An Eagle Flight: A Filipino Novel Adapted from Noli Me Tangere

  The guests eyed one another, fearful of what might follow. Ibarra,astonished, remained silent a moment, then said quietly:

  "Senores, do not wonder at these words of Brother Damaso. He was mycurate when I was a little boy, and with his reverence the years don'tcount. I thank him for thus recalling the time when he was often anhonored guest at my father's table."

  Brother Sibyla furtively observed the Franciscan, who was tremblingslightly. At the first possible opportunity Ibarra rose.

  "You will pardon me if I excuse myself," he said. "I arrived onlya few hours ago, and have matters of importance to attend to. Thedinner is over. I drink little wine, and scarcely taste liquors." Andraising a glass as yet untouched, "Senores," he said, "Spain and thePhilippines forever!"

  "You're not going!" said Santiago in amazement. "Maria Clara and herfriends will be with us in a moment. What shall I say to her?"

  "That I was obliged to go," said Ibarra, "and that I'm coming earlyin the morning." And he went out.

  The Franciscan unburdened himself.

  "You saw his arrogance," he said to the blond provincial. "These youngfellows won't take reproof from a priest. That comes of sending themto Europe. The Government ought to prohibit it."

  That night the young provincial added to his "Colonial Studies,"this paragraph: "In the Philippines, the least important person at afeast is he who gives it. You begin by showing your host to the door,and all goes merrily.... In the present state of affairs, it wouldbe almost a kindness to prohibit young Filipinos from leaving theircountry, if not even from learning to read."

  IV.

  HERETIC AND FILIBUSTER.

  Ibarra stood outside the house of Captain Tiago. The night wind,which at this season brings a bit of freshness to Manila, seemed toblow away the cloud that had darkened his face. Carriages passedhim like streaks of light, hired calashes rolled slowly by, andfoot-passengers of all nationalities jostled one another. With therambling gait of the preoccupied or the idle, he took his way towardthe Plaza de Binondo. Nothing was changed. It was the same street,with the same blue and white houses, the same white walls with theirslate-colored fresco, poor imitations of granite. The church towershowed the same clock with transparent face. The Chinese shop hadthe same soiled curtains, the same iron triangles. One day, long ago,imitating the street urchins of Manila, he had twisted one of thesetriangles: nobody had ever straightened it. "How little progress!" hemurmured; and he followed the Calle de la Sacristia, pursued by thecry of sherbet venders.

  "Marvellous!" he thought; "one would say my voyage was a dream. SantoDios! the street is as bad as when I went away."

  While he contemplated this marvel of urban stability in an unstablecountry, a hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He looked up andrecognized the old lieutenant. His face had put off its expressionof sternness, and he smiled kindly at Crisostomo.

  "Young man," he said, "I was your father's friend: I wish you toconsider me yours."

  "You seem to have known my father well," said Crisostomo; "perhapsyou can tell me something of his death."

  "You do not know about it?"

  "Nothing at all, and Don Santiago would not talk with me tillto-morrow."

  "You know, of course, where he died."

  "Not even that."

  Lieutenant Guevara hesitated.

  "I am an old soldier," he said at last, in a voice full of compassion,"and only know how to say bluntly what I have to tell. Your fatherdied in prison."

  Ibarra sprang back, his eyes fixed on the lieutenant's.

  "Died in prison? Who died in prison?"

  "Your father," said the lieutenant, his voice still gentler.

  "My father--in prison? What are you saying? Do you know who my fatherwas?" and he seized the old man's arm.

  "I think I'm not mistaken: Don Rafael Ibarra."

  "Yes, Don Rafael Ibarra," Crisostomo repeated mechanically.

  "You will soon learn that for an honest man to keep out of prison isa difficult matter in the Philippines."

  "You mock me! Why did he die in prison?"

  "Come with me; we will talk on the way."

  They walked along in silence, the officer stroking his beard in searchof inspiration.

  "As you know," he began, "your father was the richest man of theprovince, and if he had many friends he had also enemies. We Spaniardswho come to the Philippines are seldom what we should be. I say thisas truthfully of some of your ancestors as of others. Most of us cometo make a fortune without regard to the means. Well, your father was aman to make enemies among these adventurers, and he made enemies amongthe monks. I never knew exactly the ground of the trouble with BrotherDamaso, but it came to a point where the priest almost denounced himfrom the pulpit.

  "You remember the old ex-artilleryman who collected taxes? He becamethe laughing-stock of the pueblo, and grew brutal and churlishaccordingly. One day he chased some boys who were annoying him, andstruck one down. Unfortunately your father interfered. There was astruggle and the man fell. He died within a few hours.

  "Naturally your father was arrested, and then his enemies unmasked. Hewas called heretic, filibustero, his papers were seized, everythingwas made to accuse him. Any one else in his place would have beenset at liberty, the physicians finding that the man died of apoplexy;but your father's fortune, his honesty, and his scorn of everythingillegal undid him. When his advocate, by the most brilliant pleading,had exposed these calumnies, new accusations arose. He had takenlands unjustly, owed men for imaginary wrongs, had relations with thetulisanes, by which his plantations and herds were unmolested. Theaffair became so complicated that no one could unravel it. Your fathergave way under the strain, and died suddenly--alone--in prison."

  They had reached the quarters.

  The lieutenant hesitated. Ibarra said nothing, but grasped the oldman's long, thin hand; then turned away, caught sight of a coach,and signalled the driver.

  "Fonda de Lala," he said, and his words were scarcely audible.

  V.

  A STAR IN THE DARK NIGHT.

  Ibarra went up to his chamber, which faced the river, threw himselfdown, and looked out through the open window. Across the river abrilliantly lighted house was ringing with joyous music. Had the youngman been so minded, with the aid of a glass he might have seen, in thatradiant atmosphere, a vision. It was a young girl, of exceeding beauty,wearing the picturesque costume of the Philippines. A semicircleof courtiers was round her. Spaniards, Chinese, natives, soldiers,curates, old and young, intoxicated with the light and music, weretalking, gesturing, disputing with animation. Even Brother Sibyladeigned to address this queen, in whose splendid hair Dona Victorinawas wreathing a diadem of pearls and brilliants. She was white,too white perhaps, and her deep eyes, often lowered, when she raisedthem showed the purity of her soul. About her fair and rounded neck,through the transparent tissue of the pina, winked, as say the Tagals,the joyous eyes of a necklace of brilliants. One man alone seemedunreached by all this light and loveliness; it was a young Franciscan,slim, gaunt, pale, who watched all from a distance, still as a statue.

  But Ibarra sees none of this. Another spectacle appears to his fancy,commands his eyes. Four walls, bare and dank, enclose a narrowcell, lighted by a single streak of day. On the moist and noisomefloor is a mat; on the mat an old man dying. Beaten down by fever,he lies and looks about him, calling a name, in strangling voice,with tears. No one--a clanking chain, an echoed groan somewhere;that was all. And away off in the bright world, laughing, singing,drenching flowers with wine, a young man.... One by one the lightsgo out in the festal house: no more of noise, or song, or harp;but in Ibarra's ears always the agonizing cry.

  Silence has drawn her deep breath over Manila; all its life seemsgone out, save that a cock's crow alternates with the bells of clocktowers and the melancholy watch-cry of the guard. A quarter moon comesup, flooding with its pale light the universal sleep. Even Ibarra,wearied more perhaps with his sad thoughts than his long voyage, sleepstoo. Only the young Francis
can, silent and motionless just now at thefeast, awake still. His elbow on the window-place of his little cell,his chin sunk in his palm, he watches a glittering star. The starpales, goes out, the slender moon loses her gentle light, but the monkstays on; motionless, he looks toward the horizon, lost now behindthe morning mists, over the field of Bagumbayan, over the sleeping sea.

  VI.

  CAPTAIN TIAGO AND MARIA.

  While our friends are still asleep or breakfasting, we will sketchthe portrait of Captain Tiago. We have no reason to ignore him,never having been among his guests. Short, less dark than most ofhis compatriots, of full face and slightly corpulent, Captain Tiagoseemed younger than his age. His rounded cranium, very small andelongated behind, was covered with hair black as ebony. His eyes,small and straight set, kept always the same expression. His nosewas straight and finely cut, and if his mouth had not been deformedby the use of tobacco and buyo, he had not been wrong in thinkinghimself a handsome man.

  He was reputed the richest resident of Binondo, and had large estatesin La Pampanga, on the Laguna de Bay, and at San Diego. From itsbaths, its famous gallera, and his recollections of the place,San Diego was his favorite pueblo, and here he passed two monthsevery year. He had also properties at Santo Cristo, in the Calle deAnloague, and in the Calle Rosario; the exploitation of the opiumtraffic was shared between him and a Chinese, and, needless to say,brought him great gains. He was purveyor to the prisoners at Bilibid,and furnished zacate to many Manila houses. On good terms with allauthority, shrewd, pliant, daring in speculation, he was the solerival of a certain Perez in the awards of divers contracts whichthe Philippine Government always places in privileged hands. Fromall of which it resulted that Captain Tiago was as happy as can bea man whose small head announces his native origin. He was rich,and at peace with God, with the Government, and with men.

  That he was at peace with God could not be doubted. One has nomotive for being at enmity with Him when one is well in the land,and has never had to ask Him for anything. From the grand salonof the Manila home, a little door, hid behind a silken curtain,led to a chapel--something obligatory in a Filipino house. Therewere Santiago's Lares, and if we use this word, it is because themaster of the house was rather a poly- than a monotheist. Here, insculpture and oils, were saints, martyrdoms, and miracles; a chaptercould scarcely enumerate them all. Before these images Santiago burnedhis candles and made his requests known.

  That he was at peace with the Government, however difficult theproblem, could not be doubted either. Incapable of a new idea, andcontented with his lot, he was disposed to obey even to the lowestfunctionary, and to offer him capons, hams, and Chinese fruits at allseasons. If he heard the natives maligned, not considering himself one,he chimed in and said worse: one criticised the Chinese merchants orthe Spaniards, he, who thought himself pure Iberian, did it too. He wasfor two years gobernadorcillo of the rich association of half-breeds,in the face of protestations from many who considered him a native. Theimpious called him fool; the poor, pitiless and cruel; his inferiors,a tyrant.

  As to his past, he was the only son of a rich sugar merchant, who diedwhen Santiago was still at school. He had then to quit his studiesand give himself to business. He married a young girl of Santa Cruz,who brought him social rank and helped his fortunes.

  The absence of an heir in the first six years of marriage made CaptainTiago's thirst for riches almost blameworthy. In vain all this timedid Dona Pia make novenas and pilgrimages and scatter alms. But atlength she was to become a mother. Alas! like Shakespeare's fishermanwho lost his songs when he found a treasure, she never smiled again,and died, leaving a beautiful baby girl, whom Brother Damaso presentedat the font. The child was called Maria Clara.

  Maria Clara grew, thanks to the care of good Aunt Isabel. Hereyes, like her mother's, were large, black, and shaded by longlashes; sparkling and mirthful when she laughed; when she did not,thoughtful and profound, even sad. Her curly hair was almost blond,her nose perfect; and her mouth, small and sweet like her mother's,was flanked by charming dimples. The little thing, idol of every one,lived amid smiles and love. The monks feted her. They dressed herin white for their processions, mingled jasmine and lilies in herhair, gave her little silver wings, and in her hands blue ribbons,the reins of fluttering white doves. She was so joyous, had such acandid baby speech, that Captain Tiago, enraptured with her, passedhis time in blessing the saints.

  In the lands of the sun, at thirteen or fourteen, the child becomes awoman. At this age full of mysteries, Maria Clara entered the conventof Santa Catalina, to remain several years. With tears she parted fromthe sole companion of her childish games, Crisostomo Ibarra, who inturn was soon to leave his home. Some years after his departure, DonRafael and Captain Tiago, knowing the inclinations of their children,agreed upon their marriage. This arrangement was received with eagerjoy by two hearts beating at two extremities of the world.

  VII.

  IDYLLE.

  The sky was blue. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves and shook thenodding "angels' heads," the aerial plants, and the many otheradornments of the terrace. Maria and Crisostomo were there, alonetogether for the first time since his return. They began with charmingfutilities, so sweet to those who understand, so meaningless toothers. She is sister to Cain, a little jealous; she says to her lover:"Did you never forget me among the many beautiful women you have seen?"

  He too, he is brother to Cain, a bit subtle.

  "Could I ever forget you!" he answered, gazing into the darkeyes. "Your remembrance made powerless that lotus flower, Europe,which steeps out of the memory of many of my countrymen the hopes andwrongs of our land. It seemed as if the spirit, the poetic incarnationof my country was you, frank and lovely daughter of the Philippines! Mylove for you and that for her fused in one."

  "I know only your pueblo, Manila and Antipolo," replied the young girl,radiant; "but I have always thought of you, and though my confessorcommanded it, I was never able to forget you. I used to think overall our childish plays and quarrels. Do you remember the day you werereally angry? Your mother had taken us to wade in the brook, behindthe reeds. You put a crown of orange flowers on my head and called meChloe. But your mother took the flowers and ground them with a stone,to mix with gogo, for washing our hair. You cried. 'Stupid,' said she,'you shall see how good your hair smells!' I laughed; at that youwere angry and wouldn't speak to me, while I wanted to cry. On theway home, when the sun was very hot, I picked some sage leaves foryour head. You smiled your thanks, and we were friends again."

  Ibarra opened his pocketbook and took out a paper in which were someleaves, blackened and dry, but fragrant still.

  "Your sage leaves," he replied to her questioning look.

  In her turn, she drew out a little white satin purse.

  "Hands off!" as he reached out for it, "there's a letter in it!"

  "My letter of good-by?"

  "Have you written me any others, senor mio?"

  "What is in it?"

  "Lots of fibs, excuses of a bad debtor," she laughed. "If you're good Iwill read it to you, suppressing the gallantries, though, so you won'tsuffer too much." And lifting the paper to hide her face, she began:

  "'My----' I'll not read what follows, because it's a fib"; and sheran her eyes over several lines. "In spite of my prayers, I mustgo. 'You are no longer a boy,' my father said, 'you must think of thefuture. You have to learn things your own country cannot teach you, ifyou would be useful to her some day. What, almost a man and I see youin tears?' Upon that I confessed my love for you. He was silent, thenplacing his hand on my shoulder he said in a voice full of emotion:'Do you think you alone know how to love; that it costs your fathernothing to let you go away from him? It is not long since we lost yourmother, and I am growing old, yet I accept my solitude and run the riskof never seeing you again. For you the future opens, for me it shuts;the fire of youth is yours, frost touches me, and it is you who weep,you who do not know how to sacrifice the present to a to-morrow goodfor you and
for your country."

  Ibarra's agitation stopped the reading; he had become very pale andwas walking back and forth.

  "What is it? You are ill!" cried Maria, going toward him.

  "With you I have forgotten my duty; I should be on my way to thepueblo. To-morrow is the Feast of the Dead."

  Maria was silent. She fixed on him her great, thoughtful eyes, thenturned to pick some flowers.

  "Go," she said, and her voice was deep and sweet; "I keep you nolonger. In a few days we shall see each other again. Put these flowerson your father's grave."

  A little later, Captain Tiago found Maria in the chapel, at the foot ofa statue of the Virgin, weeping. "Come, come," said he, to console her;"burn some candles to St. Roch and St. Michael, patrons of travellers,for the tulisanes are numerous: better spend four reales for wax thanpay a ransom."

  VIII.

  REMINISCENCES.

  Ibarra's carriage was crossing one of the most animated quarters ofManila. The street life that had saddened him the night before, now,in spite of his sorrow, made him smile. Everything awakened a worldof sleeping recollections.

  These streets were not yet paved, so if the sun shone two dayscontinuously, they turned to powder which covered everything. Butlet it rain a day, you had a mire, reflecting at night the shiftinglamps of the carriages and bespattering the foot-passengers on thenarrow walks. How many women had lost their embroidered slippers inthese muddy waves!