Friars and Filipinos Part 6

Still the grave and the adjoining lands were respected. At times, children, armed with sticks and stones, ventured to wander about, exploring the surrounding country and gathering guayabas, papays, lomboy and other native fruits. Then, all of a sudden, while they were busily engaged collecting the fruits, some one would catch a glimpse of the old rope hanging from the baliti tree, and stones would be heard to fall. Then some one would cry, "The old man!" "The old man!" Dropping fruit, sticks and stones, and leaping from the trees, the boys would flee in all directions through the thickets and between the rocks, not stopping until they emerged from the grove, pale and panting, some laughing, some crying.

You could not say that Don Rafael, while alive, was the most influential man in San Diego, although it is true that he was the richest, owned the most land, and had put almost everybody else under obligations to him. He was modest and always belittled his own deeds. He never tried to form a party of his own, and, as we have already seen, no one came to his aid when his fortune seemed to fail him.

Whenever Captain Tiago arrived in town, his debtors received him with an orchestra, gave him a banquet, and loaded him down with gifts. If a deer or a wild boar was caught he always had a quarter of it for his own table; if any of his debtors found a beautiful horse, within a half hour it would be in the Captain's stable. All of this is true, but still when the Captain had his back turned they made fun of him and referred to him as Sacristan Tiago.

The gobernadorcillo [4] was an unhappy fellow who never commanded but always obeyed; he never attacked any one, but was always attacked; he never ordered anybody, but everybody ordered him; and besides, he had to take the responsibility for everything that they had commanded, ordered or disposed. The position had cost him five thousand pesos and many humiliations, but, considering the profits he made, the price was very cheap.

San Diego was like Rome; not the Rome of the time of Romulus, when he marked out the walls with a plough, nor when, later, he bathed in his own blood and that of others and dictated laws to the world: no, San Diego was like the Rome of contemporaneous history, with this difference--instead of being a city of marble, monuments and coliseums, it was a city of sauali [5] and c.o.c.k-pits. The parochial priest of San Diego corresponded to the Pope in the Vatican; the alferez [6]

of the Civil Guard to the King of Italy in the Quirinal, but both in the same proportion as the sauali or native wood and the nipa c.o.c.k-pits corresponded to the monuments of marble and coliseums. And in San Diego, as in Rome, there was continual trouble. Everybody wanted to be the leading senor, and there was always some one else in the way. Let us describe two of these ambitious citizens.

Friar Bernando Salvi was the young and silent Franciscan whom we mentioned in a preceding chapter. He had even more of the customs and manners of his brotherhood than had his predecessor, the violent Father Damaso. He was slender, sickly, almost always pensive, and very strict in the fulfillment of his religious duties as well as very careful of his good name. A month after his arrival in the parish almost all the inhabitants became brothers of the "Venerable Third Order," to the great grief of its rival, "The Brotherhood of the Most Sacred Rosary." His heart leaped with joy at seeing on every neck in the town from four to five scapularies, a knotted cord around every waist, and every funeral procession dressed in habits of guingon. The sacristan mayor or head warden of the order made quite a little capital by selling and giving away all those things considered necessary to save the soul and overcome the devil.

The only enemy of this powerful soul saver, with tendencies in accord with the times, was, as we have already stated, the alferez. The women relate a story of how the devil tried one day to tempt Father Salvi and how the latter caught him, tied him to the bed post, whipped him with a lash and kept him tied fast for nine days. Thus he had been able to conquer the devil entirely. As a result, any one who persisted in being an enemy of the priest was generally considered a worse man than the devil himself--an honor which the alferez alone enjoyed. But he merited this reputation. He had a wife, an old, powdered and painted Filipino by the name of Dona Consolacion. The husband and several other people called her by a different name, but that does not matter. Anyway, the alferez was accustomed to drown the sorrows of unhappy wedlock by getting as drunk as a toper. Then, when he was thoroughly intoxicated he would order his men to drill in the sun, he himself remaining in the shade, or, perhaps, he would occupy himself in beating his wife.

When her husband was dead drunk, or was snoring away in a siesta, and Dona Consolacion could not fight with him, then, wearing a blue flannel shirt, she would seat herself in the window, with a cigar in her mouth. She had a dislike of children and so from her window she would scowl and make faces at every girl that pa.s.sed. The girls, on the other hand, were afraid of her, and would hurry by at a quick pace, never daring to raise their eyes or draw a breath. But say what you may, Dona Consolacion had one great virtue; she was never known to look into a mirror.

These were the leading people of San Diego.

Toward the west of San Diego, surrounded by rice fields, lies a village of the dead. A single, narrow path, dusty on dry days, and navigable by boats when it rains, leads thither from the town. A wooden gate, and a fence, half stone and half bamboo, seem to separate the cemetery from the people in the town, but not from the goats and sheep of the parochial priest of the immediate vicinity. These animals go in and out to rummage among the tombs or to make that solitary place glad with their presence.

One day a little old man entered the cemetery, his eyes sparkling and his head uncovered. Upon seeing him, many laughed, while a number of the women knit their eyebrows in scorn. The old man seemed to take no notice of these manifestations, but went directly toward a pile of skulls, knelt down and began to search among the bones. After he had sorted over with considerable care the skulls one by one, he drew his eyebrows together, as though he did not find what he was looking for, moved his head from side to side, looked in all directions, and finally got up and went over toward a grave-digger.

"Eh, there!" he shouted to him.

The grave-digger raised his head.

"Do you know where that beautiful skull is, the one white as the meat of a cocoanut, with a complete set of teeth, which I had over there at the foot of the cross under those leaves?"

The grave-digger shrugged his shoulders.

"Look you!" added the little old man, bringing out of his pocket a handful of silver. "I have more than that, but I will give it to you if you find the skull for me."

The glitter of the coin made the grave-digger reflect. He looked over in the direction of the bone pile and said: "Isn't it over there? No? Then I don't know where it is."

"Don't you know? When my debtors pay me, I will give you more,"

continued the old man. "It was my wife's skull, and if you find it for me----"

"Isn't it there. Then I don't know where it is," repeated the grave-digger with emphasis. "But I will give you another."

"You are like the grave that you are digging," cried the old man irritably. "You don't know the value of what you lose. For whom is this grave?"

"For a dead person, of course," replied the bad-humored man.

"Like a tomb! Like a tomb!" repeated the old man dryly. "You don't know what you throw out nor what you swallow. Dig! dig!"

At this the old man, who was Tasio, the village philosopher, turned and started toward the gate.

In the meantime, the grave-digger had finished his job, and two little mounds of fresh, red clay were piled on either side of the grave. He took some betel nut out of his broad-brimmed hat, and began to chew away, looking with an air of stupidity at everything within his horizon.

CHAPTER VIII

IBARRA AND THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

Just as the old man was leaving the cemetery, a carriage stopped at the entrance. It looked as though it had made a long journey; the horses were sweating and the vehicle was covered with dust. Ibarra stepped out and was followed by an old servant. He made a gesture to the driver and then turned down the path into the cemetery. He was silent and grave.

"My sickness and my work have not permitted me to return, since the day of the funeral," said the old servant timidly. "Captain Tiago said that he would see to it that a niche was arranged for, but I planted some flowers on the grave and erected a cross made by my own hands."

Ibarra did not reply.

"Right there behind that large cross, senor," continued the servant, making a gesture toward one of the corners just as they pa.s.sed through the gate.

Ibarra was so preoccupied with sad thoughts that he did not notice the astonishment which some of the people in the cemetery manifested when they saw him enter. Those who were kneeling broke off their prayers and followed the young man, their eyes full of curiosity.

Ibarra walked along very carefully, and avoided stepping on the graves, which could be easily distinguished by the sunken ground. In other times he had walked over them; but to-day he respected them. His father lay in one of them. On coming to the other side of the large cross, he stopped and looked in all directions. His companion was confused and out of countenance. He searched for marks on the ground but could not find the cross anywhere.

"Is it here?" he murmured between his teeth. "No, it is over there, but the earth has been removed."

Ibarra looked at him with an expression of anguish.

"Yes," he continued. "I remember that there was a stone by the side of the grave. The grave was a little short, a farm hand had to dig it, as the grave-digger was sick at the time, but we will ask him what he has done with the cross."

They turned toward the grave-digger, who looked at them with curiosity. He saluted them, taking off his hat.

"Can you tell us which of the graves over there is the one which had a cross?" asked the servant.

The grave-digger looked toward the place and seemed to reflect. "A large cross?"

"Yes, a large cross," answered the old man with joy, looking significantly at Ibarra, whose face was somewhat animated.

"An ornamented cross, and fastened with reeds?" repeated the grave-digger, questioning the servant.

"That's it, that's it, yes, yes! Like this, like this," and the servant traced an outline of a Byzantine cross.

"And were there some flowers sown on the grave?"

"Adelphas, sampagas and pansies! That's it," added the servant, delighted, and offering the grave-digger a cigar. "Tell us where the grave is and where the cross."

The grave-digger scratched his ear and replied, yawning: "Well, the cross--I have already burned it up."

"Burned it? and why have you burned it?"

"Because the head priest so ordered."