CHAPTER XIII
Signs of Storm
As the old man was leaving the cemetery there stopped at the headof the path a carriage which, from its dust-covered appearance andsweating horses, seemed to have come from a great distance. Followedby an aged servant, Ibarra left the carriage and dismissed it with awave of his hand, then gravely and silently turned toward the cemetery.
"My illness and my duties have not permitted me to return," said theold servant timidly. "Capitan Tiago promised that he would see thata niche was constructed, but I planted some flowers on the grave andset up a cross carved by my own hands." Ibarra made no reply. "Therebehind that big cross, sir," he added when they were well inside thegate, as he pointed to the place.
Ibarra was so intent upon his quest that he did not notice themovement of surprise on the part of the persons who recognized himand suspended their prayers to watch him curiously. He walked alongcarefully to avoid stepping on any of the graves, which were easilydistinguishable by the hollow places in the soil. In other times hehad walked on them carelessly, but now they were to be respected:his father lay among them. When he reached the large cross he stoppedand looked all around. His companion stood confused and confounded,seeking some mark in the ground, but nowhere was any cross to be seen.
"Was it here?" he murmured through his teeth. "No, there! But theground has been disturbed."
Ibarra gave him a look of anguish.
"Yes," he went on, "I remember that there was a stone near it. Thegrave was rather short. The grave-digger was sick, so a farmer hadto dig it. But let's ask that man what has become of the cross."
They went over to where the grave-digger was watching them withcuriosity. He removed his salakot respectfully as they approached.
"Can you tell me which is the grave there that had a cross overit?" asked the servant.
The grave-digger looked toward the place and reflected. "A big cross?"
"Yes, a big one!" affirmed the servant eagerly, with a significantlook at Ibarra, whose face lighted up.
"A carved cross tied up with rattan?" continued the grave-digger.
"That's it, that's it, like this!" exclaimed the servant in answeras he drew on the ground the figure of a Byzantine cross.
"Were there flowers scattered on the grave?"
"Oleanders and tuberoses and forget-me-nots, yes!" the servant addedjoyfully, offering the grave-digger a cigar.
"Tell us which is the grave and where the cross is."
The grave-digger scratched his ear and answered with a yawn: "Well,as for the cross, I burned it."
"Burned it? Why did you burn it?"
"Because the fat curate ordered me to do so."
"Who is the fat curate?" asked Ibarra.
"Who? Why, the one that beats people with a big cane."
Ibarra drew his hand across his forehead. "But at least you can tellus where the grave is. You must remember that."
The grave-digger smiled as he answered quietly, "But the corpse isno longer there."
"What's that you're saying?"
"Yes," continued the grave-digger in a half-jesting tone. "I burieda woman in that place a week ago."
"Are you crazy?" cried the servant. "It hasn't been a year since weburied him."
"That's very true, but a good many months ago I dug the body up. Thefat curate ordered me to do so and to take it to the cemetery of theChinamen. But as it was heavy and there was rain that night--"
He was stopped by the threatening attitude of Ibarra, who had caughthim by the arm and was shaking him. "Did you do that?" demanded theyouth in an indescribable tone.
"Don't be angry, sir," stammered the pale and tremblinggrave-digger. "I didn't bury him among the Chinamen. Better be drownedthan lie among Chinamen, I said to myself, so I threw the body intothe lake."
Ibarra placed both his hands on the grave-digger's shoulders andstared at him for a long time with an indefinable expression. Then,with the ejaculation, "You are only a miserable slave!" he turnedaway hurriedly, stepping upon bones, graves, and crosses, like onebeside himself.
The grave-digger patted his arm and muttered, "All the trouble deadmen cause! The fat padre caned me for allowing it to be buried whileI was sick, and this fellow almost tore my arm off for having dug itup. That's what these Spaniards are! I'll lose my job yet!"
Ibarra walked rapidly with a far-away look in his eyes, while theaged servant followed him weeping. The sun was setting, and over theeastern sky was flung a heavy curtain of clouds. A dry wind shook thetree-tops and made the bamboo clumps creak. Ibarra went bareheaded,but no tear wet his eyes nor did any sigh escape from his breast. Hemoved as if fleeing from something, perhaps the shade of his father,perhaps the approaching storm. He crossed through the town to theoutskirts on the opposite side and turned toward the old house which hehad not entered for so many years. Surrounded by a cactus-covered wallit seemed to beckon to him with its open windows, while the ilang-ilangwaved its flower-laden branches joyfully and the doves circled aboutthe conical roof of their cote in the middle of the garden.
But the youth gave no heed to these signs of welcome back to his oldhome, his eyes being fixed on the figure of a priest approaching fromthe opposite direction. It was the curate of San Diego, the pensiveFranciscan whom we have seen before, the rival of the alferez. Thebreeze folded back the brim of his wide hat and blew his _guingon_habit closely about him, revealing the outlines of his body and histhin, curved thighs. In his right hand he carried an ivory-headed_palasan_ cane.
This was the first time that he and Ibarra had met. When they drewnear each other Ibarra stopped and gazed at him from head to foot;Fray Salvi avoided the look and tried to appear unconcerned. Aftera moment of hesitation Ibarra went up to him quickly and dropping aheavy hand on his shoulder, asked in a husky voice, "What did you dowith my father?"
Fray Salvi, pale and trembling as he read the deep feelings thatflushed the youth's face, could not answer; he seemed paralyzed.
"What did you do with my father?" again demanded the youth in achoking voice.
The priest, who was gradually being forced to his knees by the heavyhand that pressed upon his shoulder, made a great effort and answered,"You are mistaken, I did nothing to your father."
"You didn't?" went on the youth, forcing him down upon his knees.
"No, I assure you! It was my predecessor, it was Padre Damaso!"
"Ah!" exclaimed the youth, releasing his hold, and clapping his handdesperately to his brow; then, leaving poor Fray Salvi, he turned awayand hurried toward his house. The old servant came up and helped thefriar to his feet.