Juli, the daughter of a tulisan
who was the mortal enemy of a certain powerful corporation. As they
had quite a poor idea of the morality of that same corporation and
could recall cases of petty revenge, their conjecture was believed
to have more probability and justification.
"What a good thing I did when I drove her from my house!" said Sister
Penchang. "I don't want to have any trouble with the friars, so I
urged her to find the money."
The truth was, however, that she regretted Juli's liberty, for Juli
prayed and fasted for her, and if she had stayed a longer time, would
also have done penance. Why, if the curates pray for us and Christ
died for our sins, couldn't Juli do the same for Sister Penchang?
When the news reached the hut where the poor Juli and her grandfather
lived, the girl had to have it repeated to her. She stared at Sister
Bali, who was telling it, as though without comprehension, without
ability to collect her thoughts. Her ears buzzed, she felt a sinking
at the heart and had a vague presentiment that this event would have
a disastrous influence on her own future. Yet she tried to seize upon
a ray of hope, she smiled, thinking that Sister Bali was joking with
her, a rather strong joke, to be sure, but she forgave her beforehand
if she would acknowledge that it was such. But Sister Bali made a
cross with one of her thumbs and a forefinger, and kissed it, to prove
that she was telling the truth. Then the smile faded forever from the
girl's lips, she turned pale, frightfully pale, she felt her strength
leave her and for the first time in her life she lost consciousness,
falling into a swoon.
When by dint of blows, pinches, dashes of water, crosses, and the
application of sacred palms, the girl recovered and remembered the
situation, silent tears sprang from her eyes, drop by drop, without
sobs, without laments, without complaints! She thought about Basilio,
who had had no other protector than Capitan Tiago, and who now, with
the Capitan dead, was left completely unprotected and in prison. In
the Philippines it is a well-known fact that patrons are needed for
everything, from the time one is christened until one dies, in order
to get justice, to secure a passport, or to develop an industry. As
it was said that his imprisonment was due to revenge on account of
herself and her father, the girl's sorrow turned to desperation. Now
it was her duty to liberate him, as he had done in rescuing her from
servitude, and the inner voice which suggested the idea offered to
her imagination a horrible means.
"Padre Camorra, the curate," whispered the voice. Juli gnawed at her
lips and became lost in gloomy meditation.
As a result of her father's crime, her grandfather had been arrested in
the hope that by such means the son could be made to appear. The only
one who could get him his liberty was Padre Camorra, and Padre Camorra
had shown himself to be poorly satisfied with her words of gratitude,
having with his usual frankness asked for some sacrifices--since which
time Juli had tried to avoid meeting him. But the curate made her kiss
his hand, he twitched her nose and patted her cheeks, he joked with
her, winking and laughing, and laughing he pinched her. Juli was also
the cause of the beating the good curate had administered to some young
men who were going about the village serenading the girls. Malicious
ones, seeing her pass sad and dejected, would remark so that she
might hear: "If she only wished it, Cabesang Tales would be pardoned."
Juli reached her home, gloomy and with wandering looks. She had
changed greatly, having lost her merriment, and no one ever saw her
smile again. She scarcely spoke and seemed to be afraid to look at
her own face. One day she was seen in the town with a big spot of
soot on her forehead, she who used to go so trim and neat. Once she
asked Sister Bali if the people who committed suicide went to hell.
"Surely!" replied that woman, and proceeded to describe the place as
though she had been there.
Upon Basilio's imprisonment, the simple and grateful relatives had
planned to make all kinds of sacrifices to save the young man, but
as they could collect among themselves no more than thirty pesos,
Sister Bali, as usual, thought of a better plan.
"What we must do is to get some advice from the town clerk," she
said. To these poor people, the town clerk was what the Delphic oracle
was to the ancient Greeks.
"By giving him a real and a cigar," she continued, "he'll tell you
all the laws so that your head bursts listening to him. If you have
a peso, he'll save you, even though you may be at the foot of the
scaffold. When my friend Simon was put in jail and flogged for not
being able to give evidence about a robbery perpetrated near his
house, _abá_, for two reales and a half and a string of garlics,
the town clerk got him out. And I saw Simon myself when he could
scarcely walk and he had to stay in bed at least a month. Ay, his
flesh rotted as a result and he died!"
Sister Bali's advice was accepted and she herself volunteered to
interview the town clerk. Juli gave her four reales and added some
strips of jerked venison her grand-father had got, for Tandang Selo
had again devoted himself to hunting.
But the town clerk could do nothing--the prisoner was in Manila,
and his power did not extend that far. "If at least he were at the
capital, then--" he ventured, to make a show of his authority, which
he knew very well did not extend beyond the boundaries of Tiani, but
he had to maintain his prestige and keep the jerked venison. "But I
can give you a good piece of advice, and it is that you go with Juli
to see the Justice of the Peace. But it's very necessary that Juli go."
The Justice of the Peace was a very rough fellow, but if he should
see Juli he might conduct himself less rudely--this is wherein lay
the wisdom of the advice.
With great gravity the honorable Justice listened to Sister Bali,
who did the talking, but not without staring from time to time at
the girl, who hung her head with shame. People would say that she
was greatly interested in Basilio, people who did not remember her
debt of gratitude, nor that his imprisonment, according to report,
was on her account.
After belching three or four times, for his Honor had that ugly habit,
he said that the only person who could save Basilio was Padre Camorra,
_in case he should care to do so_. Here he stared meaningly at the
girl and advised her to deal with the curate in person.
"You know what influence he has,--he got your grand-father out of
jail. A report from him is enough to deport a new-born babe or save
from death a man with the noose about his neck."
Juli said nothing, but Sister Bali took this advice as though she
had read it in a novena, and was ready to accompany the girl to the
convento. It so happened that she was just going there to get as alms
a scapulary in exchange for four full reales.
But Juli shook her head and was unwilling to go to the convento. Sister
Bali thought she could guess the reason--Padre Camorra was reputed
to be very fond of the women and was very frolicsome--so she tried
to reassure her. "You've nothing to fear if I go with you. Haven't
you read in the booklet _Tandang Basio_, given you by the curate,
that the girls should go to the convento, even without the knowledge
of their elders, to relate what is going on at home? _Abá_, that book
is printed with the permission of the Archbishop!"
Juli became impatient and wished to cut short such talk, so she begged
the pious woman to go if she wished, but his Honor observed with a
belch that the supplications of a youthful face were more moving than
those of an old one, the sky poured its dew over the fresh flowers
in greater abundance than over the withered ones. The metaphor was
fiendishly beautiful.
Juli did not reply and the two left the house. In the street the
girl firmly refused to go to the convento and they returned to their
village. Sister Bali, who felt offended at this lack of confidence
in herself, on the way home relieved her feelings by administering
a long preachment to the girl.
The truth was that the girl could not take that step without damning
herself in her own eyes, besides being cursed of men and cursed
of God! It had been intimated to her several times, whether with
reason or not, that if she would make that sacrifice her father would
be pardoned, and yet she had refused, in spite of the cries of her
conscience reminding her of her filial duty. Now must she make it for
Basilio, her sweetheart? That would be to fall to the sound of mockery
and laughter from all creation. Basilio himself would despise her! No,
never! She would first hang herself or leap from some precipice. At
any rate, she was already damned for being a wicked daughter.
The poor girl had besides to endure all the reproaches of her
relatives, who, knowing nothing of what had passed between her and
Padre Camovra, laughed at her fears. Would Padre Camorra fix his
attention upon a country girl when there were so many others in the
town? Hero the good women cited names of unmarried girls, rich and
beautiful, who had been more or less unfortunate. Meanwhile, if they
should shoot Basilio?
Juli covered her ears and stared wildly about, as if seeking a voice
that might plead for her, but she saw only her grandfather, who was
dumb and had his gaze fixed on his hunting-spear.
That night she scarcely slept at all. Dreams and nightmares, some
funereal, some bloody, danced before her sight and woke her often,
bathed in cold perspiration. She fancied that she heard shots, she
imagined that she saw her father, that father who had done so much
for her, fighting in the forests, hunted like a wild beast because
she had refused to save him. The figure of her father was transformed
and she recognized Basilio, dying, with looks of reproach at her. The
wretched girl arose, prayed, wept, called upon her mother, upon death,
and there was even a moment when, overcome with terror, if it had
not been night-time, she would have run straight to the convento,
let happen what would.
With the coming of day the sad presentiments and the terrors of
darkness were partly dissipated. The light inspired hopes in her. But
the news of the afternoon was terrible, for there was talk of persons
shot, so the next night was for the girl frightful. In her desperation
she decided to give herself up as soon as day dawned and then kill
herself afterwards--anything, rather than enditre such tortures! But
the dawn brought new hope and she would not go to church or even
leave the house. She was afraid she would yield.
So passed several days in praying and cursing, in calling upon God
and wishing for death. The day gave her a slight respite and she
trusted in some miracle. The reports that came from Manila, although
they reached there magnified, said that of the prisoners some had
secured their liberty, thanks to patrons and influence. Some one
had to be sacrificed--who would it be? Juli shuddered and returned
home biting her finger-nails. Then came the night with its terrors,
which took on double proportions and seemed to be converted into
realities. Juli feared to fall asleep, for her slumbers were a
continuous nightmare. Looks of reproach would flash across her eyelids
just as soon as they were closed, complaints and laments pierced
her ears. She saw her father wandering about hungry, without rest or
repose; she saw Basilio dying in the road, pierced by two bullets,
just as she had seen the corpse of that neighbor who had been killed
while in the charge of the Civil Guard. She saw the bonds that cut
into the flesh, she saw the blood pouring from the mouth, she heard
Basilio calling to her, "Save me! Save me! You alone can save me!" Then
a burst of laughter would resound and she would turn her eyes to see
her father gazing at her with eyes full of reproach. Juli would wake
up, sit up on her _petate_, and draw her hands across her forehead
to arrange her hair--cold sweat, like the sweat of death, moistened it!
"Mother, mother!" she sobbed.
Meanwhile, they who were so carelessly disposing of people's fates,
he who commanded the legal murders, he who violated justice and made
use of the law to maintain himself by force, slept in peace.
At last a traveler arrived from Manila and reported that all
the prisoners had been set free, all except Basilio, who had no
protector. It was reported in Manila, added the traveler, that the
young man would be deported to the Carolines, having been forced to
sign a petition beforehand, in which he declared that he asked it
voluntarily. [67] The traveler had seen the very steamer that was
going to take him away.
This report put an end to all the girl's hesitation. Besides, her mind
was already quite weak from so many nights of watching and horrible
dreams. Pale and with unsteady eyes, she sought out Sister Bali and,
in a voice that was cause for alarm, told her that she was ready,
asking her to accompany her. Sister Bali thereupon rejoiced and tried
to soothe her, but Juli paid no attention to her, apparently intent
only upon hurrying to the convento. She had decked herself out in her
finest clothes, and even pretended to be quite gay, talking a great
deal, although in a rather incoherent way.
So they set out. Juli went ahead, becoming impatient that her companion
lagged behind. But as they neared the town, her nervous energy began
gradually to abate, she fell silent and wavered in her resolution,
lessened her pace and soon dropped behind, so that Sister Bali had
to encourage her.
"We'll get there late," she remonstrated.
Juli now followed, pale, with downcast eyes, which she was afraid to
raise. She felt that the whole world was staring at her and pointing
its finger at her. A vile name whistled in her ears, but still she
disregarded it and continued on her way. Nevertheless, when they came