by José Rizal
CHAPTER V
A COCHERO'S CHRISTMAS EVE
Basilio reached San Diego just as the Christmas Eve procession waspassing through the streets. He had been delayed on the road forseveral hours because the cochero, having forgotten his cedula, washeld up by the Civil Guard, had his memory jogged by a few blows froma rifle-butt, and afterwards was taken before the commandant. Now thecarromata was again detained to let the procession pass, while theabused cochero took off his hat reverently and recited a paternosterto the first image that came along, which seemed to be that of agreat saint. It was the figure of an old man with an exceptionallylong beard, seated at the edge of a grave under a tree filled withall kinds of stuffed birds. A _kalan_ with a clay jar, a mortar,and a _kalikut_ for mashing buyo were his only utensils, as if toindicate that he lived on the border of the tomb and was doing hiscooking there. This was the Methuselah of the religious iconographyof the Philippines; his colleague and perhaps contemporary is calledin Europe Santa Claus, and is still more smiling and agreeable.
"In the time of the saints," thought the cochero, "surely there were nocivil-guards, because one can't live long on blows from rifle-butts."
Behind the great old man came the three Magian Kings on ponies thatwere capering about, especially that of the negro Melchior, whichseemed to be about to trample its companions.
"No, there couldn't have been any civil-guards," decided thecochero, secretly envying those fortunate times, "because if therehad been, that negro who is cutting up such capers beside those twoSpaniards"--Gaspar and Bathazar--"would have gone to jail."
Then, observing that the negro wore a crown and was a king, like theother two, the Spaniards, his thoughts naturally turned to the kingof the Indians, and he sighed. "Do you know, sir," he asked Basiliorespectfully, "if his right foot is loose yet?"
Basilio had him repeat the question. "Whose right foot?"
"The King's!" whispered the cochero mysteriously.
"What King's?"
"Our King's, the King of the Indians."
Basilio smiled and shrugged his shoulders, while the cochero againsighed. The Indians in the country places preserve the legend thattheir king, imprisoned and chained in the cave of San Mateo, willcome some day to free them. Every hundredth year he breaks one of hischains, so that he now has his hands and his left foot loose--onlythe right foot remains bound. This king causes the earthquakes when hestruggles or stirs himself, and he is so strong that in shaking handswith him it is necessary to extend to him a bone, which he crushesin his grasp. For some unexplainable reason the Indians call him KingBernardo, perhaps by confusing him with Bernardo del Carpio. [13]
"When he gets his right foot loose," muttered the cochero, stiflinganother sigh, "I'll give him my horses, and offer him my services evento death, for he'll free us from the Civil Guard." With a melancholygaze he watched the Three Kings move on.
The boys came behind in two files, sad and serious as though they werethere under compulsion. They lighted their way, some with torches,others with tapers, and others with paper lanterns on bamboo poles,while they recited the rosary at the top of their voices, as thoughquarreling with somebody. Afterwards came St. Joseph on a modest float,with a look of sadness and resignation on his face, carrying his stalkof lilies, as he moved along between two civil-guards as though he werea prisoner. This enabled the cochero to understand the expression onthe saint's face, but whether the sight of the guards troubled him orhe had no great respect for a saint who would travel in such company,he did not recite a single requiem.
Behind St. Joseph came the girls bearing lights, their heads coveredwith handkerchiefs knotted under their chins, also reciting the rosary,but with less wrath than the boys. In their midst were to be seenseveral lads dragging along little rabbits made of Japanese paper,lighted by red candles, with their short paper tails erect. The ladsbrought those toys into the procession to enliven the birth of theMessiah. The little animals, fat and round as eggs, seemed to be sopleased that at times they would take a leap, lose their balance, fall,and catch fire. The owner would then hasten to extinguish such burningenthusiasm, puffing and blowing until he finally beat out the fire,and then, seeing his toy destroyed, would fall to weeping. The cocheroobserved with sadness that the race of little paper animals disappearedeach year, as if they had been attacked by the pest like the livinganimals. He, the abused Sinong, remembered his two magnificent horses,which, at the advice of the curate, he had caused to be blessed tosave them from plague, spending therefor ten pesos--for neitherthe government nor the curates have found any better remedy forthe epizootic--and they had died after all. Yet he consoled himselfby remembering also that after the shower of holy water, the Latinphrases of the padre, and the ceremonies, the horses had become sovain and self-important that they would not even allow him, Sinong,a good Christian, to put them in harness, and he had not dared to whipthem, because a tertiary sister had said that they were _sanctified_.
The procession was closed by the Virgin dressed as the Divine Shepherd,with a pilgrim's hat of wide brim and long plumes to indicate thejourney to Jerusalem. That the birth might be made more explicable, thecurate had ordered her figure to be stuffed with rags and cotton underher skirt, so that no one could be in any doubt as to her condition. Itwas a very beautiful image, with the same sad expression of all theimages that the Filipinos make, and a mien somewhat ashamed, doubtlessat the way in which the curate had arranged her. In front came severalsingers and behind, some musicians with the usual civil-guards. Thecurate, as was to be expected after what he had done, was not in hisplace, for that year he was greatly displeased at having to use allhis diplomacy and shrewdness to convince the townspeople that theyshould pay thirty pesos for each Christmas mass instead of the usualtwenty. "You're turning filibusters!" he had said to them.
The cochero must have been greatly preoccupied with the sights of theprocession, for when it had passed and Basilio ordered him to go on, hedid not notice that the lamp on his carromata had gone out. Neither didBasilio notice it, his attention being devoted to gazing at the houses,which were illuminated inside and out with little paper lanternsof fantastic shapes and colors, stars surrounded by hoops with longstreamers which produced a pleasant murmur when shaken by the wind,and fishes of movable heads and tails, having a glass of oil inside,suspended from the eaves of the windows in the delightful fashion ofa happy and homelike fiesta. But he also noticed that the lights wereflickering, that the stars were being eclipsed, that this year hadfewer ornaments and hangings than the former, which in turn had hadeven fewer than the year preceding it. There was scarcely any musicin the streets, while the agreeable noises of the kitchen were not tobe heard in all the houses, which the youth ascribed to the fact thatfor some time things had been going badly, the sugar did not bring agood price, the rice crops had failed, over half the live stock haddied, but the taxes rose and increased for some inexplicable reason,while the abuses of the Civil Guard became more frequent to kill offthe happiness of the people in the towns.
He was just pondering over this when an energetic"Halt!" resounded. They were passing in front of the barracks and oneof the guards had noticed the extinguished lamp of the carromata,which could not go on without it. A hail of insults fell about thepoor cochero, who vainly excused himself with the length of theprocession. He would be arrested for violating the ordinances andafterwards advertised in the newspapers, so the peaceful and prudentBasilio left the carromata and went his way on foot, carrying hisvalise. This was San Diego, his native town, where he had not asingle relative.
The only, house wherein there seemed to be any mirth was CapitanBasilio's. Hens and chickens cackled their death chant to theaccompaniment of dry and repeated strokes, as of meat pounded on achopping-block, and the sizzling of grease in the frying-pans. A feastwas going on in the house, and even into the street there passed acertain draught of air, saturated with the succulent odors of stewsand confections. In the entresol Basilio saw Sinang, as small aswhen our readers knew her bef
ore, [14] although a little rounder andplumper since her marriage. Then to his great surprise he made out,further in at the back of the room, chatting with Capitan Basilio,the curate, and the alferez of the Civil Guard, no less than thejeweler Simoun, as ever with his blue goggles and his nonchalant air.
"It's understood, Senor Simoun," Capitan Basilio was saying, "thatwe'll go to Tiani to see your jewels."
"I would also go," remarked the alferez, "because I need a watch-chain,but I'm so busy--if Capitan Basilio would undertake--"
Capitan Basilio would do so with the greatest pleasure, and ashe wished to propitiate the soldier in order that he might not bemolested in the persons of his laborers, he refused to accept themoney which the alferez was trying to get out of his pocket.
"It's my Christmas gift!"
"I can't allow you, Capitan, I can't permit it!"
"All right! We'll settle up afterwards," replied Capitan Basilio witha lordly gesture.
Also, the curate wanted a pair of lady's earrings and requested thecapitan to buy them for him. "I want them first class. Later we'llfix up the account."
"Don't worry about that, Padre," said the good man, who wished to beat peace with the Church also. An unfavorable report on the curate'spart could do him great damage and cause him double the expense,for those earrings were a forced present. Simoun in the meantime waspraising his jewels.
"That fellow is fierce!" mused the student. "He does businesseverywhere. And if I can believe _a certain person,_ he buys from somegentlemen for a half of their value the same jewels that he himselfhas sold for presents. Everybody in this country prospers but us!"
He made his way to his house, or rather Capitan Tiago's, now occupiedby a trustworthy man who had held him in great esteem since theday when he had seen him perform a surgical operation with the samecoolness that he would cut up a chicken. This man was now waiting togive him the news. Two of the laborers were prisoners, one was to bedeported, and a number of carabaos had died.
"The same old story," exclaimed Basilio, in a bad humor. "You alwaysreceive me with the same complaints." The youth was not overbearing,but as he was at times scolded by Capitan Tiago, he liked in his turnto chide those under his orders.
The old man cast about for something new. "One of our tenants has died,the old fellow who took care of the woods, and the curate refused tobury him as a pauper, saying that his master is a rich man."
"What did he die of?"
"Of old age."
"Get out! To die of old age! It must at least have been somedisease." Basilio in his zeal for making autopsies wanted diseases.
"Haven't you anything new to tell me? You take away my appetiterelating the same old things. Do you know anything of Sagpang?"
The old man then told him about the kidnapping of CabesangTales. Basilio became thoughtful and said nothing more--his appetitehad completely left him.
