The Social Cancer - 26

confessional--cure the alferez's woman with a confession!"
"A wound, madam, is not a form of illness which the conscience
can affect," replied Padre Salvi severely. "Nevertheless, a clean
confession will preserve her from receiving in the future such blows
as she got this morning."
"She deserves them!" went on Doña Victorina as if she had not heard
what Padre Salvi said. "That woman is so insolent! In the church she
did nothing but stare at me. You can see that she's a nobody. Sunday
I was going to ask her if she saw anything funny about my face,
but who would lower oneself to speak to people that are not of rank?"
The curate, on his part, continued just as though he had not heard
this tirade. "Believe me, Don Santiago, to complete your daughter's
recovery it's necessary that she take communion tomorrow. I'll bring
the viaticum over here. I don't think she has anything to confess,
but yet, if she wants to confess herself tonight--"
"I don't know," Doña Victorina instantly took advantage of a slight
hesitation on Padre Salvi's part to add, "I don't understand how
there can be men capable of marrying such a fright as that woman
is. It's easily seen where she comes from. She's just dying of envy,
you can see it! How much does an alferez get?"
"Accordingly, Don Santiago, tell your cousin to prepare the sick girl
for the communion tomorrow. I'll come over tonight to absolve her of
her peccadillos."
Seeing Aunt Isabel come from the sick-room, he said to her in Tagalog,
"Prepare your niece for confession tonight. Tomorrow I'll bring over
the viaticum. With that she'll improve faster."
"But, Padre," Linares gathered up enough courage to ask faintly,
"you don't think that she's in any danger of dying?"
"Don't you worry," answered the padre without looking at him. "I
know what I'm doing; I've helped take care of plenty of sick people
before. Besides, she'll decide herself whether or not she wishes to
receive the holy communion and you'll see that she says yes."
Capitan Tiago immediately agreed to everything, while Aunt Isabel
returned to the sick girl's chamber. Maria Clara was still in bed,
pale, very pale, and at her side were her two friends.
"Take one more grain," Sinang whispered, as she offered her a white
tablet that she took from a small glass tube. "He says that when you
feel a rumbling or buzzing in your ears you are to stop the medicine."
"Hasn't he written to you again?" asked the sick girl in a low voice.
"No, he must be very busy."
"Hasn't he sent any message?"
"He says nothing more than that he's going to try to get the Archbishop
to absolve him from the excommunication, so that--"
This conversation was suspended at the aunt's approach. "The
padre says for you to get ready for confession, daughter," said the
latter. "You girls must leave her so that she can make her examination
of conscience."
"But it hasn't been a week since she confessed!" protested Sinang. "I'm
not sick and I don't sin as often as that."
"Abá! Don't you know what the curate says: the righteous sin seven
times a day? Come, what book shall I bring you, the _Ancora_, the
_Ramillete_, or the _Camino Recto para ir al Cielo?_"
Maria Clara did not answer.
"Well, you mustn't tire yourself," added the good aunt to console
her. "I'll read the examination myself and you'll have only to recall
your sins."
"Write to him not to think of me any more," murmured Maria Clara in
Sinang's ear as the latter said good-by to her.
"What?"
But the aunt again approached, and Sinang had to go away without
understanding what her friend had meant. The good old aunt drew a
chair up to the light, put her spectacles on the end of her nose, and
opened a booklet. "Pay close attention, daughter. I'm going to begin
with the Ten Commandments. I'll go slow so that you can meditate. If
you don't hear well tell me so that I can repeat. You know that in
looking after your welfare I'm never weary."
She began to read in a monotonous and snuffling voice the
considerations of cases of sinfulness. At the end of each paragraph
she made a long pause in order to give the girl time to recall her
sins and to repent of them.
Maria Clara stared vaguely into space. After finishing the first
commandment, _to love God above all things_, Aunt Isabel looked at
her over her spectacles and was satisfied with her sad and thoughtful
mien. She coughed piously and after a long pause began to read the
second commandment. The good old woman read with unction and when she
had finished the commentaries looked again at her niece, who turned
her head slowly to the other side.
"Bah!" said Aunt Isabel to herself. "With taking His holy name in vain
the poor child has nothing to do. Let's pass on to the third." [122]
The third commandment was analyzed and commented upon. After citing
all the cases in which one can break it she again looked toward the
bed. But now she lifted up her glasses and rubbed her eyes, for she
had seen her niece raise a handkerchief to her face as if to wipe
away tears.
"Hum, ahem! The poor child once went to sleep during the sermon." Then
replacing her glasses on the end of her nose, she said, "Now let's
see if, just as you've failed to keep holy the Sabbath, you've failed
to honor your father and mother."
So she read the fourth commandment in an even slower and more snuffling
voice, thinking thus to give solemnity to the act, just as she had
seen many friars do. Aunt Isabel had never heard a Quaker preach or
she would also have trembled.
The sick girl, in the meantime, raised the handkerchief to her eyes
several times and her breathing became more noticeable.
"What a good soul!" thought the old woman. "She who is so obedient
and submissive to every one! I've committed more sins and yet I've
never been able really to cry."
She then began the fifth commandment with greater pauses and even
more pronounced snuffling, if that were possible, and with such great
enthusiasm that she did not hear the stifled sobs of her niece. Only
in a pause which she made after the comments on homicide, by violence
did she notice the groans of the sinner. Then her tone passed into the
sublime as she read the rest of the commandment in accents that she
tried to reader threatening, seeing that her niece was still weeping.
"Weep, daughter, weep!" she said, approaching the bed. "The more you
weep the sooner God will pardon you. Hold the sorrow of repentance as
better than that of mere penitence. Weep, daughter, weep! You don't
know how much I enjoy seeing you weep. Beat yourself on the breast
also, but not hard, for you're still sick."
But, as if her sorrow needed mystery and solitude to make it increase,
Maria Clara, on seeing herself observed, little by little stopped
sighing and dried her eyes without saying anything or answering her
aunt, who continued the reading. Since the wails of her audience had
ceased, however, she lost her enthusiasm, and the last commandments
made her so sleepy that she began to yawn, with great detriment to
her snuffling, which was thus interrupted.
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it,"
thought the good old lady afterwards. "This girl sins like a soldier
against the first five and from the sixth to the tenth not a venial
sin, just the opposite to us! How the world does move now!"
So she lighted a large candle to the Virgin of Antipolo and two other
smaller ones to Our Lady of the Rosary and Our Lady of the Pillar,
[123] taking care to put away in a corner a marble crucifix to make
it understand that the candles were not lighted for it. Nor did the
Virgin of Delaroche have any share; she was an unknown foreigner,
and Aunt Isabel had never heard of any miracle of hers.
We do not know what occurred during the confession that night and we
respect such secrets. But the confession was a long one and the aunt,
who stood watch over her niece at a distance, could note that the
curate, instead of turning his ear to hear the words of the sick girl,
rather had his face turned toward hers, and seemed only to be trying
to read, or divine, her thoughts by gazing into her beautiful eyes.
Pale and with contracted lips Padre Salvi left the chamber. Looking
at his forehead, which was gloomy and covered with perspiration,
one would have said that it was he who had confessed and had not
obtained absolution.
"_Jesús, María, y José!_" exclaimed Aunt Isabel, crossing herself to
dispel an evil thought, "who understands the girls nowadays?"


CHAPTER XLV
The Hunted

In the dim light shed by the moonbeams sifting through the thick
foliage a man wandered through the forest with slow and cautious
steps. From time to time, as if to find his way, he whistled a peculiar
melody, which was answered in the distance by some one whistling the
same air. The man would listen attentively and then make his way in
the direction of the distant sound, until at length, after overcoming
the thousand obstacles offered by the virgin forest in the night-time,
he reached a small open space, which was bathed in the light of the
moon in its first quarter. The high, tree-crowned rocks that rose
about formed a kind of ruined amphitheater, in the center of which
were scattered recently felled trees and charred logs among boulders
covered with nature's mantle of verdure.
Scarcely had the unknown arrived when another figure started suddenly
from behind a large rock and advanced with drawn revolver. "Who are
you?" he asked in Tagalog in an imperious tone, cocking the weapon.
"Is old Pablo among you?" inquired the unknown in an even tone,
without answering the question or showing any signs of fear.
"You mean the capitan? Yes, he's here."
"Then tell him that Elias is here looking for him," was the answer
of the unknown, who was no other than the mysterious pilot.
"Are you Elias?" asked the other respectfully, as he approached him,
not, however, ceasing to cover him with the revolver. "Then come!"
Elias followed him, and they penetrated into a kind of cave sunk
down in the depths of the earth. The guide, who seemed to be familiar
with the way, warned the pilot when he should descend or turn aside
or stoop down, so they were not long in reaching a kind of hall
which was poorly lighted by pitch torches and occupied by twelve to
fifteen armed men with dirty faces and soiled clothing, some seated
and some lying down as they talked fitfully to one another. Resting
his arms on a stone that served for a table and gazing thoughtfully
at the torches, which gave out so little light for so much smoke,
was seen an old, sad-featured man with his head wrapped in a bloody
bandage. Did we not know that it was a den of tulisanes we might have
said, on reading the look of desperation in the old man's face, that
it was the Tower of Hunger on the eve before Ugolino devoured his sons.
Upon the arrival of Elias and his guide the figures partly rose,
but at a signal from the latter they settled back again, satisfying
themselves with the observation that the newcomer was unarmed. The
old man turned his head slowly and saw the quiet figure of Elias,
who stood uncovered, gazing at him with sad interest.
"It's you at last," murmured the old man, his gaze lighting up somewhat
as he recognized the youth.
"In what condition do I find you!" exclaimed the youth in a suppressed
tone, shaking his head.
The old man dropped his head in silence and made a sign to the others,
who arose and withdrew, first taking the measure of the pilot's
muscles and stature with a glance.
"Yes!" said the old man to Elias as soon as they were alone. "Six
months ago when I sheltered you in my house, it was I who pitied
you. Now we have changed parts and it is you who pity me. But sit
down and tell me how you got here."
"It's fifteen days now since I was told of your misfortune," began the
young man slowly in a low voice as he stared at the light. "I started
at once and have been seeking you from mountain to mountain. I've
traveled over nearly the whole of two provinces."
"In order not to shed innocent blood," continued the old man, "I
have had to flee. My enemies were afraid to show themselves. I was
confronted merely with some unfortunates who have never done me the
least harm."
After a brief pause during which he seemed to be occupied in trying
to read the thoughts in the dark countenance of the old man, Elias
replied: "I've come to make a proposition to you. Having sought in vain
for some survivor of the family that caused the misfortunes of mine,
I've decided to leave the province where I live and move toward the
North among the independent pagan tribes. Don't you want to abandon
the life you have entered upon and come with me? I will be your son,
since you have lost your own; I have no family, and in you will find
a father."
The old man shook his, head in negation, saying, "When one at my
age makes a desperate resolution, it's because there is no other
recourse. A man who, like myself, has spent his youth and his mature
years toiling for the future of himself and his sons; a man who has
been submissive to every wish of his superiors, who has conscientiously
performed difficult tasks, enduring all that he might live in peace and
quiet--when that man, whose blood time has chilled, renounces all his
past and foregoes all his future, even on the very brink of the grave,
it is because he has with mature judgment decided that peace does
not exist and that it is not the highest good. Why drag out miserable
days on foreign soil? I had two sons, a daughter, a home, a fortune,
I was esteemed and respected; now I am as a tree shorn of its branches,
a wanderer, a fugitive, hunted like a wild beast through the forest,
and all for what? Because a man dishonored my daughter, because her
brothers called that man's infamy to account, and because that man
is set above his fellows with the title of minister of God! In spite
of everything, I, her father, I, dishonored in my old age, forgave
the injury, for I was indulgent with the passions of youth and the
weakness of the flesh, and in the face of irreparable wrong what could
I do but hold my peace and save what remained to me? But the culprit,
fearful of vengeance sooner or later, sought the destruction of my
sons. Do you know what he did? No? You don't know, then, that he
pretended that there had been a robbery committed in the convento
and that one of my sons figured among the accused? The other could
not be included because he was in another place at the time. Do you
know what tortures they were subjected to? You know of them, for
they are the same in all the towns! I, I saw my son hanging by the
hair, I heard his cries, I heard him call upon me, and I, coward and
lover of peace, hadn't the courage either to kill or to die! Do you
know that the theft was not proved, that it was shown to be a false
charge, and that in punishment the curate was transferred to another
town, but that my son died as a result of his tortures? The other,
the one who was left to me, was not a coward like his father, so our
persecutor was still fearful that he would wreak vengeance on him,
and, under the pretext of his not having his cedula, [124] which he
had not carried with him just at that time, had him arrested by the
Civil Guard, mistreated him, enraged and harassed him with insults
until he was driven to suicide! And I, I have outlived so much shame;
but if I had not the courage of a father to defend my sons, there yet
remains to me a heart burning for revenge, and I will have it! The
discontented are gathering under my command, my enemies increase
my forces, and on the day that I feel myself strong enough I will
descend to the lowlands and in flames sate my vengeance and end my
own existence. And that day will come or there is no God!" [125]
The old man arose trembling. With fiery look and hollow voice, he
added, tearing his long hair, "Curses, curses upon me that I restrained
the avenging hands of my sons--I have murdered them! Had I let the
guilty perish, had I confided less in the justice of God and men, I
should now have my sons--fugitives, perhaps, but I should have them;
they would not have died under torture! I was not born to be a father,
so I have them not! Curses upon me that I had not learned with my
years to know the conditions under which I lived! But in fire and
blood by my own death I will avenge them!"
In his paroxysm of grief the unfortunate father tore away the bandage,
reopening a wound in his forehead from which gushed a stream of blood.
"I respect your sorrow," said Elias, "and I understand your desire
for revenge. I, too, am like you, and yet from fear of injuring the
innocent I prefer to forget my misfortunes."
"You can forget because you are young and because you haven't lost a
son, your last hope! But I assure you that I shall injure no innocent
one. Do you see this wound? Rather than kill a poor cuadrillero,
who was doing his duty, I let him inflict it."
"But look," urged Elias, after a moment's silence, "look what a
frightful catastrophe you are going to bring down upon our unfortunate
people. If you accomplish your revenge by your own hand, your enemies
will make terrible reprisals, not against you, not against those who
are armed, but against the peaceful, who as usual will be accused--and
then the eases of injustice!"
"Let the people learn to defend themselves, let each one defend
himself!"
"You know that that is impossible. Sir, I knew you in other days when
you were happy; then you gave me good advice, will you now permit me--"
The old man folded his arms in an attitude of attention. "Sir,"
continued Elias, weighing his words well, "I have had the good
fortune to render a service to a young man who is rich, generous,
noble, and who desires the welfare of his country. They say that
this young man has friends in Madrid--I don't know myself--but I
can assure you that he is a friend of the Captain-General's. What
do you say that we make him the bearer of the people's complaints,
if we interest him in the cause of the unhappy?"
The old man shook his head. "You say that he is rich? The rich think
only of increasing their wealth, pride and show blind them, and as
they are generally safe, above all when they have powerful friends,
none of them troubles himself about the woes of the unfortunate. I
know all, because I was rich!"
"But the man of whom I speak is not like the others. He is a son who
has been insulted over the memory of his father, and a young man who,
as he is soon to have a family, thinks of the future, of a happy
future for his children."
"Then he is a man who is going to be happy--our cause is not for
happy men."
"But it is for men who have feelings!"
"Perhaps!" replied the old man, seating himself. "Suppose that he
agrees to carry our cry even to the Captain-General, suppose that
he finds in the Cortes [126] delegates who will plead for us; do you
think that we shall get justice?"
"Let us try it before we resort to violent measure," answered
Elias. "You must be surprised that I, another unfortunate, young
and strong, should propose to you, old and weak, peaceful measures,
but it's because I've seen as much misery caused by us as by the
tyrants. The defenseless are the ones who pay."
"And if we accomplish nothing?"
"Something we shall accomplish, believe me, for all those who are in
power are not unjust. But if we accomplish nothing, if they disregard
our entreaties, if man has become deaf to the cry of sorrow from his
kind, then I will put myself under your orders!"
The old man embraced the youth enthusiastically. "I accept your
proposition, Elias. I know that you will keep your word. You will
come to me, and I shall help you to revenge your ancestors, you will
help me to revenge my sons, my sons that were like you!"
"In the meantime, sir, you will refrain from violent measures?"
"You will present the complaints of the people, you know them. When
shall I know your answer?"
"In four days send a man to the beach at San Diego and I will tell
him what I shall have learned from the person in whom I place so
much hope. If he accepts, they will give us justice; and if not,
I'll be the first to fall in the struggle that we will begin."
"Elias will not die, Elias will be the leader when Capitan Pablo fails,
satisfied in his revenge," concluded the old man, as he accompanied
the youth out of the cave into the open air.


CHAPTER XLVI
The Cockpit

To keep holy the afternoon of the Sabbath one generally goes to
the cockpit in the Philippines, just as to the bull-fights in
Spain. Cockfighting, a passion introduced into the country and
exploited for a century past, is one of the vices of the people, more
widely spread than opium-smoking among the Chinese. There the poor
man goes to risk all that he has, desirous of getting rich without
work. There the rich man goes to amuse himself, using the money that
remains to him from his feasts and his masses of thanksgiving. The
fortune that he gambles is his own, the cock is raised with much
more care perhaps than his son and successor in the cockpit, so we
have nothing to say against it. Since the government permits it and
even in a way recommends it, by providing that the spectacle may take
place only in the _public plazas_, on _holidays_ (in order that all
may see it and be encouraged by the example?), _from the high mass
until nightfall (eight_ hours), let us proceed thither to seek out
some of our acquaintances.
The cockpit of San Diego does not differ from those to be found in
other towns, except in some details. It consists of three parts,
the first of which, the entrance, is a large rectangle some twenty
meters long by fourteen wide. On one side is the gateway, generally
tended by an old woman whose business it is to collect the _sa pintu_,
or admission fee. Of this contribution, which every one pays, the
government receives a part, amounting to some hundreds of thousands of
pesos a year. It is said that with this money, with which vice pays
its license, magnificent schoolhouses are erected, bridges and roads
are constructed, prizes for encouraging agriculture and commerce are
distributed: blessed be the vice that produces such good results! In
this first enclosure are the vendors of buyos, cigars, sweetmeats,
and foodstuffs. There swarm the boys in company with their fathers
or uncles, who carefully initiate them into the secrets of life.
This enclosure communicates with another of somewhat larger
dimensions,--a kind of foyer where the public gathers while waiting
for the combats. There are the greater part of the fighting-cocks tied
with cords which are fastened to the ground by means of a piece of
bone or hard wood; there are assembled the gamblers, the devotees,
those skilled in tying on the gaffs, there they make agreements,
they deliberate, they beg for loans, they curse, they swear, they
laugh boisterously. That one fondles his chicken, rubbing his hand
over its brilliant plumage, this one examines and counts the scales
on its legs, they recount the exploits of the champions.
There you will see many with mournful faces carrying by the feet
corpses picked of their feathers; the creature that was the favorite
for months, petted and cared for day and night, on which were founded
such flattering hopes, is now nothing more than a carcass to be
sold for a peseta or to be stewed with ginger and eaten that very
night. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_ The loser returns to the home
where his anxious wife and ragged children await him, without his
money or his chicken. Of all that golden dream, of all those vigils
during months from the dawn of day to the setting of the sun, of all
those fatigues and labors, there results only a peseta, the ashes
left from so much smoke.
In this foyer even the least intelligent takes part in the discussion,
while the man of most hasty judgment conscientiously investigates
the matter, weighs, examines, extends the wings, feels the muscles of
the cocks. Some go very well-dressed, surrounded and followed by the
partisans of their champions; others who are dirty and bear the imprint
of vice on their squalid features anxiously follow the movements of
the rich to note the bets, since the purse may become empty but the
passion never satiated. No countenance here but is animated--not
here is to be found the indolent, apathetic, silent Filipino--all
is movement, passion, eagerness. It may be, one would say, that they
have that thirst which is quickened by the water of the swamp.
From this place one passes into the arena, which is known as the
_Rueda_, the wheel. The ground here, surrounded by bamboo-stakes, is
usually higher than that in the two other divisions. In the back part,
reaching almost to the roof, are tiers of seats for the spectators,
or gamblers, since these are the same. During the fights these seats
are filled with men and boys who shout, clamor, sweat, quarrel,
and blaspheme--fortunately, hardly any women get in this far. In the
_Rueda_ are the men of importance, the rich, the famous bettors, the
contractor, the referee. On the perfectly leveled ground the cocks
fight, and from there Destiny apportions to the families smiles or
tears, feast or famine.
At the time of entering we see the gobernadorcillo, Capitan Pablo,
Capitan Basilio, and Lucas, the man with the sear on his face who
felt so deeply the death of his brother.
Capitan Basilio approaches one of the townsmen and asks, "Do you know
which cock Capitan Tiago is going to bring?"
"I don't know, sir. This morning two came, one of them the _lásak_
that whipped the Consul's _talisain_." [127]
"Do you think that my _bulik_ is a match for it?"
"I should say so! I'll bet my house and my camisa on it!"
At that moment Capitan Tiago arrives, dressed like the heavy gamblers,
in a camisa of Canton linen, woolen pantaloons, and a wide straw
hat. Behind him come two servants carrying the _lásak_ and a white
cock of enormous size.
"Sinang tells me that Maria is improving all the time," says Capitan
Basilio.
"She has no more fever but is still very weak."
"Did you lose last night?"
"A little. I hear that you won. I'm going to see if I can't get
even here."
"Do you want to fight the _lásak?_" asks Capitan Basilio, looking at
the cock and taking it from the servant. "That depends--if there's
a bet."
"How much will you put up?"
"I won't gamble for less than two."
"Have you seen my _bulik?_" inquires Capitan Basilio, calling to a
man who is carrying a small game-cock.
Capitan Tiago examines it and after feeling its weight and studying
its scales returns it with the question, "How much will you put up?"
"Whatever you will."
"Two, and five hundred?"
"Three?"
"Three!"
"For the next fight after this!"
The chorus of curious bystanders and the gamblers spread the news
that two celebrated cocks will fight, each of which has a history
and a well-earned reputation. All wish to see and examine the two
celebrities, opinions are offered, prophecies are made.
Meanwhile, the murmur of the voices grows, the confusion increases,
the _Rueda_ is broken into, the seats are filled. The skilled
attendants carry the two cocks into the arena, a white and a red,
already armed but with the gaffs still sheathed. Cries are heard,
"On the white!" "On the white!" while some other voice answers,
"On the red!" The odds are on the white, he is the favorite; the red
is the "outsider," the _dejado_.
Members of the Civil Guard move about in the crowd. They are not
dressed in the uniform of that meritorious corps, but neither are
they in civilian costume. Trousers of _guingón_ with a red stripe,
a camisa stained blue from the faded blouse, and a service-cap, make