by José Rizal
CHAPTER X
The Town
Almost on the margin of the lake, in the midst of meadows andpaddy-fields, lies the town of San Diego. [50] From it sugar, rice,coffee, and fruits are either exported or sold for a small part oftheir value to the Chinese, who exploit the simplicity and vices ofthe native farmers.
When on a clear day the boys ascend to the upper part of the churchtower, which is beautified by moss and creeping plants, they breakout into joyful exclamations at the beauty of the scene spread outbefore them. In the midst of the clustering roofs of nipa, tiles,corrugated iron, and palm leaves, separated by groves and gardens,each one is able to discover his own home, his little nest. Everythingserves as a mark: a tree, that tamarind with its light foliage,that coco palm laden with nuts, like the Astarte Genetrix, or theDiana of Ephesus with her numerous breasts, a bending bamboo, anareca palm, or a cross. Yonder is the river, a huge glassy serpentsleeping on a green carpet, with rocks, scattered here and therealong its sandy channel, that break its current into ripples. There,the bed is narrowed between high banks to which the gnarled treescling with bared roots; here, it becomes a gentle slope where thestream widens and eddies about. Farther away, a small hut built on theedge of the high bank seems to defy the winds, the heights and thedepths, presenting with its slender posts the appearance of a huge,long-legged bird watching for a reptile to seize upon. Trunks of palmor other trees with their bark still on them unite the banks by ashaky and infirm foot-bridge which, if not a very secure crossing,is nevertheless a wonderful contrivance for gymnastic exercises inpreserving one's balance, a thing not to be despised. The boys bathingin the river are amused by the difficulties of the old woman crossingwith a basket on her head or by the antics of the old man who movestremblingly and loses his staff in the water.
But that which always attracts particular notice is what might becalled a peninsula of forest in the sea of cultivated fields. Therein that wood are century-old trees with hollow trunks, which die onlywhen their high tops are struck and set on fire by the lightning--andit is said that the fire always checks itself and dies out in the samespot. There are huge points of rock which time and nature are clothingwith velvet garments of moss. Layer after layer of dust settles inthe hollows, the rains beat it down, and the birds bring seeds. Thetropical vegetation spreads out luxuriantly in thickets and underbrush,while curtains of interwoven vines hang from the branches of the treesand twine about their roots or spread along the ground, as if Florawere not yet satisfied but must place plant above plant. Mosses andfungi live upon the cracked trunks, and orchids--graceful guests--twinein loving embrace with the foliage of the hospitable trees.
Strange legends exist concerning this wood, which is held in awe bythe country folk. The most credible account, and therefore the oneleast known and believed, seems to be this. When the town was stilla collection of miserable huts with the grass growing abundantly inthe so-called streets, at the time when the wild boar and deer roamedabout during the nights, there arrived in the place one day an old,hollow-eyed Spaniard, who spoke Tagalog rather well. After lookingabout and inspecting the land, he finally inquired for the owners ofthis wood, in which there were hot springs. Some persons who claimed tobe such presented themselves, and the old man acquired it in exchangefor clothes, jewels, and a sum of money. Soon afterward he disappearedmysteriously. The people thought that he had been spirited away,when a bad odor from the neighboring wood attracted the attention ofsome herdsmen. Tracing this, they found the decaying corpse of theold Spaniard hanging from the branch of a balete tree. [51] In lifehe had inspired fear by his deep, hollow voice, his sunken eyes, andhis mirthless laugh, but now, dead by his own act, he disturbed thesleep of the women. Some threw the jewels into the river and burned theclothes, and from the time that the corpse was buried at the foot ofthe balete itself, no one willingly ventured near the spot. A belatedherdsman looking for some of his strayed charges told of lights thathe had seen there, and when some venturesome youths went to the placethey heard mournful cries. To win the smiles of his disdainful lady,a forlorn lover agreed to spend the night there and in proof to wraparound the trunk a long piece of rattan, but he died of a quick feverthat seized him the very next day. Stories and legends still clusterabout the place.
A few months after the finding of the old Spaniard's body thereappeared a youth, apparently a Spanish mestizo, who said thathe was the son of the deceased. He established himself in theplace and devoted his attention to agriculture, especially theraising of indigo. Don Saturnino was a silent young man with aviolent disposition, even cruel at times, yet he was energetic andindustrious. He surrounded the grave of his father with a wall,but visited it only at rare intervals. When he was along in years,he married a young woman from Manila, and she became the mother ofDon Rafael, the father of Crisostomo. From his youth Don Rafael was afavorite with the country people. The agricultural methods introducedand encouraged by his father spread rapidly, new settlers poured in,the Chinese came, and the settlement became a village with a nativepriest. Later the village grew into a town, the priest died, and FrayDamaso came.
All this time the tomb and the land around it remainedunmolested. Sometimes a crowd of boys armed with clubs and stones wouldbecome bold enough to wander into the place to gather guavas, papayas,lomboy, and other fruits, but it frequently happened that when theirsport was at its height, or while they gazed in awed silence at therotting piece of rope which still swung from the branch, stones wouldfall, coming from they knew not where. Then with cries of "The oldman! The old man!" they would throw away fruit and clubs, jump fromthe trees, and hurry between the rocks and through the thickets;nor would they stop running until they were well out of the wood,some pale and breathless, others weeping, and only a few laughing.
