by José Rizal
CHAPTER XVIII
Souls in Torment
It was about seven o'clock in the morning when Fray Salvi finishedcelebrating his last mass, having offered up three in the space ofan hour. "The padre is ill," commented the pious women. "He doesn'tmove about with his usual slowness and elegance of manner."
He took off his vestments without the least comment, without sayinga word or looking at any one. "Attention!" whispered the sacristansamong themselves. "The devil's to pay! It's going to rain fines,and all on account of those two brothers."
He left the sacristy to go up into the rectory, in the hallway ofwhich there awaited him some seven or eight women seated upon benchesand a man who was pacing back and forth. Upon seeing him approach,the women arose and one of them pressed forward to kiss his hand,but the holy man made a sign of impatience that stopped her short.
"Can it be that you've lost a real, _kuriput?_" exclaimed the womanwith a jesting laugh, offended at such a reception. "Not to givehis hand to me, Matron of the Sisterhood, Sister Rufa!" It was anunheard-of proceeding.
"He didn't go into the confessional this morning," added Sister Sipa,a toothless old woman. "I wanted to confess myself so as to receivecommunion and get the indulgences."
"Well, I'm sorry for you," commented a young woman with a frankface. "This week I earned three plenary indulgences and dedicatedthem to the soul of my husband."
"Badly done, Sister Juana," said the offended Rufa. "One plenaryindulgence was enough to get him out of purgatory. You ought not tosquander the holy indulgences. Do as I do."
"I thought, so many more the better," answered the simple Sister Juana,smiling. "But tell me what you do."
Sister Rufa did not answer at once. First, she asked for a buyo andchewed at it, gazed at her audience, which was listening attentively,then spat to one side and commenced, chewing at the buyo meanwhile: "Idon't misspend one holy day! Since I've belonged to the Sisterhood I'veearned four hundred and fifty-seven plenary indulgences, seven hundredsixty thousand five hundred and ninety-eight years of indulgence. Iset down all that I earn, for I like to have clean accounts. I don'twant to cheat or be cheated."
Here Sister Rufa paused to give more attention to her chewing. Thewomen gazed at her in admiration, but the man who was pacing back andforth remarked with some disdain, "Well, this year I've gained fourplenary indulgences more than you have, Sister Rufa, and a hundredyears more, and that without praying much either."
"More than I? More than six hundred and eighty-nine plenary indulgencesor nine hundred ninety-four thousand eight hundred and fifty-sixyears?" queried Rufa, somewhat disgruntled.
"That's it, eight indulgences and a hundred fifteen years more anda few months over," answered the man, from whose neck hung soiledscapularies and rosaries.
"That's not strange!" admitted Rufa, at last admitting defeat. "You'rean expert, the best in the province."
The flattered man smiled and continued, "It isn't so wonderful that Iearn more than you do. Why, I can almost say that even when sleepingI earn indulgences."
"And what do you do with them, sir?" asked four or five voices atthe same time.
"Pish!" answered the man with a gesture of proud disdain. "I havethem to throw away!"
"But in that I can't commend you, sir," protested Rufa. "You'll goto purgatory for wasting the indulgences. You know very well thatfor every idle word one must suffer forty days in fire, according tothe curate; for every span of thread uselessly wasted, sixty days;and for every drop of water spilled, twenty. You'll go to purgatory."
"Well, I'll know how to get out," answered Brother Pedro with sublimeconfidence. "How many souls have I saved from the flames! How manysaints have I made! Besides, even _in articulo mortis_ I can stillearn, if I wish, at least seven plenary indulgences and shall be ableto save others as I die." So saying, he strode proudly away.
Sister Rufa turned to the others: "Nevertheless, you must do as I do,for I don't lose a single day and I keep my accounts well. I don'twant to cheat or be cheated."
"Well, what do you do?" asked Juana.
"You must imitate what I do. For example, suppose I earn a yearof indulgence: I set it down in my account-book and say, 'MostBlessed Father and Lord St. Dominic, please see if there is anybodyin purgatory who needs exactly a year--neither a day more nor a dayless.' Then I play heads and tails: if it comes heads, no; if tails,yes. Let's suppose that it comes tails, then I write down _paid_; if itcomes heads, then I keep the indulgence. In this way I arrange groupsof a hundred years each, of which I keep a careful account. It's a pitythat we can't do with them as with money--put them out at interest,for in that way we should be able to save more souls. Believe me,and do as I do."
"Well, I do it a better way," remarked Sister Sipa.
"What? Better?" demanded the astonished Rufa. "That can't be! Mysystem can't be improved upon!"
"Listen a moment and you'll be convinced, Sister," said old Sipa ina tone of vexation.
"How is it? Let's hear!" exclaimed the others.
After coughing ceremoniously the old woman began with great care:"You know very well that by saying the _Bendita sea tu pureza_ andthe _Senor mio Jesucristo, Padre dulcisimo por el gozo_, ten yearsare gained for each letter--"
"Twenty!" "No, less!" "Five!" interrupted several voices.
"A few years more or less make no difference. Now, when a servantbreaks a plate, a glass, or a cup, I make him pick up the pieces;and for every scrap, even the very smallest, he has to recite forme one of those prayers. The indulgences that I earn in this wayI devote to the souls. Every one in my house, except the cats,understands this system."
"But those indulgences are earned by the servants and not by you,Sister Sipa," objected Rufa.
"And my cups and plates, who pays for them? The servants are glad topay for them in that way and it suits me also. I never resort to blows,only sometimes a pinch, or a whack on the head."
"I'm going to do as you do!" "I'll do the same!" "And I!" exclaimedthe women.
"But suppose the plate is only broken into two or three pieces,then you earn very few," observed the obstinate Rufa.
"_Aba!_" answered old Sipa. "I make them recite the prayersanyhow. Then I glue the pieces together again and so lose nothing."
Sister Rufa had no more objections left.
"Allow me to ask about a doubt of mine," said young Juana timidly. "Youladies understand so well these matters of heaven, purgatory, andhell, while I confess that I'm ignorant. Often I find in the novenasand other books this direction: three paternosters, three Ave Marias,and three Gloria Patris--"
"Yes, well?"
"Now I want to know how they should be recited: whether threepaternosters in succession, three Ave Marias in succession, andthree Gloria Patris in succession; or a paternoster, an Ave Maria,and a Gloria Patri together, three times?"
"This way: a paternoster three times--"
"Pardon me, Sister Sipa," interrupted Rufa, "they must be recited inthe other way. You mustn't mix up males and females. The paternostersare males, the Ave Marias are females, and the Gloria Patris arethe children."
"Eh? Excuse me, Sister Rufa: paternoster, Ave Maria, and Gloria arelike rice, meat, and sauce--a mouthful for the saints--"
"You're wrong! You'll see, for you who pray that way will never getwhat you ask for."
"And you who pray the other way won't get anything from your novenas,"replied old Sipa.
"Who won't?" asked Rufa, rising. "A short time ago I lost a littlepig, I prayed to St. Anthony and found it, and then I sold it for agood price. _Aba!_"
"Yes? Then that's why one of your neighbors was saying that you solda pig of hers."
"Who? The shameless one! Perhaps I'm like you--"
Here the expert had to interfere to restore peace, for no onewas thinking any more about paternosters--the talk was all aboutpigs. "Come, come, there mustn't be any quarrel over a pig,Sisters! The Holy Scriptures give us an example to follow. Theheretics and Protestants didn't quarrel with
Our Lord for drivinginto the water a herd of swine that belonged to them, and we thatare Christians and besides, Brethren of the Holy Rosary, shall wehave hard words on account of a little pig! What would our rivals,the Tertiary Brethren, say?"
All became silent before such wisdom, at the same time fearing whatthe Tertiary Brethren might say. The expert, well satisfied withsuch acquiescence, changed his tone and continued: "Soon the curatewill send for us. We must tell him which preacher we've chosen ofthe three that he suggested yesterday, whether Padre Damaso, PadreMartin, or the coadjutor. I don't know whether the Tertiary Brethrenhave yet made any choice, so we must decide."
"The coadjutor," murmured Juana timidly.
"Ahem! The coadjutor doesn't know how to preach," declared Sipa. "PadreMartin is better."
"Padre Martin!" exclaimed another disdainfully. "He hasn't anyvoice. Padre Damaso would be better."
"That's right!" cried Rufa. "Padre Damaso surely does know how topreach! He looks like a comedian!"
"But we don't understand him," murmured Juana.
"Because he's very deep! And as he preaches well--"
This speech was interrupted by the arrival of Sisa, who was carryinga basket on her head. She saluted the Sisters and went on up thestairway.
"She's going in! Let's go in too!" they exclaimed. Sisa felt her heartbeating violently as she ascended the stairs. She did not know justwhat to say to the padre to placate his wrath or what reasons shecould advance in defense of her son. That morning at the first flushof dawn she had gone into her garden to pick the choicest vegetables,which she placed in a basket among banana-leaves and flowers; then shehad looked along the bank of the river for the _pako_ which she knewthe curate liked for salads. Putting on her best clothes and withoutawakening her son, she had set out for the town with the basket on herhead. As she went up the stairway she, tried to make as little noiseas possible and listened attentively in the hope that she might heara fresh, childish voice, so well known to her. But she heard nothingnor did she meet any one as she made her way to the kitchen. Thereshe looked into all the corners. The servants and sacristans receivedher coldly, scarcely acknowledging her greeting.
"Where can I put these vegetables?" she asked, not taking any offenseat their coldness.
"There, anywhere!" growled the cook, hardly looking at her as hebusied himself in picking the feathers from a capon.
With great care Sisa arranged the vegetables and the salad leaves onthe table, placing the flowers above them. Smiling, she then addressedone of the servants, who seemed to be more approachable than the cook:"May I speak with the padre?"
"He's sick," was the whispered answer.
"And Crispin? Do you know if he is in the sacristy?" The servantlooked surprised and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Crispin? Isn't he atyour house? Do you mean to deny it?"
"Basilio is at home, but Crispin stayed here," answered Sisa, "andI want to see him."
"Yes, he stayed, but afterwards he ran away, after stealing a lot ofthings. Early this morning the curate ordered me to go and report itto the Civil Guard. They must have gone to your house already to huntfor the boys."
Sisa covered her ears and opened her mouth to speak, but her lipsmoved without giving out any sound.
"A pretty pair of sons you have!" exclaimed the cook. "It's plainthat you're a faithful wife, the sons are so like the father. Takecare that the younger doesn't surpass him."
Sisa broke out into bitter weeping and let herself fall upon a bench.
"Don't cry here!" yelled the cook. "Don't you know that the padre'ssick? Get out in the street and cry!"
The unfortunate mother was almost shoved down the stairway at thevery time when the Sisters were coming down, complaining and makingconjectures about the curate's illness, so she hid her face in herpanuelo and suppressed the sounds of her grief. Upon reaching thestreet she looked about uncertainly for a moment and then, as ifhaving reached a decision, walked rapidly away.