Friars and Filipinos Part 5

The Captain, somewhat disturbed, was unable to reply, but he obeyed and followed the big priest into his office. Father Damaso shut the door behind them.

While they are conferring in secret, let us find out what has become of Brother Sibyla. The wise Dominican was not to be found at his parochial residence, for early, immediately after ma.s.s, he had gone to the Dominican convent, situated near the gate called Isabel the Second or Magallanes, according to which family is in power in Madrid. Paying no attention to the delicious odor of chocolate or to the rattling of money boxes and coins in the treasurer's office, and scarcely answering the deferential salute of the treasurer, Father Sibyla went upstairs, crossed several corridors and rapped on a door.

"Come in!" answered a voice.

"May G.o.d give back health to Your Reverence!" was the greeting of the young Dominican as he entered.

A very feeble old priest was seated in a large arm-chair. His complexion was as yellow as the saints which Revera paints; his eyes were sunk deep in their orbits, and his heavy eyebrows, which were nearly always knit in a frown, added to the brilliant glare of his death-foreboding eyes.

"I have come to talk to you about the charge with which you have entrusted me," said Father Sibyla.

"Ah, yes. And what about it?"

"Pshaw!" answered the young man with disgust, seating himself and turning his face away with disdain. "They have been telling us a lot of lies. Young Ibarra is a prudent boy. He does not seem to be a fool. I think he is a pretty good sort of a chap."

"Do you think so?"

"Hostilities began last night."

"So soon? And how did it come about?"

Father Sibyla related briefly what had taken place between Father Damaso and Crisostomo Ibarra.

"Furthermore," he added, in conclusion, "the young man is going to marry that daughter of Captain Tiago, who was educated in the college of our sisters. He is rich and would not want to make any enemies who might cause the loss of his happiness and his fortune."

The sick man bowed his head as a sign of a.s.sent. "Yes, that is my opinion. With such a wife and such a father-in-law we can hold him body and soul. And if not, it will be all the better for us if he declares himself our enemy."

Father Sibyla looked at the old man with surprise.

"That is to say, for the good of our whole corporation," he added, breathing with difficulty. "I prefer open attacks to the foolish praise and adulations of friends, for, the truth is, flattery is always paid for."

"Does Your Reverence think so?"

The old man looked at him sadly. "Always bear this in mind," he answered, panting with fatigue, "that our power will endure as long as it is believed in. If they attack us, the Government says, 'They attack them, because they see in them an obstacle to their liberty, therefore let us preserve them.'"

"And if the Government gives them a hearing? Sometimes the Government----"

"The Government will do no such thing."

"Nevertheless, if some bold and reckless man, impelled by covetousness, should dare to think that he wanted our possessions----"

"Then, woe to him!"

For a moment both remained silent.

"Furthermore," continued the sick man, "it will do us good to have them attack us and wake us up. It would show us our weaknesses and strengthen us. The exaggerated praises which we get deceive us, and put us asleep. We are becoming ridiculous and on the day that we become ridiculous we shall fall as we fell in Europe. Money will no longer flow into our churches, no one will longer buy our scapularies or girdles, and when we cease to be rich we shall no longer possess the great influence which we wield at present."

"Pshaw! We shall always have our property, our plantations----"

"We shall lose them all as we lost them in Europe. And the worst of it is that we are working for our own ruin. For instance, this immeasurable ambition to raise the incomes from our lands each year, this eagerness to increase the rents, which I have always opposed in vain, this eagerness will be our ruin. The natives already find themselves forced to buy land in other localities if they want lands as good as ours. I fear that we are degenerating. 'Whom the G.o.ds would destroy they first make mad.' For this reason we should not be too hard on the people, for they are already grumbling under our exactions. You have considered well. Let us leave this thing to others, and keep up the prestige which we have and let us endeavor to appear before G.o.d with clean hands. May the G.o.d of pity have mercy on our weaknesses!"

"So you believe that the tax or tribute----"

"Let us talk no more of money!" interrupted the sick man with disgust. "You were saying that the lieutenant and Father Damaso last night----"

"Yes, Father," answered the young priest smiling. "But this morning I saw the lieutenant again and he told me that he was sorry for what had occurred at the dinner. He said he thought that he had been affected by too much wine and that the same was true of Father Damaso. 'And your boast to tell the Governor?' I asked jokingly. 'Father,' he answered, 'I know when to make my word good so long as it does not stain my honor. That is just the reason why I wear only two stars.'"

After talking over several minor matters, Father Sibyla took his leave.

As a matter of fact the lieutenant had not gone to the Governor General's palace in Melacanan with any report in regard to the occurrence of the preceding evening. However, the Governor General had learned of it through another source, and discussing the matter with one of his aides, he said:

"A woman and a priest can give no offense. I intend to live peaceably while I remain in this country and I do not wish to have any trouble with men who wear skirts. And, furthermore, I have found out that the Father Provincial has evaded my orders in this matter. I asked for the removal of that friar as a punishment. What was done? They removed him, but they gave him another and much better town. 'Tricks of the friars,' as they say in Spain."

But when His Excellency found himself alone he ceased to smile. "Ah!" he sighed, "if the people were not so stupid they would put a limit to their reverences. But every people deserves its fate, and we are no different in this respect from the rest of the world."

Meanwhile Captain Tiago had concluded his conference with Father Damaso, or rather Father Damaso had concluded it.

"I have already warned you!" said the Franciscan on taking his leave. "You could have avoided all of this had you consulted with me before, and, if you had not lied to me, when I asked you about it. See to it that you do not do any more such foolish things, and have faith in your G.o.dfather."

Captain Tiago took two or three steps towards the sala, meditating and sighing. All at once, as if some good idea had struck him, he ran to the oratory and put out the candles and the lamps which had been lighted for Ibarra's protection.

"There is still time enough," he murmured, "for he has a long road to travel."

CHAPTER VII

SAN DIEGO AND ITS PEOPLE.

Not far from the sh.o.r.es of the Laguna de Bay lies the town of San Diego, surrounded by fertile fields and rice plantations. It exports sugar, rice, coffee, and fruits, or sells them at ridiculously low prices to the Chinese, who make large profits out of the credulity and vices of the laborers.

When the sky was serene and the atmosphere clear, the boys used to climb to the very peak of the old moss and vine covered church tower. And what exclamations they would utter when, from that high pinnacle, they looked out at the beautiful panorama that surrounded them. There before them lay a great ma.s.s of roofs, some nipa, some thatch, some zinc and some made out of the native gra.s.ses. And out of that ma.s.s, which here and there gave way to an orchard or a garden, every one of those boys could find his own little home, his own little nest. To them everything was a landmark; every tamarind tree with its light foliage, every cocoanut tree with its load of nuts, every bending cane, every bonga tree, every cross. Beyond the town is the crystal river, like a serpent asleep on a carpet of green. Here and there, its tranquil surface is broken by rocks projecting from its sandy bottom. In places, it is hemmed in between two high banks, and there the rapidly rus.h.i.+ng waters turn and twist the half-bared roots of the overhanging shade trees. But further on it spreads itself out again and becomes calm and peaceful.

But what always attracts attention is a peninsula of forest projecting into this sea of cultivated land. There can be found hollow-trunked trees, a century old, trees which die only when struck by lightning and set on fire. They say, also, that even in that case the fire never spreads to any other tree. This old grove is held in a certain degree of awe, for around it have been woven many strange legends. Of these the most probable, and consequently the least known and believed is the following:

When the town was still a miserable group of huts, when weeds grew in abundance in the so-called streets, and deer and wild boar roamed about at night, there arrived one day an old Spaniard. His eyes were deep and thoughtful and he spoke Tagalog fluently. After visiting the different estates and peddling out some goods he inquired for the owners of this grove, which by the way, also contained several hot water springs. A number of persons claiming to be the owners presented themselves, and the old man purchased from them the grove, paying in exchange some money, jewelry and clothing. A short time afterward he disappeared, no one knew where.

His sudden disappearance made the people think for a time that he had been spirited away, but later on a fetid odor was noticeable near the grove, and some shepherds, upon investigation, found the body of the old man in a badly decomposed condition hanging from the limb of a baliti tree. When alive the old man had terrorized many by his deep and resonant voice, his sunken eyes and his silent laugh, but now that he was dead, and a suicide at that, the mere mention of his name gave the town women nightmare. Some of them threw the jewelry that they had bought from him into the river and burned all the clothing, and, for a long time after the body had been buried at the foot of the baliti tree, no one cared to venture near it. All sort of stories became current about the haunted place.

A shepherd, looking for his flock, said that he had seen lights in the grove. A party of young men, pa.s.sing near the place, heard groans and lamentations. An unfortunate lover, in order to make an impression on the disdainful object of his affections, promised to spend a night under the tree and to bring her a branch from its trunk, but on the next day he was taken ill with a quick fever and died.

Before many months had pa.s.sed, a youth came to the town one day. He was apparently a Spanish mestizo, declared himself the son of the dead stranger, and established himself in that far-off corner of the world. He began to farm the land and devoted himself especially to the cultivation of indigo. Don Saturnino was a taciturn young man, violent and sometimes cruel, but very active and industrious. He built a wall around his father's grave and, from time to time, went all alone to visit it. A few years later he married a young girl from Manila who bore him a son, Rafael, the father of Crisostomo.

Don Rafael, from his earliest youth, was fond of farming. Under his care, the agriculture which had been started and fostered by his father was rapidly developed. New inhabitants flocked to the vicinity, and among them were a great many Chinese. The village grew very fast and was soon supporting a native priest. After it had become a pueblo, the native priest died and Father Damaso took his place.