The Reign of Greed
men who were going about the village serenading the girls. Malicious
ones, seeing her pass sad and dejected, would remark so that she might
hear: “If she only wished it, Cabesang Tales would be pardoned.”
Juli reached her home, gloomy and with wandering looks. She had changed
greatly, having lost her merriment, and no one ever saw her smile
again. She scarcely spoke and seemed to be afraid to look at her own
face. One day she was seen in the town with a big spot of soot on her
forehead, she who used to go so trim and neat. Once she asked Sister
Bali if the people who committed suicide went to hell.
“Surely!” replied that woman, and proceeded to describe the place as
though she had been there.
Upon Basilio’s imprisonment, the simple and grateful relatives had
planned to make all kinds of sacrifices to save the young man, but as
they could collect among themselves no more than thirty pesos, Sister
Bali, as usual, thought of a better plan.
“What we must do is to get some advice from the town clerk,” she said.
To these poor people, the town clerk was what the Delphic oracle was to
the ancient Greeks.
“By giving him a real and a cigar,” she continued, “he’ll tell you all
the laws so that your head bursts listening to him. If you have a peso,
he’ll save you, even though you may be at the foot of the scaffold.
When my friend Simon was put in jail and flogged for not being able to
give evidence about a robbery perpetrated near his house, abá, for two
reales and a half and a string of garlics, the town clerk got him out.
And I saw Simon myself when he could scarcely walk and he had to stay
in bed at least a month. Ay, his flesh rotted as a result and he died!”
Sister Bali’s advice was accepted and she herself volunteered to
interview the town clerk. Juli gave her four reales and added some
strips of jerked venison her grand-father had got, for Tandang Selo had
again devoted himself to hunting.
But the town clerk could do nothing—the prisoner was in Manila, and his
power did not extend that far. “If at least he were at the capital,
then—” he ventured, to make a show of his authority, which he knew very
well did not extend beyond the boundaries of Tiani, but he had to
maintain his prestige and keep the jerked venison. “But I can give you
a good piece of advice, and it is that you go with Juli to see the
Justice of the Peace. But it’s very necessary that Juli go.”
The Justice of the Peace was a very rough fellow, but if he should see
Juli he might conduct himself less rudely—this is wherein lay the
wisdom of the advice.
With great gravity the honorable Justice listened to Sister Bali, who
did the talking, but not without staring from time to time at the girl,
who hung her head with shame. People would say that she was greatly
interested in Basilio, people who did not remember her debt of
gratitude, nor that his imprisonment, according to report, was on her
account.
After belching three or four times, for his Honor had that ugly habit,
he said that the only person who could save Basilio was Padre Camorra,
in case he should care to do so. Here he stared meaningly at the girl
and advised her to deal with the curate in person.
“You know what influence he has,—he got your grand-father out of jail.
A report from him is enough to deport a new-born babe or save from
death a man with the noose about his neck.”
Juli said nothing, but Sister Bali took this advice as though she had
read it in a novena, and was ready to accompany the girl to the
convento. It so happened that she was just going there to get as alms a
scapulary in exchange for four full reales.
But Juli shook her head and was unwilling to go to the convento. Sister
Bali thought she could guess the reason—Padre Camorra was reputed to be
very fond of the women and was very frolicsome—so she tried to reassure
her. “You’ve nothing to fear if I go with you. Haven’t you read in the
booklet Tandang Basio, given you by the curate, that the girls should
go to the convento, even without the knowledge of their elders, to
relate what is going on at home? Abá, that book is printed with the
permission of the Archbishop!”
Juli became impatient and wished to cut short such talk, so she begged
the pious woman to go if she wished, but his Honor observed with a
belch that the supplications of a youthful face were more moving than
those of an old one, the sky poured its dew over the fresh flowers in
greater abundance than over the withered ones. The metaphor was
fiendishly beautiful.
Juli did not reply and the two left the house. In the street the girl
firmly refused to go to the convento and they returned to their
village. Sister Bali, who felt offended at this lack of confidence in
herself, on the way home relieved her feelings by administering a long
preachment to the girl.
The truth was that the girl could not take that step without damning
herself in her own eyes, besides being cursed of men and cursed of God!
It had been intimated to her several times, whether with reason or not,
that if she would make that sacrifice her father would be pardoned, and
yet she had refused, in spite of the cries of her conscience reminding
her of her filial duty. Now must she make it for Basilio, her
sweetheart? That would be to fall to the sound of mockery and laughter
from all creation. Basilio himself would despise her! No, never! She
would first hang herself or leap from some precipice. At any rate, she
was already damned for being a wicked daughter.
The poor girl had besides to endure all the reproaches of her
relatives, who, knowing nothing of what had passed between her and
Padre Camovra, laughed at her fears. Would Padre Camorra fix his
attention upon a country girl when there were so many others in the
town? Hero the good women cited names of unmarried girls, rich and
beautiful, who had been more or less unfortunate. Meanwhile, if they
should shoot Basilio?
Juli covered her ears and stared wildly about, as if seeking a voice
that might plead for her, but she saw only her grandfather, who was
dumb and had his gaze fixed on his hunting-spear.
That night she scarcely slept at all. Dreams and nightmares, some
funereal, some bloody, danced before her sight and woke her often,
bathed in cold perspiration. She fancied that she heard shots, she
imagined that she saw her father, that father who had done so much for
her, fighting in the forests, hunted like a wild beast because she had
refused to save him. The figure of her father was transformed and she
recognized Basilio, dying, with looks of reproach at her. The wretched
girl arose, prayed, wept, called upon her mother, upon death, and there
was even a moment when, overcome with terror, if it had not been
night-time, she would have run straight to the convento, let happen
what would.
With the coming of day the sad presentiments and the terrors of
darkness were partly dissipated. The light inspired hopes in her. But
the news of the afternoon was terrible, for there was talk of persons
shot, so the next night was for the girl frightful. In her desperation
she decided to give herself up as soon as day dawned and then kill
herself afterwards—anything, rather than enditre such tortures! But the
dawn brought new hope and she would not go to church or even leave the
house. She was afraid she would yield.
So passed several days in praying and cursing, in calling upon God and
wishing for death. The day gave her a slight respite and she trusted in
some miracle. The reports that came from Manila, although they reached
there magnified, said that of the prisoners some had secured their
liberty, thanks to patrons and influence. Some one had to be
sacrificed—who would it be? Juli shuddered and returned home biting her
finger-nails. Then came the night with its terrors, which took on
double proportions and seemed to be converted into realities. Juli
feared to fall asleep, for her slumbers were a continuous nightmare.
Looks of reproach would flash across her eyelids just as soon as they
were closed, complaints and laments pierced her ears. She saw her
father wandering about hungry, without rest or repose; she saw Basilio
dying in the road, pierced by two bullets, just as she had seen the
corpse of that neighbor who had been killed while in the charge of the
Civil Guard. She saw the bonds that cut into the flesh, she saw the
blood pouring from the mouth, she heard Basilio calling to her, “Save
me! Save me! You alone can save me!” Then a burst of laughter would
resound and she would turn her eyes to see her father gazing at her
with eyes full of reproach. Juli would wake up, sit up on her petate,
and draw her hands across her forehead to arrange her hair—cold sweat,
like the sweat of death, moistened it!
“Mother, mother!” she sobbed.
Meanwhile, they who were so carelessly disposing of people’s fates, he
who commanded the legal murders, he who violated justice and made use
of the law to maintain himself by force, slept in peace.
At last a traveler arrived from Manila and reported that all the
prisoners had been set free, all except Basilio, who had no protector.
It was reported in Manila, added the traveler, that the young man would
be deported to the Carolines, having been forced to sign a petition
beforehand, in which he declared that he asked it voluntarily. [67] The
traveler had seen the very steamer that was going to take him away.
This report put an end to all the girl’s hesitation. Besides, her mind
was already quite weak from so many nights of watching and horrible
dreams. Pale and with unsteady eyes, she sought out Sister Bali and, in
a voice that was cause for alarm, told her that she was ready, asking
her to accompany her. Sister Bali thereupon rejoiced and tried to
soothe her, but Juli paid no attention to her, apparently intent only
upon hurrying to the convento. She had decked herself out in her finest
clothes, and even pretended to be quite gay, talking a great deal,
although in a rather incoherent way.
So they set out. Juli went ahead, becoming impatient that her companion
lagged behind. But as they neared the town, her nervous energy began
gradually to abate, she fell silent and wavered in her resolution,
lessened her pace and soon dropped behind, so that Sister Bali had to
encourage her.
“We’ll get there late,” she remonstrated.
Juli now followed, pale, with downcast eyes, which she was afraid to
raise. She felt that the whole world was staring at her and pointing
its finger at her. A vile name whistled in her ears, but still she
disregarded it and continued on her way. Nevertheless, when they came
in sight of the convento, she stopped and began to tremble.
“Let’s go home, let’s go home,” she begged, holding her companion back.
Sister Bali had to take her by the arm and half drag her along,
reassuring her and telling her about the books of the friars. She would
not desert her, so there was nothing to fear. Padre Camorra had other
things in mind—Juli was only a poor country girl.
But upon arriving at the door of the convento, Juli firmly refused to
go in, catching hold of the wall.
“No, no,” she pleaded in terror. “No, no, no! Have pity!”
“But what a fool—”
Sister Bali pushed her gently along, Juli, pallid and with wild
features, offering resistance. The expression of her face said that she
saw death before her.
“All right, let’s go back, if you don’t want to!” at length the good
woman exclaimed in irritation, as she did not believe there was any
real danger. Padre Camorra, in spite of all his reputation, would dare
do nothing before her.
“Let them carry poor Basilio into exile, let them shoot him on the way,
saying that he tried to escape,” she added. “When he’s dead, then
remorse will come. But as for myself, I owe him no favors, so he can’t
reproach me!”