The Social Cancer: A Complete English Version of Noli Me Tangere
"Thou chastisest me, so let it be! But watch over my daughter!"
Then, turning again to the young woman, he said, "You wish to be a nun,
and it shall be so. I don't want you to die."
Maria Clara caught both his hands in hers, clasping and kissing them
as she fell upon her knees, repeating over and over, "My godfather,
I thank you, my godfather!"
With bowed head Fray Damaso went away, sad and sighing. "God, Thou
dost exist, since Thou chastisest! But let Thy vengeance fall on me,
harm not the innocent. Save Thou my daughter!"
CHAPTER LXIII
Christmas Eve
High up on the slope of the mountain near a roaring stream a hut built
on the gnarled logs hides itself among the trees. Over its kogon
thatch clambers the branching gourd-vine, laden with flowers and
fruit. Deer antlers and skulls of wild boar, some with long tusks,
adorn this mountain home, where lives a Tagalog family engaged in
hunting and cutting firewood.
In the shade of a tree the grandsire was making brooms from the fibers
of palm leaves, while a young woman was placing eggs, limes, and some
vegetables in a wide basket. Two children, a boy and a girl, were
playing by the side of another, who, pale and sad, with large eyes
and a deep gaze, was seated on a fallen tree-trunk. In his thinned
features we recognize Sisa's son, Basilio, the brother of Crispin.
"When your foot gets well," the little girl was saying to him,
"we'll play hide-and-seek. I'll be the leader."
"You'll go up to the top of the mountain with us," added the little
boy, "and drink deer blood with lime-juice and you'll get fat, and
then I'll teach you how to jump from rock to rock above the torrent."
Basilio smiled sadly, stared at the sore on his foot, and then turned
his gaze toward the sun, which shone resplendently.
"Sell these brooms," said the grandfather to the young woman, "and
buy something for the children, for tomorrow is Christmas."
"Firecrackers, I want some firecrackers!" exclaimed the boy.
"I want a head for my doll," cried the little girl, catching hold of
her sister's tapis.
"And you, what do you want?" the grandfather asked Basilio, who at
the question arose laboriously and approached the old man.
"Sir," he said, "I've been sick more than a month now, haven't I?"
"Since we found you lifeless and covered with wounds, two moons have
come and gone. We thought you were going to die."
"May God reward you, for we are very poor," replied Basilio. "But now
that tomorrow is Christmas I want to go to the town to see my mother
and my little brother. They will be seeking for me."
"But, my son, you're not yet well, and your town is far away. You
won't get there by midnight."
"That doesn't matter, sir. My mother and my little brother must be
very sad. Every year we spend this holiday together. Last year the
three of us had a whole fish to eat. My mother will have been mourning
and looking for me."
"You won't get to the town alive, boy! Tonight we're going to have
chicken and wild boar's meat. My sons will ask for you when they come
from the field."
"You have many sons while my mother has only us two. Perhaps she
already believes that I'm dead! Tonight I want to give her a pleasant
surprise, a Christmas gift, a son."
The old man felt the tears springing up into his eyes, so, placing
his hands on the boy's head, he said with emotion: "You're like an
old man! Go, look for your mother, give her the Christmas gift--from
God, as you say. If I had known the name of your town I would have
gone there when you were sick. Go, my son, and may God and the Lord
Jesus go with you. Lucia, my granddaughter, will go with you to the
nearest town."
"What! You're going away?" the little boy asked him. "Down there are
soldiers and many robbers. Don't you want to see my firecrackers? Boom,
boom, boom!"
"Don't you want to play hide-and-seek?" asked the little girl. "Have
you ever played it? Surely there's nothing any more fun than to be
chased and hide yourself?"
Basilio smiled, but with tears in his eyes, and caught up his
staff. "I'll come back soon," he answered. "I'll bring my little
brother, you'll see him and play with him. He's just about as big as
you are."
"Does he walk lame, too?" asked the little girl. "Then we'll make him
'it' when we play hide-and-seek."
"Don't forget us," the old man said to him. "Take this dried meat as
a present to your mother."
The children accompanied him to the bamboo bridge swung over the
noisy course of the stream. Lucia made him support himself on her arm,
and thus they disappeared from the children's sight, Basilio walking
along nimbly in spite of his bandaged leg.
The north wind whistled by, making the inhabitants of San Diego
shiver with cold. It was Christmas Eve and yet the town was wrapped
in gloom. Not a paper lantern hung from the windows nor did a single
sound in the houses indicate the rejoicing of other years.
In the house of Capitan Basilio, he and Don Filipo--for the misfortunes
of the latter had made them friendly--were standing by a window-grating
and talking, while at another were Sinang, her cousin Victoria,
and the beautiful Iday, looking toward the street.
The waning moon began to shine over the horizon, illumining the clouds
and making the trees and houses east long, fantastic shadows.
"Yours is not a little good fortune, to get off free in these
times!" said Capitan Basilio to Don Filipo. "They've burned your books,
yes, but others have lost more."
A woman approached the grating and gazed into the interior. Her
eyes glittered, her features were emaciated, her hair loose and
dishevelled. The moonlight gave her a weird aspect.
"Sisal" exclaimed Don Filipo in surprise. Then turning to Capitan
Basilio, as the madwoman ran away, he asked, "Wasn't she in the house
of a physician? Has she been cured?"
Capitan Basilio smiled bitterly. "The physician was afraid they
would accuse him of being a friend of Don Crisostomo's, so he drove
her from his house. Now she wanders about again as crazy as ever,
singing, harming no one, and living in the woods."
"What else has happened in the town since we left it? I know that we
have a new curate and another alferez."
"These are terrible times, humanity is retrograding," murmured Capitan
Basilio, thinking of the past. "The day after you left they found the
senior sacristan dead, hanging from a rafter in his own house. Padre
Salvi was greatly affected by his death and took possession of all
his papers. Ah, yes, the old Sage, Tasio, also died and was buried
in the Chinese cemetery."
"Poor old man!" sighed Don Filipo. "What became of his books?"
"They were burned by the pious, who thought thus to please God. I was
unable to save anything, not even Cicero's works. The gobernadorcillo
did nothing to prevent it."
Both became silent. At that moment the sad and melancholy song of
the madwoman was heard.
"Do you know when Maria Clara is to be married?" Iday asked Sinang.
"I don't know," answered the latter. "I received a letter from her
but haven't opened it for fear of finding out. Poor Crisostomo!"
"They say that if it were not for Linares, they would hang Capitan
Tiago, so what was Maria Clara going to do?" observed Victoria.
A boy limped by, running toward the plaza, whence came the notes of
Sisa's song. It was Basilio, who had found his home deserted and in
ruins. After many inquiries he had only learned that his mother was
insane and wandering about the town--of Crispin not a word.
Basilio choked back his tears, stifled any expression of his sorrow,
and without resting had started in search of his mother. On reaching
the town he was just asking about her when her song struck his
ears. The unhappy boy overcame the trembling in his limbs and ran to
throw himself into his mother's arms.
The madwoman left the plaza and stopped in front of the house of
the new alferez. Now, as formerly, there was a sentinel before the
door, and a woman's head appeared at the window, only it was not the
Medusa's but that of a comely young woman: alferez and unfortunate
are not synonymous terms.
Sisa began to sing before the house with her gaze fixed on the
moon, which soared majestically in the blue heavens among golden
clouds. Basilio saw her, but did not dare to approach' her. Walking
back and forth, but taking care not to get near the barracks, he
waited for the time when she would leave that place.
The young woman who was at the window listening attentively to the
madwoman's song ordered the sentinel to bring her inside, but when
Sisa saw the soldier approach her and heard his voice she was filled
with terror and took to flight at a speed of which only a demented
person is capable. Basilio, fearing to lose her, ran after her,
forgetful of the pains in his feet.
"Look how that boy's chasing the madwoman!" indignantly exclaimed
a woman in the street. Seeing that he continued to pursue her, she
picked up a stone and threw it at him, saying, "Take that! It's a
pity that the dog is tied up!"
Basilio felt a blow on his head, but paid no attention to it as he
continued running. Dogs barked, geese cackled, several windows opened
to let out curious faces but quickly closed again from fear of another
night of terror.
Soon they were outside of the town. Sisa began to moderate her flight,
but still a great distance separated her from her pursuer.
"Mother!" he called to her when he caught sight of her. Scarcely had
the madwoman heard his voice when she again took to flight.
"Mother, it's I!" cried the boy in desperation, but the madwoman
did not heed him, so he followed panting. They had now passed the
cultivated fields and were near the wood; Basilio saw his mother enter
it and he also went in. The bushes and shrubs, the thorny vines and
projecting roots of trees, hindered the movements of both. The son
followed his mother's shadowy form as it was revealed from time to
time by the moonlight that penetrated through the foliage and into
the open spaces. They were in the mysterious wood of the Ibarra family.
The boy stumbled and fell several times, but rose again, each time
without feeling pain. All his soul was centered in his eyes, following
the beloved figure. They crossed the sweetly murmuring brook where
sharp thorns of bamboo that had fallen on the sand at its margin
pierced his bare feet, but he did not stop to pull them out.
To his great surprise he saw that his mother had plunged into the
thick undergrowth and was going through the wooden gateway that opened
into the tomb of the old Spaniard at the foot of the balete. Basilio
tried to follow her in, but found the gate fastened. The madwoman
defended the entrance with her emaciated arms and disheveled head,
holding the gate shut with all her might.
"Mother, it's I, it's I! I'm Basilio, your son!" cried the boy as he
let himself fall weakly.
But the madwoman did not yield. Bracing herself with her feet on
the ground, she offered an energetic resistance. Basilio beat the
gate with his fists, with his Mood-stained head, he wept, but in
vain. Painfully he arose and examined the wall, thinking to scale it,
but found no way to do so. He then walked around it and noticed that
a branch of the fateful balete was crossed with one from another
tree. This he climbed and, his filial love working miracles, made
his way from branch to branch to the balete, from which he saw his
mother still holding the gate shut with her head.
The noise made by him among the branches attracted Sisa's
attention. She turned and tried to run, but her son, letting himself
fall from the tree, caught her in his arms and covered her with kisses,
losing consciousness as he did so.
Sisa saw his blood-stained forehead and bent over him. Her eyes seemed