After the first moments of effusion had passed and inquiries about Carlicos and his wife had been made and answered, Padre Dámaso asked, “Come now, what does Carlicos want me to do for you?”
“I believe he says something about that in the letter,” Linares again stammered.
“In the letter? Let’s see! That’s right! He wants me to get you a job and a wife. Ahem! A job, a job—that’s easy! Can you read and write?”
“I received my degree of law from the University.”
“Carambas! So you’re a pettifogger! You don’t show it; you look more like a shy maiden. So much the better! But to get you a wife—”
“Padre, I’m not in such a great hurry,” interrupted Linares in confusion.
But Padre Dámaso was already pacing from one end of the hallway to the other, muttering, “A wife, a wife!” His countenance was no longer sad or merry but now wore an expression of great seriousness, while he seemed to be thinking deeply. Padre Salví gazed on the scene from a distance.
“I didn’t think that the matter would trouble me so much,” murmured Padre Dámaso in a tearful voice. “But of two evils, the lesser!” Then raising his voice he approached Linares and said to him, “Come, boy, let’s talk to Santiago.”
Linares turned pale and allowed himself to be dragged along by the priest, who moved thoughtfully. Then it was Padre Salví’s turn to pace back and forth, pensive as ever.
A voice wishing him good morning drew him from his monotonous walk. He raised his head and saw Lucas, who saluted him humbly.
“What do you want?” questioned the curate’s eyes.
“Padre, I’m the brother of the man who was killed on the day of the fiesta,” began Lucas in tearful accents.
The curate recoiled and murmured in a scarcely audible voice, “Well?”
Lucas made an effort to weep and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Padre,” he went on tearfully, “I’ve been to Don Crisóstomo to ask for an indemnity. First he received me with kicks, saying that he wouldn’t pay anything since he himself had run the risk of getting killed through the fault of my dear, unfortunate brother. I went to talk to him yesterday, but he had gone to Manila. He left me five hundred pesos for charity’s sake and charged me not to come back again. Ah, Padre, five hundred pesos for my poor brother—five hundred pesos! Ah, Padre—”
At first the curate had listened with surprise and attention while his lips curled slightly with a smile of such disdain and sarcasm at the sight of this farce that, had Lucas noticed it, he would have run away at top speed. “Now what do you want?” he asked, turning away.
“Ah, Padre, tell me for the love of God what I ought to do. The padre has always given good advice.”
“Who told you so? You don’t belong in these parts.”
“The padre is known all over the province.”
With irritated looks Padre Salví approached him and pointing to the street said to the now startled Lucas, “Go home and be thankful that Don Crisóstomo didn’t have you sent to jail! Get out of here!”
Lucas forgot the part he was playing and murmured, “But I thought—”
“Get out of here!” cried Padre Salví nervously.
“I would like to see Padre Dámaso.”
“Padre Dámaso is busy. Get out of here!” again ordered the curate imperiously.
Lucas went down the stairway muttering, “He’s another of them—as he doesn’t pay well—the one who pays best!”
At the sound of the curate’s voice all had hurried to the spot, including Padre Dámaso, Capitan Tiago, and Linares.
“An insolent vagabond who came to beg and who doesn’t want to work,” explained Padre Salví, picking up his hat and cane to return to the convento.
XLIV
An Examination of Conscience
Long days and weary nights passed at the sick girl’s bed. After having confessed herself, María Clara had suffered a relapse, and in her delirium she uttered only the name of the mother whom she had never known. But her girl friends, her father, and her aunt kept watch at her side. Offerings and alms were sent to all the miraculous images, Capitan Tiago vowed a gold cane to the Virgin of Antipolo, and at length the fever began to subside slowly and regularly.
Doctor De Espadaña was astonished at the virtues of the syrup of marshmallow and the infusion of lichen, prescriptions that he had not varied. Doña Victorina was so pleased with her husband that one day when he stepped on the train of her gown she did not apply her penal code to the extent of taking his set of false teeth away from him, but contented herself with merely exclaiming, “If you weren’t lame you’d even step on my corset!”—an article of apparel she did not wear.
One afternoon while Sinang and Victoria were visiting their friend, the curate, Capitan Tiago, and Doña Victorina’s family were conversing over their lunch in the dining-room.
“Well, I feel very sorry about it,” said the doctor; “Padre Dámaso also will regret it very much.”
“Where do you say they’re transferring him to?” Linares asked the curate.
“To the province of Tayabas,” replied the curate negligently.
“One who will be greatly affected by it is María Clara, when she learns of it,” said Capitan Tiago. “She loves him like a father.”
Fray Salví looked at him askance.
“I believe, Padre,” continued Capitan Tiago, “that all her illness is the result of the trouble on the last day of the fiesta.”
“I’m of the same opinion, and think that you’ve done well not to let Señor Ibarra see her. She would have got worse.
“If it wasn’t for us,” put in Doña Victorina, “Clarita would already be in heaven singing praises to God.”
“Amen!” Capitan Tiago thought it his duty to exclaim.
“It’s lucky for you that my husband didn’t have any patient of greater quality, for then you’d have had to call in another, and all those here are ignoramuses. My husband—”
“Just as I was saying,” the curate in turn interrupted,
