CHAPTER XXXIV
The Dinner
There in the decorated kiosk the great men of the province weredining. The alcalde occupied one end of the table and Ibarra theother. At the young man's right sat Maria Clara and at his leftthe escribano. Capitan Tiago, the alferez, the gobernadorcillo, thefriars, the employees, and the few young ladies who had remained sat,not according to rank, but according to their inclinations. The mealwas quite animated and happy.
When the dinner was half over, a messenger came in search of CapitanTiago with a telegram, to open which he naturally requested thepermission of the others, who very naturally begged him to do so. Theworthy capitan at first knitted his eyebrows, then raised them;his face became pale, then lighted up as he hastily folded the paperand arose.
"Gentlemen," he announced in confusion, "his Excellency theCaptain-General is coming this evening to honor my house." Thereupon heset off at a run, hatless, taking with him the message and his napkin.
He was followed by exclamations and questions, for a cry of"Tulisanes!" would not have produced greater effect. "But,listen!" "When is he coming?" "Tell us about it!" "His Excellency!" ButCapitan Tiago was already far away.
"His Excellency is coming and will stay at Capitan Tiago's!" exclaimedsome without taking into consideration the fact that his daughterand future son-in-law were present.
"The choice couldn't be better," answered the latter.
The friars gazed at one another with looks that seemed to say: "TheCaptain-General is playing another one of his tricks, he is slightingus, for he ought to stay at the convento," but since this was thethought of all they remained silent, none of them giving expressionto it.
"I was told of this yesterday," said the alcalde, "but at that timehis Excellency had not yet fully decided."
"Do you know, Senor Alcalde, how long the Captain-General thinks ofstaying here?" asked the alferez uneasily.
"With certainty, no. His Excellency likes to give surprises."
"Here come some more messages." These were for the alcalde,the alferez, and the gobernadorcillo, and contained the sameannouncement. The friars noted well that none came directed tothe curate.
"His Excellency will arrive at four this afternoon,gentlemen!" announced the alcalde solemnly. "So we can finish our mealin peace." Leonidas at Thermopylae could not have said more cheerfully,"Tonight we shall sup with Pluto!"
The conversation again resumed its ordinary course.
"I note the absence of our great preacher," timidly remarked anemployee of inoffensive aspect who had not opened his mouth up tothe time of eating, and who spoke now for the first time in thewhole morning.
All who knew the history of Crisostomo's father made a movement andwinked, as if to say, "Get out! Fools rush in--" But some one morecharitably disposed answered, "He must be rather tired."
"Rather?" exclaimed the alferez. "He must be exhausted, and as theysay here, all fagged out. What a sermon it was!"
"A splendid sermon--wonderful!" said the escribano.
"Magnificent--profound!" added the correspondent.
"To be able to talk so much, it's necessary to have the lungs that hehas," observed Padre Manuel Martin. The Augustinian did not concedehim anything more than lungs.
"And his fertility of expression!" added Padre Salvi.
"Do you know that Senor Ibarra has the best cook in theprovince?" remarked the alcalde, to cut short such talk.
"You may well say that, but his beautiful neighbor doesn't wish tohonor the table, for she is scarcely eating a bite," observed one ofthe employees.
Maria Clara blushed. "I thank the gentleman, he troubles himself toomuch on my account," she stammered timidly, "but--"
"But you honor it enough merely by being present," concluded thegallant alcalde as he turned to Padre Salvi.
"Padre," he said in a loud voice, "I've observed that during thewhole day your Reverence has been silent and thoughtful."
"The alcalde is a great observer," remarked Fray Sibyla in a meaningtone.
"It's a habit of mine," stammered the Franciscan. "It pleases me moreto listen than to talk."
"Your Reverence always takes care to win and not to lose," said thealferez in a jesting tone.
Padre Salvi, however, did not take this as a joke, for his gazebrightened a moment as he replied, "The alferez knows very well thesedays that I'm not the one who is winning or losing most."
The alferez turned the hit aside with a forced laugh, pretending notto take it to himself.
"But, gentlemen, I don't understand how it is possible to talkof winnings and losses," interposed the alcalde. "What will theseamiable and discreet young ladies who honor us with their companythink of us? For me the young women are like the AEolian harps in themiddle of the night--it is necessary to listen with close attentionin order that their ineffable harmonies may elevate the soul to thecelestial spheres of the infinite and the ideal!"
"Your Honor is becoming poetical!" exclaimed the escribano gleefully,and both emptied their wine-glasses.
"I can't help it," said the alcalde as he wiped his lips. "Opportunity,while it doesn't always make the thief, makes the poet. In my youthI composed verses which were really not bad."
"So your Excellency has been unfaithful to the Muses to follow Themis,"emphatically declared our mythical or mythological correspondent.
"Pshaw, what would you have? To run through the entire social scalewas always my dream. Yesterday I was gathering flowers and singingsongs, today I wield the rod of justice and serve Humanity, tomorrow--"
"Tomorrow your Honor will throw the rod into the fire to warm yourselfby it in the winter of life, and take an appointment in the cabinet,"added Padre Sibyla.
"Pshaw! Yes--no--to be a cabinet official isn't exactly my beau-ideal:any upstart may become one. A villa in the North in which to spend thesummer, a mansion in Madrid, and some property in Andalusia for thewinter--there we shall live remembering our beloved Philippines. Ofme Voltaire would not say, 'We have lived among these people only toenrich ourselves and to calumniate them.'"
The alcalde quoted this in French, so the employees, thinking thathis Honor had cracked a joke, began to laugh in appreciation ofit. Some of the friars did likewise, since they did not know thatthe Voltaire mentioned was the same Voltaire whom they had so oftencursed and consigned to hell. But Padre Sibyla was aware of it andbecame serious from the belief that the alcalde had said somethingheretical or impious.
In the other kiosk the children were eating under the direction oftheir teacher. For Filipino children they were rather noisy, sinceat the table and in the presence of other persons their sins aregenerally more of omission than of commission. Perhaps one who wasusing the tableware improperly would be corrected by his neighborand from this there would arise a noisy discussion in which eachwould have his partisans. Some would say the spoon, others the knifeor the fork, and as no one was considered an authority there wouldarise the contention that God is Christ or, more clearly, a disputeof theologians. Their fathers and mothers winked, made signs, nudgedone another, and showed their happiness by their smiles.
"Ya!" exclaimed a countrywoman to an old man who was mashing buyo inhis _kalikut_, "in spite of the fact that my husband is opposed to it,my Andoy shall be a priest. It's true that we're poor, but we'll work,and if necessary we'll beg alms. There are not lacking those who willgive money so that the poor may take holy orders. Does not BrotherMateo, a man who does not lie, say that Pope Sextus was a herder ofcarabaos in Batangas? Well then, look at my Andoy, see if he hasn'talready the face of a St. Vincent!" The good mother watered at themouth to see her son take hold of a fork with both hands.
"God help us!" added the old man, rolling his quid of buyo. "IfAndoy gets to be Pope we'll go to Rome he, he! I can still walk well,and if I die--he, he!"
"Don't worry, granddad! Andoy won't forget that you taught him howto weave baskets."
"You're right, Petra. I also believe that your son will be great, atleast a patriarch. I ha
ve never seen any one who learned the businessin a shorter time. Yes, he'll remember me when as Pope or bishop heentertains himself in making baskets for his cook. He'll then saymasses for my soul--he, he!" With this hope the good old man againfilled his _kalikut_ with buyo.
"If God hears my prayers and my hopes are fulfilled, I'll say to Andoy,'Son, take away all our sins and send us to Heaven!' Then we shan'tneed to pray and fast and buy indulgences. One whose son is a blessedPope can commit sins!"
"Send him to my house tomorrow, Petra," cried the old manenthusiastically, "and I'll teach him to weave the _nito!_"
"Huh! Get out! What are you dreaming about, grand-dad? Do you stillthink that the Popes even move their hands? The curate, being nothingmore than a curate, only works in the mass--when he turns around! TheArchbishop doesn't even turn around, for he says mass sitting down. Sothe Pope--the Pope says it in bed with a fan! What are you thinkingabout?"
"Of nothing more, Petra, than that he know how to weave the _nito_. Itwould be well for him to be able to sell hats and cigar-cases so thathe wouldn't have to beg alms, as the curate does here every year inthe name of the Pope. It always fills me with compassion to see asaint poor, so I give all my savings."
Another countryman here joined in the conversation, saying, "It's allsettled, cumare, [95] my son has got to be a doctor, there's nothinglike being a doctor!"
"Doctor! What are you talking about, cumpare?" retorted Petra. "There'snothing like being a curate!"
"A curate, pish! A curate? The doctor makes lots of money, the sickpeople worship him, cumare!"
"Excuse me! The curate, by making three or four turns and saying_deminos pabiscum_, [96] eats God and makes money. All, even the women,tell him their secrets."
"And the doctor? What do you think a doctor is? The doctor sees allthat the women have, he feels the pulses of the _dalagas!_ I'd justlike to be a doctor for a week!"
"And the curate, perhaps the curate doesn't see what your doctorsees? Better still, you know the saying, 'the fattest chicken andthe roundest leg for the curate!'"
"What of that? Do the doctors eat dried fish? Do they soil theirfingers eating salt?"
"Does the curate dirty his hands as your doctors do? He has greatestates and when he works he works with music and has sacristans tohelp him."
"But the confessing, cumare? Isn't that work?"
"No work about that! I'd just like to be confessing everybody! Whilewe work and sweat to find out what our own neighbors are doing,the curate does nothing more than take a seat and they tell himeverything. Sometimes he falls asleep, but he lets out two or threeblessings and we are again the children of God! I'd just like to bea curate for one evening in Lent!"
"But the preaching? You can't tell me that it's not work. Just lookhow the fat curate was sweating this morning," objected the rustic,who felt himself being beaten into retreat.
"Preaching! Work to preach! Where's your judgment? I'd just like tobe talking half a day from the pulpit, scolding and quarreling witheverybody, without any one daring to reply, and be getting paid forit besides. I'd just like to be the curate for one morning when thosewho are in debt to me are attending mass! Look there now, how PadreDamaso gets fat with so much scolding and beating."
Padre Damaso was, indeed, approaching with the gait of a heavyman. He was half smiling, but in such a malignant way that Ibarra,upon seeing him, lost the thread of his talk. The padre was greetedwith some surprise but with signs of pleasure on the part of allexcept Ibarra. They were then at the dessert and the champagne wasfoaming in the glasses.
Padre Damaso's smile became nervous when he saw Maria Clara seatedat Crisostomo's right. He took a seat beside the alcalde and said inthe midst of a significant silence, "Were you discussing something,gentlemen? Go ahead!"
"We were at the toasts," answered the alcalde. "Senor Ibarra wasmentioning all who have helped him in his philanthropic enterpriseand was speaking of the architect when your Reverence--"
"Well, I don't know anything about architecture," interrupted PadreDamaso, "but I laugh at architects and the fools who employ them. Hereyou have it--I drew the plan of this church and it's perfectlyconstructed, so an English jeweler who stopped in the convento oneday assured me. To draw a plan one needs only to have two fingers'breadth of forehead."
"Nevertheless," answered the alcalde, seeing that Ibarra was silent,"when we consider certain buildings, as, for example, this schoolhouse,we need an expert."
"Get out with your experts!" exclaimed the priest with a sneer. "Onlya fool needs experts! One must be more of a brute than the Indians,who build their own houses, not to know how to construct four wallsand put a roof on top of them. That's all a schoolhouse is!"
The guests gazed at Ibarra, who had turned pale, but he continued asif in conversation with Maria Clara.
"But your Reverence should consider--"
"See now," went on the Franciscan, not allowing the alcalde tocontinue, "look how one of our lay brothers, the most stupid that wehave, has constructed a hospital, good, pretty, and cheap. He madethem work hard and paid only eight cuartos a day even to those whohad to come from other towns. He knew how to handle them, not likea lot of cranks and little mestizos who are spoiling them by payingthree or four reals."
"Does your Reverence say that he paid only eightcuartos? Impossible!" The alcalde was trying to change the course ofthe conversation.
"Yes, sir, and those who pride themselves on being good Spaniardsought to imitate him. You see now, since the Suez Canal was opened,the corruption that has come in here. Formerly, when we had to doublethe Cape, neither so many vagabonds came here nor so many others wentfrom here to become vagabonds."
"But, Padre Damaso--"
"You know well enough what the Indian is--just as soon as he getsa little learning he sets himself up as a doctor! All these littlefellows that go to Europe--"
"But, listen, your Reverence!" interrupted the alcalde, who wasbecoming nervous over the aggressiveness of such talk.
"Every one ends up as he deserves," the friar continued. "The handof God is manifest in the midst of it all, and one must be blindnot to see it. Even in this life the fathers of such vipers receivetheir punishment, they die in jail ha, ha! As we might say, theyhave nowhere--"
But he did not finish the sentence. Ibarra, livid, had been followinghim with his gaze and upon hearing this allusion to his father jumpedup and dropped a heavy hand on the priest's head, so that he fell backstunned. The company was so filled with surprise and fright that noone made any movement to interfere.
"Keep off!" cried the youth in a terrible voice, as he caught up asharp knife and placed his foot on the neck of the friar, who wasrecovering from the shock of his fall. "Let him who values his lifekeep away!"
The youth was beside himself. His whole body trembled and his eyesrolled threateningly in their sockets. Fray Damaso arose with aneffort, but the youth caught him by the neck and shook him until heagain fell doubled over on his knees.
"Senor Ibarra! Senor Ibarra!" stammered some. But no one, not eventhe alferez himself, dared to approach the gleaming knife, when theyconsidered the youth's strength and the condition of his mind. Allseemed to be paralyzed.
"You, here! You have been silent, now it is my turn! I have tried toavoid this, but God brings me to it--let God be the judge!" The youthwas breathing laboriously, but with a hand of iron he held down theFranciscan, who was struggling vainly to free himself.
"My heart beats tranquilly, my hand is sure," he began, lookingaround him. "First, is there one among you, one who has not loved hisfather, who was born in such shame and humiliation that he hates hismemory? You see? You understand this silence? Priest of a God of peace,with your mouth full of sanctity and religion and your heart full ofevil, you cannot know what a father is, or you might have thought ofyour own! In all this crowd which you despise there is not one likeyou! You are condemned!"
The persons surrounding him, thinking that he was about to commitmurder, made a movement.
"Away!" he cried again in a threatening voice. "What, do you fear thatI shall stain my hands with impure blood? Have I not told you thatmy heart beats tranquilly? Away from us! Listen, priests and judges,you who think yourselves other men and attribute to yourselves otherrights: my father was an honorable man,--ask these people here, whovenerate his memory. My father was a good citizen and he sacrificedhimself for me and for the good of his country. His house was openand his table was set for the stranger and the outcast who came tohim in distress! He was a Christian who always did good and who neveroppressed the unprotected or afflicted those in trouble. To this manhere he opened his doors, he made him sit at his table and calledhim his friend. And how has this man repaid him? He calumniated him,persecuted him, raised up against him all the ignorant by availinghimself of the sanctity of his position; he outraged his tomb,dishonored his memory, and persecuted him even in the sleep ofdeath! Not satisfied with this, he persecutes the son now! I havefled from him, I have avoided his presence. You this morning heardhim profane the pulpit, pointing me out to popular fanaticism, and Iheld my peace! Now he comes here to seek a quarrel with me. To yoursurprise, I have suffered in silence, but he again insults the mostsacred memory that there is for a son. You who are here, priests andjudges, have you seen your aged father wear himself out working foryou, separating himself from you for your welfare, have you seen himdie of sorrow in a prison sighing for your embrace, seeking some oneto comfort him, alone, sick, when you were in a foreign land? Have youafterwards heard his name dishonored, have you found his tomb emptywhen you went to pray beside it? No? You are silent, you condemn him!"
He raised his hand, but with the swiftness of light a girlish formput itself between them and delicate fingers restrained the avengingarm. It was Maria Clara. Ibarra stared at her with a look that seemedto reflect madness. Slowly his clenched fingers relaxed, lettingfall the body of the Franciscan and the knife. Covering his face,he fled through the crowd.