by José Rizal
CHAPTER XVII
Basilio
La vida es sueno.
Basilio was scarcely inside when he staggered and fell into hismother's arms. An inexplicable chill seized Sisa as she saw him enteralone. She wanted to speak but could make no sound; she wanted toembrace her son but lacked the strength; to weep was impossible. Atsight of the blood which covered the boy's forehead she cried in atone that seemed to come from a breaking heart, "My sons!"
"Don't be afraid, mother," Basilio reassured her. "Crispin stayed atthe convento."
"At the convento? He stayed at the convento? Is he alive?"
The boy raised his eyes to her. "Ah!" she sighed, passing from thedepths of sorrow to the heights of joy. She wept and embraced her son,covering his bloody forehead with kisses.
"Crispin is alive! You left him at the convento! But why are youwounded, my son? Have you had a fall?" she inquired, as she examinedhim anxiously.
"The senior sacristan took Crispin away and told me that I could notleave until ten o'clock, but it was already late and so I ran away. Inthe town the soldiers challenged me, I started to run, they fired,and a bullet grazed my forehead. I was afraid they would arrest me andbeat me and make me scrub out the barracks, as they did with Pablo,who is still sick from it."
"My God, my God!" murmured his mother, shuddering. "Thou hast savedhim!" Then while she sought for bandages, water, vinegar, and afeather, she went on, "A finger's breadth more and they would havekilled you, they would have killed my boy! The civil-guards do notthink of the mothers."
"You must say that I fell from a tree so that no one will know theychased me," Basilio cautioned her.
"Why did Crispin stay?" asked Sisa, after dressing her son's wound.
Basilio hesitated a few moments, then with his arms about her andtheir tears mingling, he related little by little the story of thegold pieces, without speaking, however, of the tortures they wereinflicting upon his young brother.
"My good Crispin! To accuse my good Crispin! It's because we're poorand we poor people have to endure everything!" murmured Sisa, staringthrough her tears at the light of the lamp, which was now dying outfrom lack of oil. So they remained silent for a while.
"Haven't you had any supper yet? Here are rice and fish."
"I don't want anything, only a little water."
"Yes," answered his mother sadly, "I know that you don't like driedfish. I had prepared something else, but your father came."
"Father came?" asked Basilio, instinctively examining the face andhands of his mother.
The son's questioning gaze pained Sisa's heart, for she understood itonly too well, so she added hastily: "He came and asked a lot aboutyou and wanted to see you, and he was very hungry. He said that ifyou continued to be so good he would come back to stay with us."
An exclamation of disgust from Basilio's contracted lips interruptedher. "Son!" she reproached him.
"Forgive me, mother," he answered seriously. "But aren't we threebetter off--you, Crispin, and I? You're crying--I haven't saidanything."
Sisa sighed and asked, "Aren't you going to eat? Then let's go tosleep, for it's now very late." She then closed up the hut and coveredthe few coals with ashes so that the fire would not die out entirely,just as a man does with his inner feelings; he covers them with theashes of his life, which he calls indifference, so that they may notbe deadened by daily contact with his fellows.
Basilio murmured his prayers and lay down near his mother, who wasupon her knees praying. He felt hot and cold, he tried to close hiseyes as he thought of his little brother who that night had expectedto sleep in his mother's lap and who now was probably trembling withterror and weeping in some dark corner of the convento. His ears wereagain pierced with those cries he had heard in the church tower. Butwearied nature soon began to confuse his ideas and the veil of sleepdescended upon his eyes.
He saw a bedroom where two dim tapers burned. The curate, witha rattan whip in his hand, was listening gloomily to somethingthat the senior sacristan was telling him in a strange tongue withhorrible gestures. Crispin quailed and turned his tearful eyes inevery direction as if seeking some one or some hiding-place. Thecurate turned toward him and called to him irritably, the rattanwhistled. The child ran to hide himself behind the sacristan, whocaught and held him, thus exposing him to the curate's fury. Theunfortunate boy fought, kicked, screamed, threw himself on the floorand rolled about. He picked himself up, ran, slipped, fell, and parriedthe blows with his hands, which, wounded, he hid quickly, all the timeshrieking with pain. Basilio saw him twist himself, strike the floorwith his head, he saw and heard the rattan whistle. In desperationhis little brother rose. Mad with pain he threw himself upon histormentor and bit him on the hand. The curate gave a cry and droppedthe rattan--the sacristan caught up a heavy cane and struck the boy ablow on the head so that he fell stunned--the curate, seeing him down,trampled him with his feet. But the child no longer defended himselfnor did he cry out; he rolled along the floor, a lifeless mass thatleft a damp track. [60]
Sisa's voice brought him back to reality. "What's the matter? Whyare you crying?"
"I dreamed--O God!" exclaimed Basilio, sitting up, covered withperspiration. "It was a dream! Tell me, mother, that it was only adream! Only a dream!"
"What did you dream?"
The boy did not answer, but sat drying his tears and wiping away theperspiration. The hut was in total darkness.
"A dream, a dream!" repeated Basilio in subdued tones.
"Tell me what you dreamed. I can't sleep," said his mother when helay down again.
"Well," he said in a low voice, "I dreamed that we had gone toglean the rice-stalks--in a field where there were many flowers--thewomen had baskets full of rice-stalks the men too had baskets full ofrice-stalks--and the children too--I don't remember any more, mother,I don't remember the rest."
Sisa had no faith in dreams, so she did not insist.
"Mother, I've thought of a plan tonight," said Basilio after a fewmoments' silence.
"What is your plan?" she asked. Sisa was humble in everything, evenwith her own sons, trusting their judgment more than her own.
"I don't want to be a sacristan any longer."
"What?"
"Listen, mother, to what I've been thinking about. Today there arrivedfrom Spain the son of the dead Don Rafael, and he will be a goodman like his father. Well now, mother, tomorrow you will get Crispin,collect my wages, and say that I will not be a sacristan any longer. Assoon as I get well I'll go to see Don Crisostomo and ask him to hire meas a herdsman of his cattle and carabaos--I'm now big enough. Crispincan study with old Tasio, who does not whip and who is a good man,even if the curate does not believe so. What have we to fear now fromthe padre? Can he make us any poorer than we are? You may believe it,mother, the old man is good. I've seen him often in the church whenno one else was about, kneeling and praying, believe it. So, mother,I'll stop being a sacristan. I earn but little and that little is takenaway from me in fines. Every one complains of the same thing. I'llbe a herdsman and by performing my tasks carefully I'll make myemployer like me. Perhaps he'll let us milk a cow so that we can drinkmilk--Crispin likes milk so much. Who can tell! Maybe they'll give usa little calf if they see that I behave well and we'll take care ofit and fatten it like our hen. I'll pick fruits in the woods and sellthem in the town along with the vegetables from our garden, so we'llhave money. I'll set snares and traps to catch birds and wild cats,[61] I'll fish in the river, and when I'm bigger, I'll hunt. I'll beable also to cut firewood to sell or to present to the owner of thecows, and so he'll be satisfied with us. When I'm able to plow, I'llask him to let me have a piece of land to plant in sugar-cane or cornand you won't have to sew until midnight. We'll have new clothes forevery fiesta, we'll eat meat and big fish, we'll live free, seeing eachother every day and eating together. Old Tasio says that Crispin has agood head and so we'll send him to Manila to study. I'll support himby working hard. Isn't that fine, mother? Perhaps h
e'll be a doctor,what do you say?"
"What can I say but yes?" said Sisa as she embraced her son. She noted,however, that in their future the boy took no account of his father,and shed silent tears.
Basilio went on talking of his plans with the confidence of theyears that see only what they wish for. To everything Sisa saidyes--everything appeared good.
Sleep again began to weigh down upon the tired eyelids of the boy,and this time Ole-Luk-Oie, of whom Andersen tells us, spread overhim his beautiful umbrella with its pleasing pictures. Now he sawhimself with his little brother as they picked guavas, alpay, andother fruits in the woods; they clambered from branch to branch, lightas butterflies; they penetrated into the caves and saw the shiningrocks; they bathed in the springs where the sand was gold-dust andthe stones like the jewels in the Virgin's crown. The little fishessang and laughed, the plants bent their branches toward them ladenwith golden fruit. Then he saw a bell hanging in a tree with a longrope for ringing it; to the rope was tied a cow with a bird's nestbetween her horns and Crispin was inside the bell.
Thus he went on dreaming, while his mother, who was not of his ageand who had not run for an hour, slept not.
