The Reign of Greed
for the release of her sick grandfather, who was arrested in place of
her father.”
His Excellency looked at him with an expression of impatience and
rubbed his hand across his broad forehead. “Carambas! Can’t one be left
to eat his breakfast in peace?”
“This is the third day she has come. She’s a poor girl—”
“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “I’ve just thought of it. I
have something to say to the General about that—that’s what I came over
for—to support that girl’s petition.”
The General scratched the back of his ear and said, “Oh, go along! Have
the secretary make out an order to the lieutenant of the Civil Guard
for the old man’s release. They sha’n’t say that we’re not clement and
merciful.”
He looked at Ben-Zayb. The journalist winked.
CHAPTER XII
PLACIDO PENITENTE
Reluctantly, and almost with tearful eyes, Placido Penitente was going
along the Escolta on his way to the University of Santo Tomas. It had
hardly been a week since he had come from his town, yet he had already
written to his mother twice, reiterating his desire to abandon his
studies and go back there to work. His mother answered that he should
have patience, that at the least he must be graduated as a bachelor of
arts, since it would be unwise to desert his books after four years of
expense and sacrifices on both their parts.
Whence came to Penitente this aversion to study, when he had been one
of the most diligent in the famous college conducted by Padre Valerio
in Tanawan? There Penitente had been considered one of the best
Latinists and the subtlest disputants, one who could tangle or untangle
the simplest as well as the most abstruse questions. His townspeople
considered him very clever, and his curate, influenced by that opinion,
already classified him as a filibuster—a sure proof that he was neither
foolish nor incapable. His friends could not explain those desires for
abandoning his studies and returning: he had no sweethearts, was not a
gambler, hardly knew anything about hunkían and rarely tried his luck
at the more familiar revesino. He did not believe in the advice of the
curates, laughed at Tandang Basio Macunat, had plenty of money and good
clothes, yet he went to school reluctantly and looked with repugnance
on his books.
On the Bridge of Spain, a bridge whose name alone came from Spain,
since even its ironwork came from foreign countries, he fell in with
the long procession of young men on their way to the Walled City to
their respective schools. Some were dressed in the European fashion and
walked rapidly, carrying books and notes, absorbed in thoughts of their
lessons and essays—these were the students of the Ateneo. Those from
San Juan de Letran were nearly all dressed in the Filipino costume, but
were more numerous and carried fewer books. Those from the University
are dressed more carefully and elegantly and saunter along carrying
canes instead of books. The collegians of the Philippines are not very
noisy or turbulent. They move along in a preoccupied manner, such that
upon seeing them one would say that before their eyes shone no hope, no
smiling future. Even though here and there the line is brightened by
the attractive appearance of the schoolgirls of the Escuela Municipal,
[24] with their sashes across their shoulders and their books in their
hands, followed by their servants, yet scarcely a laugh resounds or a
joke can be heard—nothing of song or jest, at best a few heavy jokes or
scuffles among the smaller boys. The older ones nearly always proceed
seriously and composedly, like the German students.
Placido was proceeding along the Paseo de Magallanes toward the
breach—formerly the gate—of Santo Domingo, when he suddenly felt a slap
on the shoulder, which made him turn quickly in ill humor.
“Hello, Penitente! Hello, Penitente!”
It was his schoolmate Juanito Pelaez, the barbero or pet of the
professors, as big a rascal as he could be, with a roguish look and a
clownish smile. The son of a Spanish mestizo—a rich merchant in one of
the suburbs, who based all his hopes and joys on the boy’s talent—he
promised well with his roguery, and, thanks to his custom of playing
tricks on every one and then hiding behind his companions, he had
acquired a peculiar hump, which grew larger whenever he was laughing
over his deviltry.
“What kind of time did you have, Penitente?” was his question as he
again slapped him on the shoulder.
“So, so,” answered Placido, rather bored. “And you?”
“Well, it was great! Just imagine—the curate of Tiani invited me to
spend the vacation in his town, and I went. Old man, you know Padre
Camorra, I suppose? Well, he’s a liberal curate, very jolly, frank,
very frank, one of those like Padre Paco. As there were pretty girls,
we serenaded them all, he with his guitar and songs and I with my
violin. I tell you, old man, we had a great time—there wasn’t a house
we didn’t try!”
He whispered a few words in Placido’s ear and then broke out into
laughter. As the latter exhibited some surprise, he resumed: “I’ll
swear to it! They can’t help themselves, because with a governmental
order you get rid of the father, husband, or brother, and then—merry
Christmas! However, we did run up against a little fool, the
sweetheart, I believe, of Basilio, you know? Look, what a fool this
Basilio is! To have a sweetheart who doesn’t know a word of Spanish,
who hasn’t any money, and who has been a servant! She’s as shy as she
can be, but pretty. Padre Camorra one night started to club two fellows
who were serenading her and I don’t know how it was he didn’t kill
them, yet with all that she was just as shy as ever. But it’ll result
for her as it does with all the women, all of them!”
Juanito Pelaez laughed with a full mouth, as though he thought this a
glorious thing, while Placido stared at him in disgust.
“Listen, what did the professor explain yesterday?” asked Juanito,
changing the conversation.
“Yesterday there was no class.”
“Oho, and the day before yesterday?”
“Man, it was Thursday!”
“Right! What an ass I am! Don’t you know, Placido, that I’m getting to
be a regular ass? What about Wednesday?”
“Wednesday? Wait—Wednesday, it was a little wet.”
“Fine! What about Tuesday, old man?”
“Tuesday was the professor’s nameday and we went to entertain him with
an orchestra, present him flowers and some gifts.”
“Ah, carambas!” exclaimed Juanito, “that I should have forgotten about
it! What an ass I am! Listen, did he ask for me?”
Penitente shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but they gave him a
list of his entertainers.”
“Carambas! Listen—Monday, what happened?”
“As it was the first school-day, he called the roll and assigned the
lesson—about mirrors. Look, from here to here, by memory, word for
word. We jump all this section, we take that.” He was pointing out with
his finger in the “Physics” the portions that were to be learned, when
suddenly the book flew through the air, as a result of the slap Juanito
gave it from below.
“Thunder, let the lessons go! Let’s have a dia pichido!”
The students in Manila call dia pichido a school-day that falls between
two holidays and is consequently suppressed, as though forced out by
their wish.
“Do you know that you really are an ass?” exclaimed Placido, picking up
his book and papers.
“Let’s have a dia pichido!” repeated Juanito.
Placido was unwilling, since for only two the authorities were hardly
going to suspend a class of more than a hundred and fifty. He recalled
the struggles and privations his mother was suffering in order to keep
him in Manila, while she went without even the necessities of life.
They were just passing through the breach of Santo Domingo, and
Juanito, gazing across the little plaza [25] in front of the old
Customs building, exclaimed, “Now I think of it, I’m appointed to take
up the collection.”
“What collection?”
“For the monument.”
“What monument?”
“Get out! For Padre Balthazar, you know.”
“And who was Padre Balthazar?”
“Fool! A Dominican, of course—that’s why the padres call on the
students. Come on now, loosen up with three or four pesos, so that they
may see we are sports. Don’t let them say afterwards that in order to
erect a statue they had to dig down into their own pockets. Do,
Placido, it’s not money thrown away.”
He accompanied these words with a significant wink. Placido recalled
the case of a student who had passed through the entire course by
presenting canary-birds, so he subscribed three pesos.
“Look now, I’ll write your name plainly so that the professor will read
it, you see—Placido Penitente, three pesos. Ah, listen! In a couple of
weeks comes the nameday of the professor of natural history. You know
that he’s a good fellow, never marks absences or asks about the lesson.
Man, we must show our appreciation!”
“That’s right!”
“Then don’t you think that we ought to give him a celebration? The
orchestra must not be smaller than the one you had for the professor of
physics.”
“That’s right!”
“What do you think about making the contribution two pesos? Come,
Placido, you start it, so you’ll be at the head of the list.”
Then, seeing that Placido gave the two pesos without hesitation, he
added, “Listen, put up four, and afterwards I’ll return you two.
They’ll serve as a decoy.”
“Well, if you’re going to return them to me, why give them to you?
It’ll be sufficient, for you to write four.”
“Ah, that’s right! What an ass I am! Do you know, I’m getting to be a
regular ass! But let me have them anyhow, so that I can show them.”
Placido, in order not to give the lie to the priest who christened him,
gave what was asked, just as they reached the University.
In the entrance and along the walks on each side of it were gathered
the students, awaiting the appearance of the professors. Students of
the preparatory year of law, of the fifth of the secondary course, of
the preparatory in medicine, formed lively groups. The latter were
easily distinguished by their clothing and by a certain air that was
lacking in the others, since the greater part of them came from the
Ateneo Municipal. Among them could be seen the poet Isagani, explaining
to a companion the theory of the refraction of light. In another group
they were talking, disputing, citing the statements of the professor,
the text-books, and scholastic principles; in yet another they were
gesticulating and waving their books in the air or making
demonstrations with their canes by drawing diagrams on the ground;
farther on, they were entertaining themselves in watching the pious
women go into the neighboring church, all the students making facetious
remarks. An old woman leaning on a young girl limped piously, while the
girl moved along with downcast eyes, timid and abashed to pass before
so many curious eyes. The old lady, catching up her coffee-colored
skirt, of the Sisterhood of St. Rita, to reveal her big feet and white
stockings, scolded her companion and shot furious glances at the
staring bystanders.
“The rascals!” she grunted. “Don’t look at them, keep your eyes down.”
Everything was noticed; everything called forth jokes and comments. Now
it was a magnificent victoria which stopped at the door to set down a
family of votaries on their way to visit the Virgin of the Rosary [26]
on her favorite day, while the inquisitive sharpened their eyes to get
a glimpse of the shape and size of the young ladies’ feet as they got
out of the carriages; now it was a student who came out of the door
with devotion still shining in his eyes, for he had passed through the
church to beg the Virgin’s help in understanding his lesson and to see
if his sweetheart was there, to exchange a few glances with her and go
on to his class with the recollection of her loving eyes.