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 cast 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.
“Sisa!” 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 Crisóstomo’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 Salví 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 María 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 Crisóstomo!”
“They say that if it were not for Linares, they would hang Capitan Tiago, so what was María 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
