Friars and Filipinos Part 50

Elias took off his camisa. A ball grazed his hands and the report sounded out. Without being disturbed, he stretched out his hand to Ibarra, who was still in the bottom of the boat. Then he arose and leaped into the water, pushing away the small craft with his foot.

A number of cries were heard. Soon at some distance the head of the young man appeared above the water as if to get breath, dropping out of sight at the next instant.

"There, there he is!" cried a number of voices, and the b.a.l.l.s from their rifles whistled again.

The falua and the other banca took up the chase. A light track of foam marked his course, every moment leading farther and farther away from Ibarra's banca, which drifted along as if abandoned. Every time that the swimmer raised his head to breathe the Civil Guards and the men on board the falua discharged their guns at him.

The pursuit continued. Ibarra's little banca was already far off. The swimmer was approaching the sh.o.r.e of the lake and was now some fifty yards distant from it. The rowers were already tired, but Elias was not, for his head often appeared above the water and each time in a different direction so as to disconcert his pursuers. No longer was there a light trail to betray the course of the diver. For the last time they saw him near the sh.o.r.e, some ten yards off, and they opened fire.... Then minutes and minutes pa.s.sed. Nothing appeared again on the tranquil surface of the lake.

Half an hour afterward one of the rowers pretended to have discovered signs of blood in the water near the sh.o.r.e, but his companions shook their heads in a manner which might mean either yes or no.

CHAPTER XLI

FATHER DaMASO EXPLAINS.

In vain the costly wedding gifts were heaped upon the table. Neither the diamonds in their blue velvet caskets, nor the embroidered pina, nor the pieces of silk had any attractions for Maria Clara. The maiden looked at the paper which gave the account of Ibarra's death, drowned in the lake, but she neither saw nor read it.

Of a sudden, she felt two hands over her eyes. They held her fast while a joyous voice, Father Damaso's, said to her:

"Who am I? Who am I?"

Maria Clara jumped from her seat and looked at him with terror in her eyes.

"You little goose, were you frightened, eh? You were not expecting me? Well, I have come from the provinces to attend your wedding."

And coming up to her again with a smile of satisfaction, he stretched out his hand to her. Maria Clara approached timidly and, raising it to her lips, kissed it.

"What is the matter with you, Maria?" asked the Franciscan, losing his gay smile, and becoming very uneasy. "Your hand is cold, you are pale.... Are you ill, my little girl?"

And Father Damaso drew her up to him with a fondness of which no one would have thought him capable. He grasped both the maiden's hands and gave her a questioning look.

"Haven't you any confidence in your G.o.dfather?" he asked in a reproachful tone. "Come, sit down here and tell me your little troubles, just as you used to do when you were a child, when you wanted wax-candles to make wax figures. You surely know that I have always loved you.... I have never scolded you...."

Father Damaso's voice ceased to be brusque; its modulations were even caressing. Maria Clara began to weep.

"Are you weeping, my child? Why are you weeping? Have you quarrelled with Linares?"

Maria Clara covered her eyes with her hands.

"No! It is not he now!" cried the maiden.

Father Damaso looked at her full of surprise.

"Do you not want to entrust your secrets to me? Have I not always managed to satisfy your smallest caprices?"

The young woman raised her eyes full of tears toward him. She looked at him for some time, and then began to weep bitterly.

"Do not cry so, my child, for your tears pain me! Tell me your troubles. You will see how your G.o.dfather loves you."

Maria Clara approached him slowly and fell on her knees at his feet. Then raising her face, bathed in tears, she said to him in a low voice, scarcely audible:

"Do you still love me?"

"Child!"

"Then ... protect my father, and break off the marriage!"

Then she related her last interview with Ibarra, omitting the reference to her birth.

Father Damaso could scarcely believe what he heard.

"While he lived," continued the maiden, "I intended to fight, to wait, to trust. I wanted to live to hear him spoken of ... but now that they have killed him, now there is no reason for my living and suffering."

She said this slowly, in a low voice, calmly and without a tear.

"But, you goose; isn't Linares a thousand times better than....?"

"When he was living, I could have married ... I was thinking of fleeing afterward ... my father wanted nothing more than the relative. Now that he is dead, no other man will call me his wife.... While he lived, I could have debased myself and still had the consolation of knowing that he existed and perhaps was thinking of me. Now that he is dead ... the convent or the tomb."

Her voice had a firmness in its accent which took away Father Damaso's joy and set him to thinking.

"Did you love him so much as that?" he asked, stammering.

Maria Clara did not reply. Father Damaso bowed his head upon his breast and remained silent.

"My child!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking. "Forgive me for making you unhappy without knowing it. I was thinking of your future; I wanted you to be happy. How could I permit you to marry a native; how could I see you an unhappy wife and a miserable mother? I could not get your love out of your head, and I opposed it with all my strength. All that I have done has been for you, for you alone. If you had become his wife, you would have wept afterward on account of the condition of your husband, exposed to all kinds of vengeance, without any means of defense. As a mother, you would have wept over the fortune of your sons; if you educated them, you would prepare a sad future for them, you would have made them enemies of the Church and would have seen them hanged or exiled; if you left them ignorant, you would have seen them oppressed and degraded. I could not consent to it! This is why I sought as a husband for you one who might make you the happy mother of sons born not to obey but to command, not to suffer but to punish. I knew that your friend was good from infancy. I liked him as I had liked his father, but I hated them both when I saw that they were going to make you unhappy, because I love you, I idolize you, I love you as my daughter. I have nothing dearer than you. I have seen you grow. No hour pa.s.ses but I think of you; I dream of you; you are my only joy."

And Father Damaso began to weep like a child.

"Well, then, if you love me do not make me eternally unhappy. He no longer lives; I want to be a nun."

The old man rested his head on his hand.

"To be a nun, to be a nun!" he repeated. "You do not know, my child, the life, the misery, which is hidden behind the walls of the convent. You do not know it! I prefer a thousand times to see you unhappy in the world than to see you unhappy in the cloister. Here your complaints can be heard, there you will have only the walls. You are beautiful, very beautiful, and you were not born for it, you were not born to be the bride of Christ! Believe me, my child, time will blot it all out. Later you will forget, you will love your husband ... Linares."

"Either the convent or ... death!" repeated Maria Clara.

"The convent, the convent or death!" exclaimed Father Damaso. "Maria, I am already old, I will not be able to watch you or your happiness much longer.... Choose another course, seek another love, another young man, whoever he may be, but not the convent."

"The convent or death!"

"My G.o.d, my G.o.d!" cried the priest, covering his head with his hands. "Thou punisheth me. So be it! But watch over my child."