by José Rizal
CHAPTER XV
The Sacristans
The thunder resounded, roar following close upon roar, each preceded'by a blinding flash of zigzag lightning, so that it might have beensaid that God was writing his name in fire and that the eternalarch of heaven was trembling with fear. The rain, whipped about ina different direction each moment by the mournfully whistling wind,fell in torrents. With a voice full of fear the bells sounded theirsad supplication, and in the brief pauses between the roars of theunchained elements tolled forth sorrowful peals, like plaintive groans.
On the second floor of the church tower were the two boys whom we sawtalking to the Sage. The younger, a child of seven years with largeblack eyes and a timid countenance, was huddling close to his brother,a boy of ten, whom he greatly resembled in features, except that thelook on the elder's face was deeper and firmer.
Both were meanly dressed in clothes full of rents and patches. They satupon a block of wood, each holding the end of a rope which extendedupward and was lost amid the shadows above. The wind-driven rainreached them and snuffed the piece of candle burning dimly on thelarge round stone that was used to furnish the thunder on Good Fridayby being rolled around the gallery.
"Pull on the rope, Crispin, pull!" cried the elder to his littlebrother, who did as he was told, so that from above was heard a faintpeal, instantly drowned out by the reechoing thunder.
"Oh, if we were only at home now with mother," sighed the younger,as he gazed at his brother. "There I shouldn't be afraid."
The elder did not answer; he was watching the melting wax of thecandle, apparently lost in thought.
"There no one would say that I stole," went on Crispin. "Motherwouldn't allow it. If she knew that they whip me--"
The elder took his gaze from the flame, raised his head, and clutchingthe thick rope pulled violently on it so that a sonorous peal of thebells was heard.
"Are we always going to live this way, brother?" continuedCrispin. "I'd like to get sick at home tomorrow, I'd like to fallinto a long sickness so that mother might take care of me and notlet me come back to the convento. So I'd not be called a thief norwould they whip me. And you too, brother, you must get sick with me."
"No," answered the older, "we should all die: mother of grief and weof hunger."
Crispin remained silent for a moment, then asked, "How much will youget this month?"
"Two pesos. They're fined me twice."
"Then pay what they say I've stolen, so that they won't call usthieves. Pay it, brother!"
"Are you crazy, Crispin? Mother wouldn't have anything to eat. Thesenior sacristan says that you've stolen two gold pieces, and they'reworth thirty-two pesos."
The little one counted on his fingers up to thirty-two. "Sixhands and two fingers over and each finger a peso!" he murmuredthoughtfully. "And each peso, how many cuartos?"
"A hundred and sixty."
"A hundred and sixty cuartos? A hundred and sixty times acuarto? Goodness! And how many are a hundred and sixty?"
"Thirty-two hands," answered the older.
Crispin looked hard at his little hands. "Thirty-two hands," herepeated, "six hands and two fingers over and each finger thirty-twohands and each finger a cuarto--goodness, what a lot of cuartos! Icould hardly count them in three days; and with them could be boughtshoes for our feet, a hat for my head when the sun shines hot, abig umbrella for the rain, and food, and clothes for you and mother,and--" He became silent and thoughtful again.
"Now I'm sorry that I didn't steal!" he soon exclaimed.
"Crispin!" reproached his brother.
"Don't get angry! The curate has said that he'll beat me to deathif the money doesn't appear, and if I had stolen it I could makeit appear. Anyhow, if I died you and mother would at least haveclothes. Oh, if I had only stolen it!"
The elder pulled on the rope in silence. After a time he replied witha sigh: "What I'm afraid of is that mother will scold you when sheknows about it."
"Do you think so?" asked the younger with astonishment. "You willtell her that they're whipped me and I'll show the welts on my backand my torn pocket. I had only one cuarto, which was given to me lastEaster, but the curate took that away from me yesterday. I never sawa prettier cuarto! No, mother won't believe it."
"If the curate says so--"
Crispin began to cry, murmuring between his sobs, "Then go homealone! I don't want to go. Tell mother that I'm sick. I don't wantto go."
"Crispin, don't cry!" pleaded the elder. "Mother won't believeit--don't cry! Old Tasio told us that a fine supper is waiting for us."
"A fine supper! And I haven't eaten for a long time. They won't giveme anything to eat until the two gold pieces appear. But, if motherbelieves it? You must tell her that the senior sacristan is a liarbut that the curate believes him and that all of them are liars, thatthey say that we're thieves because our father is a vagabond who--"
At that instant a head appeared at the top of the stairway leadingdown to the floor below, and that head, like Medusa's, froze thewords on the child's lips. It was a long, narrow head covered withblack hair, with blue glasses concealing the fact that one eye wassightless. The senior sacristan was accustomed to appear thus withoutnoise or warning of any kind. The two brothers turned cold with fear.
"On you, Basilio, I impose a fine of two reals for not ringing thebells in time," he said in a voice so hollow that his throat seemedto lack vocal chords. "You, Crispin, must stay tonight, until whatyou stole reappears."
Crispin looked at his brother as if pleading for protection.
"But we already have permission--mother expects us at eight o'clock,"objected Basilio timidly.
"Neither shall you go home at eight, you'll stay until ten."
"But, sir, after nine o'clock no one is allowed to be out and ourhouse is far from here."
"Are you trying to give me orders?" growled the man irritably, as hecaught Crispin by the arm and started to drag him away.
"Oh, sir, it's been a week now since we're seen our mother," beggedBasilio, catching hold of his brother as if to defend him.
The senior sacristan struck his hand away and jerked at Crispin,who began to weep as he fell to the floor, crying out to his brother,"Don't leave me, they're going to kill me!"
The sacristan gave no heed to this and dragged him on to thestairway. As they disappeared among the shadows below Basilio stoodspeechless, listening to the sounds of his brother's body strikingagainst the steps. Then followed the sound of a blow and heartrendingcries that died away in the distance.
The boy stood on tiptoe, hardly breathing and listening fixedly,with his eyes unnaturally wide and his fists clenched. "When shall Ibe strong enough to plow a field?" he muttered between his teeth ashe started below hastily. Upon reaching the organ-loft he paused tolisten; the voice of his brother was fast dying away in the distanceand the cries of "Mother! Brother!" were at last completely cutoff by the sound of a closing door. Trembling and perspiring, hepaused for a moment with his fist in his mouth to keep down a cry ofanguish. He let his gaze wander about the dimly lighted church wherean oil-lamp gave a ghostly light, revealing the catafalque in thecenter. The doors were closed and fastened, and the windows had ironbars on them. Suddenly he reascended the stairway to the place wherethe candle was burning and then climbed up into the third floor ofthe belfry. After untying the ropes from the bell-clappers he againdescended. He was pale and his eyes glistened, but not with tears.
Meanwhile, the rain was gradually ceasing and the sky wasclearing. Basilio knotted the ropes together, tied one end to a railof the balustrade, and without even remembering to put out the lightlet himself down into the darkness outside. A few moments later voiceswere heard on one of the streets of the town, two shots resounded,but no one seemed to be alarmed and silence again reigned.
