CHAPTER XIX
THE FUSE
Placido Penitente left the class with his heart overflowing withbitterness and sullen gloom in his looks. He was worthy of his namewhen not driven from his usual course, but once irritated he was averitable torrent, a wild beast that could only be stopped by thedeath of himself or his foe. So many affronts, so many pinpricks,day after day, had made his heart quiver, lodging in it to sleep thesleep of lethargic vipers, and they now were awaking to shake andhiss with fury. The hisses resounded in his ears with the jestingepithets of the professor, the phrases in the slang of the markets,and he seemed to hear blows and laughter. A thousand schemes forrevenge rushed into his brain, crowding one another, only to fadeimmediately like phantoms in a dream. His vanity cried out to himwith desperate tenacity that he must do something.
"Placido Penitente," said the voice, "show these youths that youhave dignity, that you are the son of a valiant and noble province,where wrongs are washed out with blood. You're a Batangan, PlacidoPenitente! Avenge yourself, Placido Penitente!"
The youth groaned and gnashed his teeth, stumbling against everyone in the street and on the Bridge of Spain, as if he were seekinga quarrel. In the latter place he saw a carriage in which was theVice-Rector, Padre Sibyla, accompanied by Don Custodio, and he hada great mind to seize the friar and throw him into the river.
He proceeded along the Escolta and was tempted to assault twoAugustinians who were seated in the doorway of Quiroga's bazaar,laughing and joking with other friars who must have been inside injoyous conversation, for their merry voices and sonorous laughtercould be heard. Somewhat farther on, two cadets blocked up thesidewalk, talking with the clerk of a warehouse, who was in hisshirtsleeves. Penitents moved toward them to force a passage andthey, perceiving his dark intention, good-humoredly made way forhim. Placido was by this time under the influence of the _amok_,as the Malayists say.
As he approached his home--the house of a silversmith where he lived asa boarder--he tried to collect his thoughts and make a plan--to returnto his town and avenge himself by showing the friars that they couldnot with impunity insult a youth or make a joke of him. He decided towrite a letter immediately to his mother, Cabesang Andang, to informher of what had happened and to tell her that the schoolroom had closedforever for him. Although there was the Ateneo of the Jesuits, where hemight study that year, yet it was not very likely that the Dominicanswould grant him the transfer, and, even though he should secure it,in the following year he would have to return to the University.
"They say that we don't know how to avenge ourselves!" hemuttered. "Let the lightning strike and we'll see!"
But Placido was not reckoning upon what awaited him in the houseof the silversmith. Cabesang Andang had just arrived from Batangas,having come to do some shopping, to visit her son, and to bring himmoney, jerked venison, and silk handkerchiefs.
The first greetings over, the poor woman, who had at once noticed herson's gloomy look, could no longer restrain her curiosity and beganto ask questions. His first explanations Cabesang Andang regarded assome subterfuge, so she smiled and soothed her son, reminding him oftheir sacrifices and privations. She spoke of Capitana Simona's son,who, having entered the seminary, now carried himself in the town likea bishop, and Capitana Simona already considered herself a Mother ofGod, clearly so, for her son was going to be another Christ.
"If the son becomes a priest," said she, "the mother won't have topay us what she owes us. Who will collect from her then?"
But on seeing that Placido was speaking seriously and reading in hiseyes the storm that raged within him, she realized that what he wastelling her was unfortunately the strict truth. She remained silentfor a while and then broke out into lamentations.
"Ay!" she exclaimed. "I promised your father that I would care foryou, educate you, and make a lawyer of you! I've deprived myself ofeverything so that you might go to school! Instead of joining the_panguingui_ where the stake is a half peso, I Ve gone only where it'sa half real, enduring the bad smells and the dirty cards. Look at mypatched camisa; for instead of buying new ones I've spent the money inmasses and presents to St. Sebastian, even though I don't have greatconfidence in his power, because the curate recites the masses fastand hurriedly, he's an entirely new saint and doesn't yet know howto perform miracles, and isn't made of _batikulin_ but of _lanete._Ay, what will your father say to me when I die and see him again!"
So the poor woman lamented and wept, while Placido became gloomierand let stifled sighs escape from his breast.
"What would I get out of being a lawyer?" was his response.
"What will become of you?" asked his mother, clasping herhands. "They'll call you a filibuster and garrote you. I've told youthat you must have patience, that you must be humble. I don't tellyou that you must kiss the hands of the curates, for I know thatyou have a delicate sense of smell, like your father, who couldn'tendure European cheese. [41] But we have to suffer, to be silent,to say yes to everything. What are we going to do? The friars owneverything, and if they are unwilling, no one will become a lawyeror a doctor. Have patience, my son, have patience!"
"But I've had a great deal, mother, I've suffered for months andmonths."
Cabesang Andang then resumed her lamentations. She did not ask that hedeclare himself a partizan of the friars, she was not one herself--itwas enough to know that for one good friar there were ten bad, whotook the money from the poor and deported the rich. But one must besilent, suffer, and endure--there was no other course. She cited thisman and that one, who by being _patient_ and humble, even though inthe bottom of his heart he hated his masters, had risen from servantof the friars to high office; and such another who was rich andcould commit abuses, secure of having patrons who would protect himfrom the law, yet who had been nothing more than a poor sacristan,humble and obedient, and who had married a pretty girl whose son hadthe curate for a godfather. So Cabesang Andang continued her litanyof humble and _patient_ Filipinos, as she called them, and was aboutto cite others who by not being so had found themselves persecutedand exiled, when Placido on some trifling pretext left the house towander about the streets.
He passed through Sibakong, [42] Tondo, San Nicolas, and Santo Cristo,absorbed in his ill-humor, without taking note of the sun or the hour,and only when he began to feel hungry and discovered that he had nomoney, having given it all for celebrations and contributions, didhe return to the house. He had expected that he would not meet hismother there, as she was in the habit, when in Manila, of going outat that hour to a neighboring house where _panguingui_ was played,but Cabesang Andang was waiting to propose her plan. She would availherself of the procurator of the Augustinians to restore her son tothe good graces of the Dominicans.
Placido stopped her with a gesture. "I'll throw myself into the seafirst," he declared. "I'll become a tulisan before I'll go back tothe University."
Again his mother began her preachment about patience and humility,so he went away again without having eaten anything, directing hissteps toward the quay where the steamers tied up. The sight of asteamer weighing anchor for Hongkong inspired him with an idea--to goto Hongkong, to run away, get rich there, and make war on the friars.
The thought of Hongkong awoke in his mind the recollection ofa story about frontals, cirials, and candelabra of pure silver,which the piety of the faithful had led them to present to a certainchurch. The friars, so the silversmith told, had sent to Hongkong tohave duplicate frontals, cirials, and candelabra made of German silver,which they substituted for the genuine ones, these being melted downand coined into Mexican pesos. Such was the story he had heard, andthough it was no more than a rumor or a story, his resentment gave itthe color of truth and reminded him of other tricks of theirs in thatsame style. The desire to live free, and certain half-formed plans,led him to decide upon Hongkong. If the corporations sent all theirmoney there, commerce must be flourishing and he could enrich himself.
"I want to be free, to live free!"
Nig
ht surprised him wandering along San Fernando, but not meeting anysailor he knew, he decided to return home. As the night was beautiful,with a brilliant moon transforming the squalid city into a fantasticfairy kingdom, he went to the fair. There he wandered back and forth,passing booths without taking any notice of the articles in them, everwith the thought of Hongkong, of living free, of enriching himself.
He was about to leave the fair when he thought he recognized thejeweler Simoun bidding good-by to a foreigner, both of them speakingin English. To Placido every language spoken in the Philippinesby Europeans, when not Spanish, had to be English, and besides, hecaught the name Hongkong. If only the jeweler would recommend him tothat foreigner, who must be setting out for Hongkong!
Placido paused. He was acquainted with the jeweler, as the latter hadbeen in his town peddling his wares, and he had accompanied him onone of his trips, when Simoun had made himself very amiable indeed,telling him of the life in the universities of the free countries--whata difference!
So he followed the jeweler. "Senor Simoun, Senor Simoun!" he called.
The jeweler was at that moment entering his carriage. RecognizingPlacido, he checked himself.
"I want to ask a favor of you, to say a few words to you."
Simoun made a sign of impatience which Placido in his perturbationdid not observe. In a few words the youth related what had happenedand made known his desire to go to Hongkong.
"Why?" asked Simoun, staring fixedly at Placido through his bluegoggles.
Placido did not answer, so Simoun threw back his head, smiled his cold,silent smile and said, "All right! Come with me. To Calle Iris!" hedirected the cochero.
Simoun remained silent throughout the whole drive, apparently absorbedin meditation of a very important nature. Placido kept quiet, waitingfor him to speak first, and entertained himself in watching thepromenaders who were enjoying the clear moonlight: pairs of infatuatedlovers, followed by watchful mammas or aunts; groups of studentsin white clothes that the moonlight made whiter still; half-drunkensoldiers in a carriage, six together, on their way to visit some nipatemple dedicated to Cytherea; children playing their games and Chineseselling sugar-cane. All these filled the streets, taking on in thebrilliant moonlight fantastic forms and ideal outlines. In one housean orchestra was playing waltzes, and couples might be seen dancingunder the bright lamps and chandeliers--what a sordid spectacle theypresented in comparison with the sight the streets afforded! Thinkingof Hongkong, he asked himself if the moonlit nights in that islandwere so poetical and sweetly melancholy as those of the Philippines,and a deep sadness settled down over his heart.
Simoun ordered the carriage to stop and both alighted, just at themoment when Isagani and Paulita Gomez passed them murmuring sweetinanities. Behind them came Dona Victorina with Juanito Pelaez, whowas talking in a loud voice, busily gesticulating, and appearing tohave a larger hump than ever. In his preoccupation Pelaez did notnotice his former schoolmate.
"There's a fellow who's happy!" muttered Placido with a sigh,as he gazed toward the group, which became converted into vaporoussilhouettes, with Juanito's arms plainly visible, rising and fallinglike the arms of a windmill.
"That's all he's good for," observed Simoun. "It's fine to be young!"
To whom did Placido and Simoun each allude?
The jeweler made a sign to the young man, and they left the streetto pick their way through a labyrinth of paths and passageways amongvarious houses, at times leaping upon stones to avoid the mudholesor stepping aside from the sidewalks that were badly constructed andstill more badly tended. Placido was surprised to see the rich jewelermove through such places as if he were familiar with them. They atlength reached an open lot where a wretched hut stood off by itselfsurrounded by banana-plants and areca-palms. Some bamboo frames andsections of the same material led Placido to suspect that they wereapproaching the house of a pyrotechnist.
Simoun rapped on the window and a man's face appeared.
"Ah, sir!" he exclaimed, and immediately came outside.
"Is the powder here?" asked Simoun.
"In sacks. I'm waiting for the shells."
"And the bombs?"
"Are all ready."
"All right, then. This very night you must go and inform the lieutenantand the corporal. Then keep on your way, and in Lamayan you will find aman in a banka. You will say _Cabesa_ and he will answer _Tales_. It'snecessary that he be here tomorrow. There's no time to be lost."
Saying this, he gave him some gold coins.
"How's this, sir?" the man inquired in very good Spanish. "Is thereany news?"
"Yes, it'll be done within the coming week."
"The coming week!" exclaimed the unknown, stepping backward. "Thesuburbs are not yet ready, they hope that the General will withdrawthe decree. I thought it was postponed until the beginning of Lent."
Simoun shook his head. "We won't need the suburbs," he said. "WithCabesang Tales' people, the ex-carbineers, and a regiment, we'll haveenough. Later, Maria Clara may be dead. Start at once!"
The man disappeared. Placido, who had stood by and heard all of thisbrief interview, felt his hair rise and stared with startled eyes atSimoun, who smiled.
"You're surprised," he said with his icy smile, "that this Indian,so poorly dressed, speaks Spanish well? He was a schoolmaster whopersisted in teaching Spanish to the children and did not stop untilhe had lost his position and had been deported as a disturber ofthe public peace, and for having been a friend of the unfortunateIbarra. I got him back from his deportation, where he had been workingas a pruner of coconut-palms, and have made him a pyrotechnist."
They returned to the street and set out for Trozo. Before a woodenhouse of pleasant and well-kept appearance was a Spaniard on crutches,enjoying the moonlight. When Simoun accosted him, his attempt to risewas accompanied by a stifled groan.
"You're ready?" Simoun inquired of him.
"I always am!"
"The coming week?"
"So soon?"
"At the first cannon-shot!"
He moved away, followed by Placido, who was beginning to ask himselfif he were not dreaming.
"Does it surprise you," Simoun asked him, "to see a Spaniard so youngand so afflicted with disease? Two years ago he was as robust as youare, but his enemies succeeded in sending him to Balabak to work in apenal settlement, and there he caught the rheumatism and fever thatare dragging him into the grave. The poor devil had married a verybeautiful woman."
As an empty carriage was passing, Simoun hailed it and with Placidodirected it to his house in the Escolta, just at the moment when theclocks were striking half-past ten.
Two hours later Placido left the jeweler's house and walked gravelyand thoughtfully along the Escolta, then almost deserted, in spiteof the fact that the cafes were still quite animated. Now and thena carriage passed rapidly, clattering noisily over the worn pavement.
From a room in his house that overlooked the Pasig, Simoun turnedhis gaze toward the Walled City, which could be seen through the openwindows, with its roofs of galvanized iron gleaming in the moonlightand its somber towers showing dull and gloomy in the midst of theserene night. He laid aside his blue goggles, and his white hair,like a frame of silver, surrounded his energetic bronzed features,dimly lighted by a lamp whose flame was dying out from lack ofoil. Apparently wrapped in thought, he took no notice of the fadinglight and impending darkness.
"Within a few days," he murmured, "when on all sides that accursed cityis burning, den of presumptuous nothingness and impious exploitationof the ignorant and the distressed, when the tumults break out in thesuburbs and there rush into the terrorized streets my avenging hordes,engendered by rapacity and wrongs, then will I burst the walls ofyour prison, I will tear you from the clutches of fanaticism, and mywhite dove, you will be the Phoenix that will rise from the glowingembers! A revolution plotted by men in darkness tore me from yourside--another revolution will sweep me into your arms and reviveme! That moon, before reaching the apog
ee of its brilliance, willlight the Philippines cleansed of loathsome filth!"
Simoun, stopped suddenly, as though interrupted. A voice in his innerconsciousness was asking if he, Simoun, were not also a part of thefilth of that accursed city, perhaps its most poisonous ferment. Likethe dead who are to rise at the sound of the last trumpet, a thousandbloody specters--desperate shades of murdered men, women violated,fathers torn from their families, vices stimulated and encouraged,virtues mocked, now rose in answer to the mysterious question. Forthe first time in his criminal career, since in Havana he had bymeans of corruption and bribery set out to fashion an instrumentfor the execution of his plans--a man without faith, patriotism, orconscience--for the first time in that life, something within rose upand protested against his actions. He closed his eyes and remainedfor some time motionless, then rubbed his hand over his forehead,tried to be deaf to his conscience, and felt fear creeping overhim. No, he must not analyze himself, he lacked the courage to turnhis gaze toward his past. The idea of his courage, his conviction,his self-confidence failing him at the very moment when his work wasset before him! As the ghosts of the wretches in whose misfortuneshe had taken a hand continued to hover before his eyes, as if issuingfrom the shining surface of the river to invade the room with appealsand hands extended toward him, as reproaches and laments seemed tofill the air with threats and cries for vengeance, he turned his gazefrom the window and for the first time began to tremble.
"No, I must be ill, I can't be feeling well," he muttered. "Thereare many who hate me, who ascribe their misfortunes to me, but--"
He felt his forehead begin to burn, so he arose to approach the windowand inhale the fresh night breeze. Below him the Pasig dragged alongits silvered stream, on whose bright surface the foam glittered,winding slowly about, receding and advancing, following the course ofthe little eddies. The city loomed up on the opposite bank, and itsblack walls looked fateful, mysterious, losing their sordidness inthe moonlight that idealizes and embellishes everything. But againSimoun shivered; he seemed to see before him the severe countenanceof his father, dying in prison, but dying for having done good; thenthe face of another man, severer still, who had given his life for himbecause he believed that he was going to bring about the regenerationof his country.
"No, I can't turn back," he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration fromhis forehead. "The work is at hand and its success will justify me! IfI had conducted myself as you did, I should have succumbed. Nothingof idealism, nothing of fallacious theories! Fire and steel to thecancer, chastisement to vice, and afterwards destroy the instrument,if it be bad! No, I have planned well, but now I feel feverish, myreason wavers, it is natural--If I have done ill, it has been that Imay do good, and the end justifies the means. What I will do is notto expose myself--"
With his thoughts thus confused he lay down, and tried to fall asleep.
On the following morning Placido listened submissively, with a smileon his lips, to his mother's preachment. When she spoke of her plan ofinteresting the Augustinian procurator he did not protest or object,but on the contrary offered himself to carry it out, in order tosave trouble for his mother, whom he begged to return at once to theprovince, that very day, if possible. Cabesang Andang asked him thereason for such haste.
"Because--because if the procurator learns that you are here he won'tdo anything until you send him a present and order some masses."