The Reign of Greed
he found a second stranger by the side of the other’s corpse. What a
night and what a morning those were! The stranger helped him raise the
pyre, whereon they burned the corpse of the first, dug the grave in
which they buried his mother, and then after giving him some pieces of
money told him to leave the place. It was the first time that he had
seen that man—tall, with blood-shot eyes, pale lips, and a sharp nose.
Entirely alone in the world, without parents or brothers and sisters,
he left the town whose authorities inspired in him such great fear and
went to Manila to work in some rich house and study at the same time,
as many do. His journey was an Odyssey of sleeplessness and startling
surprises, in which hunger counted for little, for he ate the fruits in
the woods, whither he retreated whenever he made out from afar the
uniform of the Civil Guard, a sight that recalled the origin of all his
misfortunes. Once in Manila, ragged and sick, he went from door to door
offering his services. A boy from the provinces who knew not a single
word of Spanish, and sickly besides! Discouraged, hungry, and
miserable, he wandered about the streets, attracting attention by the
wretchedness of his clothing. How often was he tempted to throw himself
under the feet of the horses that flashed by, drawing carriages shining
with silver and varnish, thus to end his misery at once! Fortunately,
he saw Capitan Tiago, accompanied by Aunt Isabel. He had known them
since the days in San Diego, and in his joy believed that in them he
saw almost fellow-townsfolk. He followed the carriage until he lost
sight of it, and then made inquiries for the house. As it was the very
day that Maria Clara entered the nunnery and Capitan Tiago was
accordingly depressed, he was admitted as a servant, without pay, but
instead with leave to study, if he so wished, in San Juan de Letran.
[15]
Dirty, poorly dressed, with only a pair of clogs for footwear, at the
end of several months’ stay in Manila, he entered the first year of
Latin. On seeing his clothes, his classmates drew away from him, and
the professor, a handsome Dominican, never asked him a question, but
frowned every time he looked at him. In the eight months that the class
continued, the only words that passed between them were his name read
from the roll and the daily adsum with which the student responded.
With what bitterness he left the class each day, and, guessing the
reason for the treatment accorded him, what tears sprang into his eyes
and what complaints were stifled in his heart! How he had wept and
sobbed over the grave of his mother, relating to her his hidden
sorrows, humiliations, and affronts, when at the approach of Christmas
Capitan Tiago had taken him back to San Diego! Yet he memorized the
lessons without omitting a comma, although he understood scarcely any
part of them. But at length he became resigned, noticing that among the
three or four hundred in his class only about forty merited the honor
of being questioned, because they attracted the professor’s attention
by their appearance, some prank, comicality, or other cause. The
greater part of the students congratulated themselves that they thus
escaped the work of thinking and understanding the subject. “One goes
to college, not to learn and study, but to gain credit for the course,
so if the book can be memorized, what more can be asked—the year is
thus gained.” [16]
Basilio passed the examinations by answering the solitary question
asked him, like a machine, without stopping or breathing, and in the
amusement of the examiners won the passing certificate. His nine
companions—they were examined in batches of ten in order to save
time—did not have such good luck, but were condemned to repeat the year
of brutalization.
In the second year the game-cock that he tended won a large sum and he
received from Capitan Tiago a big tip, which he immediately invested in
the purchase of shoes and a felt hat. With these and the clothes given
him by his employer, which he made over to fit his person, his
appearance became more decent, but did not get beyond that. In such a
large class a great deal was needed to attract the professor’s
attention, and the student who in the first year did not make himself
known by some special quality, or did not capture the good-will of the
professors, could with difficulty make himself known in the rest of his
school-days. But Basilio kept on, for perseverance was his chief trait.
His fortune seemed to change somewhat when he entered the third year.
His professor happened to be a very jolly fellow, fond of jokes and of
making the students laugh, complacent enough in that he almost always
had his favorites recite the lessons—in fact, he was satisfied with
anything. At this time Basilio now wore shoes and a clean and
well-ironed camisa. As his professor noticed that he laughed very
little at the jokes and that his large eyes seemed to be asking
something like an eternal question, he took him for a fool, and one day
decided to make him conspicuous by calling on him for the lesson.
Basilio recited it from beginning to end, without hesitating over a
single letter, so the professor called him a parrot and told a story to
make the class laugh. Then to increase the hilarity and justify the
epithet he asked several questions, at the same time winking to his
favorites, as if to say to them, “You’ll see how we’re going to amuse
ourselves.”
Basilio now understood Spanish and answered the questions with the
plain intention of making no one laugh. This disgusted everybody, the
expected absurdity did not materialize, no one could laugh, and the
good friar never pardoned him for having defrauded the hopes of the
class and disappointed his own prophecies. But who would expect
anything worth while to come from a head so badly combed and placed on
an Indian poorly shod, classified until recently among the arboreal
animals? As in other centers of learning, where the teachers are
honestly desirous that the students should learn, such discoveries
usually delight the instructors, so in a college managed by men
convinced that for the most part knowledge is an evil, at least for the
students, the episode of Basilio produced a bad impression and he was
not questioned again during the year. Why should he be, when he made no
one laugh?
Quite discouraged and thinking of abandoning his studies, he passed to
the fourth year of Latin. Why study at all, why not sleep like the
others and trust to luck?
One of the two professors was very popular, beloved by all, passing for
a sage, a great poet, and a man of advanced ideas. One day when he
accompanied the collegians on their walk, he had a dispute with some
cadets, which resulted in a skirmish and a challenge. No doubt
recalling his brilliant youth, the professor preached a crusade and
promised good marks to all who during the promenade on the following
Sunday would take part in the fray. The week was a lively one—there
were occasional encounters in which canes and sabers were crossed, and
in one of these Basilio distinguished himself. Borne in triumph by the
students and presented to the professor, he thus became known to him
and came to be his favorite. Partly for this reason and partly from his
diligence, that year he received the highest marks, medals included, in
view of which Capitan Tiago, who, since his daughter had become a nun,
exhibited some aversion to the friars, in a fit of good humor induced
him to transfer to the Ateneo Municipal, the fame of which was then in
its apogee.
Here a new world opened before his eyes—a system of instruction that he
had never dreamed of. Except for a few superfluities and some childish
things, he was filled with admiration for the methods there used and
with gratitude for the zeal of the instructors. His eyes at times
filled with tears when he thought of the four previous years during
which, from lack of means, he had been unable to study at that center.
He had to make extraordinary efforts to get himself to the level of
those who had had a good preparatory course, and it might be said that
in that one year he learned the whole five of the secondary curricula.
He received his bachelor’s degree, to the great satisfaction of his
instructors, who in the examinations showed themselves to be proud of
him before the Dominican examiners sent there to inspect the school.
One of these, as if to dampen such great enthusiasm a little, asked him
where he had studied the first years of Latin.
“In San Juan de Letran, Padre,” answered Basilio.
“Aha! Of course! He’s not bad,—in Latin,” the Dominican then remarked
with a slight smile.
From choice and temperament he selected the course in medicine. Capitan
Tiago preferred the law, in order that he might have a lawyer free, but
knowledge of the laws is not sufficient to secure clientage in the
Philippines—it is necessary to win the cases, and for this friendships
are required, influence in certain spheres, a good deal of astuteness.
Capitan Tiago finally gave in, remembering that medical students get on
intimate terms with corpses, and for some time he had been seeking a
poison to put on the gaffs of his game-cocks, the best he had been able
to secure thus far being the blood of a Chinaman who had died of
syphilis.
With equal diligence, or more if possible, the young man continued this
course, and after the third year began to render medical services with
such great success that he was not only preparing a brilliant future
for himself but also earning enough to dress well and save some money.
This was the last year of the course and in two months he would be a
physician; he would come back to the town, he would marry Juliana, and
they would be happy. The granting of his licentiateship was not only
assured, but he expected it to be the crowning act of his school-days,
for he had been designated to deliver the valedictory at the
graduation, and already he saw himself in the rostrum, before the whole
faculty, the object of public attention. All those heads, leaders of
Manila science, half-hidden in their colored capes; all the women who
came there out of curiosity and who years before had gazed at him, if
not with disdain, at least with indifference; all those men whose
carriages had once been about to crush him down in the mud like a dog:
they would listen attentively, and he was going to say something to
them that would not be trivial, something that had never before
resounded in that place, he was going to forget himself in order to aid
the poor students of the future—and he would make his entrance on his
work in the world with that speech.
CHAPTER VII
SIMOUN
Over these matters Basilio was pondering as he visited his mother’s
grave. He was about to start back to the town when he thought he saw a
light flickering among the trees and heard the snapping of twigs, the
sound of feet, and rustling of leaves. The light disappeared but the
noises became more distinct, coming directly toward where he was.
Basilio was not naturally superstitious, especially after having carved
up so many corpses and watched beside so many death-beds, but the old
legends about that ghostly spot, the hour, the darkness, the melancholy
sighing of the wind, and certain tales heard in his childhood, asserted
their influence over his mind and made his heart beat violently.
The figure stopped on the other side of the balete, but the youth could
see it through an open space between two roots that had grown in the
course of time to the proportions of tree-trunks. It produced from
under its coat a lantern with a powerful reflecting lens, which it
placed on the ground, thereby lighting up a pair of riding-boots, the
rest of the figure remaining concealed in the darkness. The figure