CHAPTER XVI
Sisa
Through the dark night the villagers slept. The families who hadremembered their dead gave themselves up to quiet and satisfied sleep,for they had recited their requiems, the novena of the souls, and hadburned many wax tapers before the sacred images. The rich and powerfulhad discharged the duties their positions imposed upon them. On thefollowing day they would hear three masses said by each priest andwould give two pesos for another, besides buying a bull of indulgencesfor the dead. Truly, divine justice is not nearly so exacting as human.
But the poor and indigent who earn scarcely enough to keep themselvesalive and who also have to pay tribute to the petty officials, clerks,and soldiers, that they may be allowed to live in peace, sleep notso tranquilly as gentle poets who have perhaps not felt the pinchesof want would have us believe. The poor are sad and thoughtful, foron that night, if they have not recited many prayers, yet they haveprayed much--with pain in their eyes and tears in their hearts. Theyhave not the novenas, nor do they know the responsories, versicles,and prayers which the friars have composed for those who lack originalideas and feelings, nor do they understand them. They pray in thelanguage of their misery: their souls weep for them and for thosedead beings whose love was their wealth. Their lips may profferthe salutations, but their minds cry out complaints, charged withlamentations. Wilt Thou be satisfied, O Thou who blessedst poverty,and you, O suffering souls, with the simple prayers of the poor,offered before a rude picture in the light of a dim wick, or doyou perhaps desire wax tapers before bleeding Christs and Virginswith small mouths and crystal eyes, and masses in Latin recitedmechanically by priests? And thou, Religion preached for sufferinghumanity, hast thou forgotten thy mission of consoling the oppressedin their misery and of humiliating the powerful in their pride? Hastthou now promises only for the rich, for those who, can pay thee?
The poor widow watches among the children who sleep at her side. Sheis thinking of the indulgences that she ought to buy for the reposeof the souls of her parents and of her dead husband. "A peso,"she says, "a peso is a week of happiness for my children, a week oflaughter and joy, my savings for a month, a dress for my daughterwho is becoming a woman." "But it is necessary that you put asidethese worldly desires," says the voice that she heard in the pulpit,"it is necessary that you make sacrifices." Yes, it is necessary. TheChurch does not gratuitously save the beloved souls for you nor doesit distribute indulgences without payment. You must buy them, sotonight instead of sleeping you should work. Think of your daughter,so poorly clothed! Fast, for heaven is dear! Decidedly, it seemsthat the poor enter not into heaven. Such thoughts wander through thespace enclosed between the rough mats spread out on the bamboo floorand the ridge of the roof, from which hangs the hammock wherein thebaby swings. The infant's breathing is easy and peaceful, but fromtime to time he swallows and smacks his lips; his hungry stomach,which is not satisfied with what his older brothers have given him,dreams of eating.
The cicadas chant monotonously, mingling their ceaseless notes withthe trills of the cricket hidden in the grass, or the chirp of thelittle lizard which has come out in search of food, while the biggekko, no longer fearing the water, disturbs the concert with itsill-omened voice as it shows its head from out the hollow of thedecayed tree-trunk.
The dogs howl mournfully in the streets and superstitious folk,hearing them, are convinced that they see spirits and ghosts. Butneither the dogs nor the other animals see the sorrows of men--yethow many of these exist!
Distant from the town an hour's walk lives the mother of Basilio andCrispin. The wife of a heartless man, she struggles to live for hersons, while her husband is a vagrant gamester with whom her interviewsare rare but always painful. He has gradually stripped her of herfew jewels to pay the cost of his vices, and when the suffering Sisano longer had anything that he might take to satisfy his whims, hehad begun to maltreat her. Weak in character, with more heart thanintellect, she knew only how to love and to weep. Her husband wasa god and her sons were his angels, so he, knowing to what point hewas loved and feared, conducted himself like all false gods: dailyhe became more cruel, more inhuman, more wilful. Once when he hadappeared with his countenance gloomier than ever before, Sisa hadconsulted him about the plan of making a sacristan of Basilio, andhe had merely continued to stroke his game-cock, saying neither yesnor no, only asking whether the boy would earn much money. She hadnot dared to insist, but her needy situation and her desire that theboys should learn to read and write in the town school forced her tocarry out the plan. Still her husband had said nothing.
That night, between ten and eleven o'clock, when the stars wereglittering in a sky now cleared of all signs of the storm of theearly evening, Sisa sat on a wooden bench watching some fagots thatsmouldered upon the fireplace fashioned of rough pieces of naturalrock. Upon a tripod, or _tunko_, was a small pot of boiling riceand upon the red coals lay three little dried fishes such as aresold at three for two cuartos. Her chin rested in the palm of herhand while she gazed at the weak yellow glow peculiar to the cane,which burns rapidly and leaves embers that quickly grow pale. A sadsmile lighted up her face as she recalled a funny riddle about the potand the fire which Crispin had once propounded to her. The boy said:"The black man sat down and the red man looked at him, a moment passed,and cock-a-doodle-doo rang forth."
Sisa was still young, and it was plain that at one time she had beenpretty and attractive. Her eyes, which, like her disposition, shehad given to her sons, were beautiful, with long lashes and a deeplook. Her nose was regular and her pale lips curved pleasantly. Shewas what the Tagalogs call _kayumanguing-kaligatan_; that is, hercolor was a clear, pure brown. In spite of her youthfulness, painand perhaps even hunger had begun to make hollow her pallid cheeks,and if her abundant hair, in other times the delight and adornment ofher person, was even yet simply and neatly arranged, though withoutpins or combs, it was not from coquetry but from habit.
Sisa had been for several days confined to the house sewing uponsome work which had been ordered for the earliest possible time. Inorder to earn the money, she had not attended mass that morning, asit would have taken two hours at least to go to the town and return:poverty obliges one to sin! She had finished the work and deliveredit but had received only a promise of payment. All that day she hadbeen anticipating the pleasures of the evening, for she knew that hersons were coming and she had intended to make them some presents. Shehad bought some small fishes, picked the most beautiful tomatoes inher little garden, as she knew that Crispin was very fond of them, andbegged from a neighbor, old Tasio the Sage, who lived half a mile away,some slices of dried wild boar's meat and a leg of wild duck, whichBasilio especially liked. Full of hope, she had cooked the whitestof rice, which she herself had gleaned from the threshing-floors. Itwas indeed a curate's meal for the poor boys.
But by an unfortunate chance her husband came and ate the rice,the slices of wild boar's meat, the duck leg, five of the littlefishes, and the tomatoes. Sisa said nothing, although she felt asif she herself were being eaten. His hunger at length appeased,he remembered to ask for the boys. Then Sisa smiled happily andresolved that she would not eat that night, because what remainedwas not enough for three. The father had asked for their sons andthat for her was better than eating.
Soon he picked up his game-cock and started away.
"Don't you want to see them?" she asked tremulously. "Old Tasio toldme that they would be a little late. Crispin now knows how to readand perhaps Basilio will bring his wages."
This last reason caused the husband to pause and waver, but his goodangel triumphed. "In that case keep a peso for me," he said as hewent away.
Sisa wept bitterly, but the thought of her sons soon dried hertears. She cooked some more rice and prepared the only three fishesthat were left: each would have one and a half. "They'll have goodappetites," she mused, "the way is long and hungry stomachs haveno heart."
So she sat, he ear strained to catch every sound, listening to thelightest foo
tfalls: strong and clear, Basilio; light and irregular,Crispin--thus she mused. The _kalao_ called in the woods several timesafter the rain had ceased, but still her sons did not come. She put thefishes inside the pot to keep them warm and went to the threshold ofthe hut to look toward the road. To keep herself company, she beganto sing in a low voice, a voice usually so sweet and tender that whenher sons listened to her singing the _kundiman_ they wept withoutknowing why, but tonight it trembled and the notes were halting. Shestopped singing and gazed earnestly into the darkness, but no onewas coming from the town--that noise was only the wind shaking theraindrops from the wide banana leaves.
Suddenly a black dog appeared before her dragging something along thepath. Sisa was frightened but caught up a stone and threw it at thedog, which ran away howling mournfully. She was not superstitious,but she had heard so much about presentiments and black dogs thatterror seized her. She shut the door hastily and sat down by thelight. Night favors credulity and the imagination peoples the airwith specters. She tried to pray, to call upon the Virgin and uponGod to watch over her sons, especially her little Crispin. Then sheforgot her prayers as her thoughts wandered to think about them, torecall the features of each, those features that always wore a smilefor her both asleep and awake. Suddenly she felt her hair rise on herhead and her eyes stared wildly; illusion or reality, she saw Crispinstanding by the fireplace, there where he was wont to sit and prattleto her, but now he said nothing as he gazed at her with those large,thoughtful eyes, and smiled.
"Mother, open the door! Open, mother!" cried the voice of Basiliofrom without.
Sisa shuddered violently and the vision disappeared.