A murmur of pleasure ran through the hall, as nearly everyone agreed with the youth.
Some few muttered, “Innovations! Innovations! When we were young—”
“Let’s adopt it for the time being and humiliate that fellow,” said others, indicating Don Filipo.
When silence was restored all were agreed. There was lacking only the approval of the gobernadorcillo. That worthy official was perspiring and fidgeting about. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and was at length able to stammer out in a weak voice: “I also agree, but—ahem!”
Everyone in the hall listened in silence.
“But what?” asked Capitan Basilio.
“Very agreeable,” repeated the gobernadorcillo, “that is to say—I don’t agree—I mean—yes, but—” Here he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “But the curate,” the poor fellow went on, “the curate wants something else.”
“Does the curate or do we ourselves pay for this fiesta? Has he given a cuarto for it?” exclaimed a penetrating voice. All looked toward the place whence these questions came and saw there the Sage Tasio.
Don Filipo remained motionless with his eyes fixed on the gobernadorcillo.
“What does the curate want?” asked Capitan Basilio.
“Well, the padre wants six processions, three sermons, three high masses, and if there is any money left, a comedy from Tondo with songs in the intermissions.”
“But we don’t want that,” said the youths and some of the old men.
“The curate wants it,” repeated the gobernadorcillo. “I’ve promised him that his wish shall be carried out.”
“Then why did you have us assemble here?”
“F‑for the very purpose of telling you this!”
“Why didn’t you tell us so at the start?”
“I wanted to tell you, gentlemen, but Capitan Basilio spoke and I haven’t had a chance. The curate must be obeyed.”
“He must be obeyed,” echoed several old men.
“He must be obeyed or else the alcalde will put us all in jail,” added several other old men sadly.
“Well then, obey him, and run the fiesta yourselves,” exclaimed the youths, rising. “We withdraw our contributions.”
“Everything has already been collected,” said the gobernadorcillo.
Don Filipo approached this official and said to him bitterly, “I sacrificed my pride in favor of a good cause; you are sacrificing your dignity as a man in favor of a bad one, and you’ve spoiled everything.”
Ibarra turned to the schoolmaster and asked him, “Is there anything that I can do for you at the capital of the province? I leave for there immediately.”
“Have you some business there?”
“We have business there!” answered Ibarra mysteriously.
On the way home, when Don Filipo was cursing his bad luck, old Tasio said to him: “The blame is ours! You didn’t protest when they gave you a slave for a chief, and I, fool that I am, had forgotten it!”
XXI
The Story of a Mother
Andaba incierto—volaba errante,
Alaejos
Un solo instante—sin descansar.70
Sisa ran in the direction of her home with her thoughts in that confused whirl which is produced in our being when, in the midst of misfortunes, protection and hope alike are gone. It is then that everything seems to grow dark around us, and, if we do see some faint light shining from afar, we run toward it, we follow it, even though an abyss yawns in our path. The mother wanted to save her sons, and mothers do not ask about means when their children are concerned. Precipitately she ran, pursued by fear and dark forebodings. Had they already arrested her son Basilio? Whither had her boy Crispín fled?
As she approached her little hut she made out above the garden fence the caps of two soldiers. It would be impossible to tell what her heart felt: she forgot everything. She was not ignorant of the boldness of those men, who did not lower their gaze before even the richest people of the town. What would they do now to her and to her sons, accused of theft! The civil-guards are not men, they are civil-guards; they do not listen to supplications and they are accustomed to see tears.
Sisa instinctively raised her eyes toward the sky, that sky which smiled with brilliance indescribable, and in whose transparent blue floated some little fleecy clouds. She stopped to control the trembling that had seized her whole body. The soldiers were leaving the house and were alone, as they had arrested nothing more than the hen which Sisa had been fattening. She breathed more freely and took heart again. “How good they are and what kind hearts they have!” she murmured, almost weeping with joy. Had the soldiers burned her house but left her sons at liberty she would have heaped blessings upon them! She again looked gratefully toward the sky through which a flock of herons, those light clouds in the skies of the Philippines, were cutting their path, and with restored confidence she continued on her way. As she approached those fearful men she threw her glances in every direction as if unconcerned and pretended not to see her hen, which was cackling for help. Scarcely had she passed them when she wanted to run, but prudence restrained her steps.
She had not gone far when she heard herself called by an imperious voice. Shuddering, she pretended not to hear, and continued on her way. They called her again, this time with a yell and an insulting epithet. She turned toward them, pale and trembling in spite of herself. One of them beckoned to her. Mechanically Sisa approached them, her tongue paralyzed with fear and her throat parched.
“Tell us the truth or we’ll tie you to that tree and shoot you,” said one of them in a threatening tone.
The woman stared at the tree.
“You’re the mother of the thieves, aren’t you?” asked the other.
“Mother of the thieves!” repeated Sisa mechanically.
“Where’s the money your sons brought you last night?”
“Ah! The money—”
“Don’t
