The Reign of Greed
take it upon his own purse and conscience.
In the dead man’s house, where were assembled on the following day many
old friends and acquaintances, considerable comment was indulged in
over a miracle. It was reported that, at the very moment when he was
dying, the soul of Capitan Tiago had appeared to the nuns surrounded by
a brilliant light. God had saved him, thanks to the pious legacies, and
to the numerous masses he had paid for. The story was commented upon,
it was recounted vividly, it took on particulars, and was doubted by no
one. The appearance of Capitan Tiago was minutely described—of course
the frock coat, the cheek bulged out by the quid of buyo, without
omitting the game-cock and the opium-pipe. The senior sacristan, who
was present, gravely affirmed these facts with his head and reflected
that, after death, he would appear with his cup of white tajú, for
without that refreshing breakfast he could not comprehend happiness
either on earth or in heaven.
On this subject, because of their inability to discuss the events of
the preceding day and because there were gamblers present, many strange
speculations were developed. They made conjectures as to whether
Capitan Tiago would invite St. Peter to a soltada, whether they would
place bets, whether the game-cocks were immortal, whether invulnerable,
and in this case who would be the referee, who would win, and so on:
discussions quite to the taste of those who found sciences, theories,
and systems, based on a text which they esteem infallible, revealed or
dogmatic. Moreover, there were cited passages from novenas, books of
miracles, sayings of the curates, descriptions of heaven, and other
embroidery. Don Primitivo, the philosopher, was in his glory quoting
opinions of the theologians.
“Because no one can lose,” he stated with great authority. “To lose
would cause hard feelings and in heaven there can’t be any hard
feelings.”
“But some one has to win,” rejoined the gambler Aristorenas. “The fun
lies in winning!”
“Well, both win, that’s easy!”
This idea of both winning could not be admitted by Aristorenas, for he
had passed his life in the cockpit and had always seen one cock lose
and the other win—at best, there was a tie. Vainly Don Primitivo argued
in Latin. Aristorenas shook his head, and that too when Don Primitivo’s
Latin was easy to understand, for he talked of an gallus talisainus,
acuto tari armatus, an gallus beati Petri bulikus sasabung̃us sit, [63]
and so on, until at length he decided to resort to the argument which
many use to convince and silence their opponents.
“You’re going to be damned, friend Martin, you’re falling into heresy!
Cave ne cadas! I’m not going to play monte with you any more, and we’ll
not set up a bank together. You deny the omnipotence of God, peccatum
mortale! You deny the existence of the Holy Trinity— three are one and
one is three! Take care! You indirectly deny that two natures, two
understandings, and two wills can have only one memory! Be careful!
Quicumque non crederit anathema sit!”
Martin Aristorenas shrank away pale and trembling, while Quiroga, who
had listened with great attention to the argument, with marked
deference offered the philosopher a magnificent cigar, at the same time
asking in his caressing voice: “Surely, one can make a contract for a
cockpit with Kilisto, [64] ha? When I die, I’ll be the contractor, ha?”
Among the others, they talked more of the deceased; at least they
discussed what kind of clothing to put on him. Capitan Tinong proposed
a Franciscan habit—and fortunately, he had one, old, threadbare, and
patched, a precious object which, according to the friar who gave it to
him as alms in exchange for thirty-six pesos, would preserve the corpse
from the flames of hell and which reckoned in its support various pious
anecdotes taken from the books distributed by the curates. Although he
held this relic in great esteem, Capitan Tinong was disposed to part
with it for the sake of his intimate friend, whom he had not been able
to visit during his illness. But a tailor objected, with good reason,
that since the nuns had seen Capitan Tiago ascending to heaven in a
frock coat, in a frock coat he should be dressed here on earth, nor was
there any necessity for preservatives and fire-proof garments. The
deceased had attended balls and fiestas in a frock coat, and nothing
else would be expected of him in the skies—and, wonderful to relate,
the tailor accidentally happened to have one ready, which he would part
with for thirty-two pesos, four cheaper than the Franciscan habit,
because he didn’t want to make any profit on Capitan Tiago, who had
been his customer in life and would now be his patron in heaven. But
Padre Irene, trustee and executor, rejected both proposals and ordered
that the Capitan be dressed in one of his old suits of clothes,
remarking with holy unction that God paid no attention to clothing.
The obsequies were, therefore, of the very first class. There were
responsories in the house, and in the street three friars officiated,
as though one were not sufficient for such a great soul. All the rites
and ceremonies possible were performed, and it is reported that there
were even extras, as in the benefits for actors. It was indeed a
delight: loads of incense were burned, there were plenty of Latin
chants, large quantities of holy water were expended, and Padre Irene,
out of regard for his old friend, sang the Dies Irae in a falsetto
voice from the choir, while the neighbors suffered real headaches from
so much knell-ringing.
Doña Patrocinio, the ancient rival of Capitan Tiago in religiosity,
actually wanted to die on the next day, so that she might order even
more sumptuous obsequies. The pious old lady could not bear the thought
that he, whom she had long considered vanquished forever, should in
dying come forward again with so much pomp. Yes, she desired to die,
and it seemed that she could hear the exclamations of the people at the
funeral: “This indeed is what you call a funeral! This indeed is to
know how to die, Doña Patrocinio!”
CHAPTER XXX
JULI
The death of Capitan Tiago and Basilio’s imprisonment were soon
reported in the province, and to the honor of the simple inhabitants of
San Diego, let it be recorded that the latter was the incident more
regretted and almost the only one discussed. As was to be expected, the
report took on different forms, sad and startling details were given,
what could not be understood was explained, the gaps being filled by
conjectures, which soon passed for accomplished facts, and the phantoms
thus created terrified their own creators.
In the town of Tiani it was reported that at least, at the very least,
the young man was going to be deported and would very probably be
murdered on the journey. The timorous and pessimistic were not
satisfied with this but even talked about executions and
courts-martial—January was a fatal month; in January the Cavite affair
had occurred, and they [65] even though curates, had been garroted, so
a poor Basilio without protectors or friends—
“I told him so!” sighed the Justice of the Peace, as if he had at some
time given advice to Basilio. “I told him so.”
“It was to be expected,” commented Sister Penchang. “He would go into
the church and when he saw that the holy water was somewhat dirty he
wouldn’t cross himself with it. He talked about germs and disease, abá,
it’s the chastisement of God! He deserved it, and he got it! As though
the holy water could transmit diseases! Quite the contrary, abá!”
She then related how she had cured herself of indigestion by moistening
her stomach with holy water, at the same time reciting the Sanctus
Deus, and she recommended the remedy to those present when they should
suffer from dysentery, or an epidemic occurred, only that then they
must pray in Spanish:
Santo Diós,
Santo fuerte,
Santo inmortal,
¡Libranos, Señor, de la peste
Y de todo mal! [66]
“It’s an infallible remedy, but you must apply the holy water to the
part affected,” she concluded.
But there were many persons who did not believe in these things, nor
did they attribute Basilio’s imprisonment to the chastisement of God.
Nor did they take any stock in insurrections and pasquinades, knowing
the prudent and ultra-pacific character of the boy, but preferred to
ascribe it to revenge on the part of the friars, because of his having
rescued from servitude Juli, the daughter of a tulisan who was the
mortal enemy of a certain powerful corporation. As they had quite a
poor idea of the morality of that same corporation and could recall
cases of petty revenge, their conjecture was believed to have more
probability and justification.
“What a good thing I did when I drove her from my house!” said Sister
Penchang. “I don’t want to have any trouble with the friars, so I urged
her to find the money.”
The truth was, however, that she regretted Juli’s liberty, for Juli
prayed and fasted for her, and if she had stayed a longer time, would
also have done penance. Why, if the curates pray for us and Christ died
for our sins, couldn’t Juli do the same for Sister Penchang?
When the news reached the hut where the poor Juli and her grandfather
lived, the girl had to have it repeated to her. She stared at Sister
Bali, who was telling it, as though without comprehension, without
ability to collect her thoughts. Her ears buzzed, she felt a sinking at
the heart and had a vague presentiment that this event would have a
disastrous influence on her own future. Yet she tried to seize upon a
ray of hope, she smiled, thinking that Sister Bali was joking with her,
a rather strong joke, to be sure, but she forgave her beforehand if she
would acknowledge that it was such. But Sister Bali made a cross with
one of her thumbs and a forefinger, and kissed it, to prove that she
was telling the truth. Then the smile faded forever from the girl’s
lips, she turned pale, frightfully pale, she felt her strength leave
her and for the first time in her life she lost consciousness, falling
into a swoon.
When by dint of blows, pinches, dashes of water, crosses, and the
application of sacred palms, the girl recovered and remembered the
situation, silent tears sprang from her eyes, drop by drop, without
sobs, without laments, without complaints! She thought about Basilio,
who had had no other protector than Capitan Tiago, and who now, with
the Capitan dead, was left completely unprotected and in prison. In the
Philippines it is a well-known fact that patrons are needed for
everything, from the time one is christened until one dies, in order to
get justice, to secure a passport, or to develop an industry. As it was
said that his imprisonment was due to revenge on account of herself and
her father, the girl’s sorrow turned to desperation. Now it was her
duty to liberate him, as he had done in rescuing her from servitude,
and the inner voice which suggested the idea offered to her imagination
a horrible means.
“Padre Camorra, the curate,” whispered the voice. Juli gnawed at her
lips and became lost in gloomy meditation.
As a result of her father’s crime, her grandfather had been arrested in
the hope that by such means the son could be made to appear. The only
one who could get him his liberty was Padre Camorra, and Padre Camorra
had shown himself to be poorly satisfied with her words of gratitude,
having with his usual frankness asked for some sacrifices—since which
time Juli had tried to avoid meeting him. But the curate made her kiss
his hand, he twitched her nose and patted her cheeks, he joked with
her, winking and laughing, and laughing he pinched her. Juli was also
the cause of the beating the good curate had administered to some young