The Reign of Greed
to call upon the editor. But the editor shrugged his shoulders; his
Excellency had forbidden it because if it should be divulged that seven
of the greater gods had let themselves be surprised and robbed by a
nobody, while they brandished knives and forks, that would endanger the
integrity of the fatherland! So he had ordered that no search be made
for the lamp or the thief, and had recommended to his successors that
they should not run the risk of dining in any private house, without
being surrounded by halberdiers and guards. As those who knew anything
about the events that night in Don Timoteo’s house were for the most
part military officials and government employees, it was not difficult
to suppress the affair in public, for it concerned the integrity of the
fatherland. Before this name Ben-Zayb bowed his head heroically,
thinking about Abraham, Guzman El Bueno, [75] or at least, Brutus and
other heroes of antiquity.
Such a sacrifice could not remain unrewarded, the gods of journalism
being pleased with Abraham Ben-Zayb. Almost upon the hour came the
reporting angel bearing the sacrificial lamb in the shape of an assault
committed at a country-house on the Pasig, where certain friars were
spending the heated season. Here was his opportunity and Ben-Zayb
praised his gods.
“The robbers got over two thousand pesos, leaving badly wounded one
friar and two servants. The curate defended himself as well as he could
behind a chair, which was smashed in his hands.”
“Wait, wait!” said Ben-Zayb, taking notes. “Forty or fifty outlaws
traitorously—revolvers, bolos, shotguns, pistols—lion at
bay—chair—splinters flying—barbarously wounded—ten thousand pesos!”
So great was his enthusiasm that he was not content with mere reports,
but proceeded in person to the scene of the crime, composing on the
road a Homeric description of the fight. A harangue in the mouth of the
leader? A scornful defiance on the part of the priest? All the
metaphors and similes applied to his Excellency, Padre Irene, and Padre
Salvi would exactly fit the wounded friar and the description of the
thief would serve for each of the outlaws. The imprecation could be
expanded, since he could talk of religion, of the faith, of charity, of
the ringing of bells, of what the Indians owed to the friars, he could
get sentimental and melt into Castelarian [76] epigrams and lyric
periods. The señoritas of the city would read the article and murmur,
“Ben-Zayb, bold as a lion and tender as a lamb!”
But when he reached the scene, to his great astonishment he learned
that the wounded friar was no other than Padre Camorra, sentenced by
his Provincial to expiate in the pleasant country-house on the banks of
the Pasig his pranks in Tiani. He had a slight scratch on his hand and
a bruise on his head received from flattening himself out on the floor.
The robbers numbered three or four, armed only with bolos, the sum
stolen fifty pesos!
“It won’t do!” exclaimed Ben-Zayb. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“How don’t I know, puñales?”
“Don’t be a fool—the robbers must have numbered more.”
“You ink-slinger—”
So they had quite an altercation. What chiefly concerned Ben-Zayb was
not to throw away the article, to give importance to the affair, so
that he could use the peroration.
But a fearful rumor cut short their dispute. The robbers caught had
made some important revelations. One of the outlaws under Matanglawin
(Cabesang Tales) had made an appointment with them to join his band in
Santa Mesa, thence to sack the conventos and houses of the wealthy.
They would be guided by a Spaniard, tall and sunburnt, with white hair,
who said that he was acting under the orders of the General, whose
great friend he was, and they had been further assured that the
artillery and various regiments would join them, wherefore they were to
entertain no fear at all. The tulisanes would be pardoned and have a
third part of the booty assigned to them. The signal was to have been a
cannon-shot, but having waited for it in vain the tulisanes, thinking
themselves deceived, separated, some going back to their homes, some
returning to the mountains vowing vengeance on the Spaniard, who had
thus failed twice to keep his word. Then they, the robbers caught, had
decided to do something on their own account, attacking the
country-house that they found closest at hand, resolving religiously to
give two-thirds of the booty to the Spaniard with white hair, if
perchance he should call upon them for it.
The description being recognized as that of Simoun, the declaration was
received as an absurdity and the robber subjected to all kinds of
tortures, including the electric machine, for his impious blasphemy.
But news of the disappearance of the jeweler having attracted the
attention of the whole Escolta, and the sacks of powder and great
quantities of cartridges having been discovered in his house, the story
began to wear an appearance of truth. Mystery began to enwrap the
affair, enveloping it in clouds; there were whispered conversations,
coughs, suspicious looks, suggestive comments, and trite second-hand
remarks. Those who were on the inside were unable to get over their
astonishment, they put on long faces, turned pale, and but little was
wanting for many persons to lose their minds in realizing certain
things that had before passed unnoticed.
“We’ve had a narrow escape! Who would have said—”
In the afternoon Ben-Zayb, his pockets filled with revolvers and
cartridges, went to see Don Custodio, whom he found hard at work over a
project against American jewelers. In a hushed voice he whispered
between the palms of his hands into the journalist’s ear mysterious
words.
“Really?” questioned Ben-Zayb, slapping his hand on his pocket and
paling visibly.
“Wherever he may be found—” The sentence was completed with an
expressive pantomime. Don Custodio raised both arms to the height of
his face, with the right more bent than the left, turned the palms of
his hands toward the floor, closed one eye, and made two movements in
advance. “Ssh! Ssh!” he hissed.
“And the diamonds?” inquired Ben-Zayb.
“If they find him—” He went through another pantomime with the fingers
of his right hand, spreading them out and clenching them together like
the closing of a fan, clutching out with them somewhat in the manner of
the wings of a wind-mill sweeping imaginary objects toward itself with
practised skill. Ben-Zayb responded with another pantomime, opening his
eyes wide, arching his eyebrows and sucking in his breath eagerly as
though nutritious air had just been discovered.
“Sssh!”
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE MYSTERY
Todo se sabe
Notwithstanding so many precautions, rumors reached the public, even
though quite changed and mutilated. On the following night they were
the theme of comment in the house of Orenda, a rich jewel merchant in
the industrious district of Santa Cruz, and the numerous friends of the
family gave attention to nothing else. They were not indulging in
cards, or playing the piano, while little Tinay, the youngest of the
girls, became bored playing chongka by herself, without being able to
understand the interest awakened by assaults, conspiracies, and sacks
of powder, when there were in the seven holes so many beautiful cowries
that seemed to be winking at her in unison and smiled with their tiny
mouths half-opened, begging to be carried up to the home. Even Isagani,
who, when he came, always used to play with her and allow himself to be
beautifully cheated, did not come at her call, for Isagani was gloomily
and silently listening to something Chichoy the silversmith was
relating. Momoy, the betrothed of Sensia, the eldest of the daughters—a
pretty and vivacious girl, rather given to joking—had left the window
where he was accustomed to spend his evenings in amorous discourse, and
this action seemed to be very annoying to the lory whose cage hung from
the eaves there, the lory endeared to the house from its ability to
greet everybody in the morning with marvelous phrases of love. Capitana
Loleng, the energetic and intelligent Capitana Loleng, had her
account-book open before her, but she neither read nor wrote in it, nor
was her attention fixed on the trays of loose pearls, nor on the
diamonds—she had completely forgotten herself and was all ears. Her
husband himself, the great Capitan Toringoy,—a transformation of the
name Domingo,—the happiest man in the district, without other
occupation than to dress well, eat, loaf, and gossip, while his whole
family worked and toiled, had not gone to join his coterie, but was
listening between fear and emotion to the hair-raising news of the lank
Chichoy.
Nor was reason for all this lacking. Chichoy had gone to deliver some
work for Don Timoteo Pelaez, a pair of earrings for the bride, at the
very time when they were tearing down the kiosk that on the previous
night had served as a dining-room for the foremost officials. Here
Chichoy turned pale and his hair stood on end.
“Nakú!” he exclaimed, “sacks and sacks of powder, sacks of powder under
the floor, in the roof, under the table, under the chairs, everywhere!
It’s lucky none of the workmen were smoking.”
“Who put those sacks of powder there?” asked Capitana Loleng, who was
brave and did not turn pale, as did the enamored Momoy. But Momoy had
attended the wedding, so his posthumous emotion can be appreciated: he
had been near the kiosk.
“That’s what no one can explain,” replied Chichoy. “Who would have any
interest in breaking up the fiesta? There couldn’t have been more than
one, as the celebrated lawyer Señor Pasta who was there on a visit
declared—either an enemy of Don Timoteo’s or a rival of Juanito’s.”
The Orenda girls turned instinctively toward Isagani, who smiled
silently.
“Hide yourself,” Capitana Loleng advised him. “They may accuse you.
Hide!”
Again Isagani smiled but said nothing.
“Don Timoteo,” continued Chichoy, “did not know to whom to attribute
the deed. He himself superintended the work, he and his friend Simoun,
and nobody else. The house was thrown into an uproar, the lieutenant of
the guard came, and after enjoining secrecy upon everybody, they sent
me away. But—”
“But—but—” stammered the trembling Momoy.
“Nakú!” ejaculated Sensia, gazing at her fiancé and trembling
sympathetically to remember that he had been at the fiesta. “This young
man—If the house had blown up—” She stared at her sweetheart
passionately and admired his courage.
“If it had blown up—”
“No one in the whole of Calle Anloague would have been left alive,”
concluded Capitan Toringoy, feigning valor and indifference in the
presence of his family.
“I left in consternation,” resumed Chichoy, “thinking about how, if a
mere spark, a cigarette had fallen, if a lamp had been overturned, at
the present moment we should have neither a General, nor an Archbishop,
nor any one, not even a government clerk! All who were at the fiesta
last night—annihilated!”
“Vírgen Santísima! This young man—”
“’Susmariosep!” exclaimed Capitana Loleng. “All our debtors were there,
’Susmariosep! And we have a house near there! Who could it have been?”
“Now you may know about it,” added Chichoy in a whisper, “but you must
keep it a secret. This afternoon I met a friend, a clerk in an office,
and in talking about the affair, he gave me the clue to the mystery—he
had it from some government employees. Who do you suppose put the sacks
of powder there?”
Many shrugged their shoulders, while Capitan Toringoy merely looked
askance at Isagani.
“The friars?”
“Quiroga the Chinaman?”
“Some student?”
“Makaraig?”
Capitan Toringoy coughed and glanced at Isagani, while Chichoy shook