Chapter Chapter 39 · Chapter XXXIX

Doña Consolacion

Why were the windows closed in the house of the alferez? Where

were the masculine features and the flannel camisa of the Medusa or

Muse of the Civil Guard while the procession was passing? Had Doña

Consolacion realized how disagreeable were her forehead seamed with

thick veins that appeared to conduct not blood but vinegar and gall,

and the thick cigar that made a fit ornament for her purple lips,

and her envious leer, and yielding to a generous impulse had she

wished not to disturb the pleasure of the populace by her sinister

appearance? Ah, for her generous impulses existed in the Golden

Age! The house, showed neither lanterns nor banners and was gloomy

precisely because the town was making merry, as Sinang said, and but

for the sentinel walking before the door appeared to be uninhabited.

A dim light shone in the disordered sala, rendering transparent

the dirty concha-panes on which the cobwebs had fastened and the

dust had become incrusted. The lady of the house, according to

her indolent custom, was dozing on a wide sofa. She was dressed as

usual, that is, badly and horribly: tied round her head a pañuelo,

from beneath which escaped thin locks of tangled hair, a camisa

of blue flannel over another which must once have been white, and

a faded skirt which showed the outlines of her thin, flat thighs,

placed one over the other and shaking feverishly. From her mouth

issued little clouds of smoke which she puffed wearily in whatever

direction she happened to be looking when she opened her eyes. If at

that moment Don Francisco de Cañamaque [107] could have seen her, he

would have taken her for a cacique of the town or the _mankukúlam_,

and then decorated his discovery with commentaries in the vernacular

of the markets, invented by him for her particular use.

That morning she had not attended mass, not because she had not so

desired, for on the contrary she had wished to show herself to the

multitude and to hear the sermon, but her spouse had not permitted

her to do so, his refusal being accompanied as usual by two or three

insults, oaths, and threats of kicking. The alferez knew that his

mate dressed ridiculously and had the appearance of what is known as a

"_querida_ of the soldiers," so he did not care to expose her to the

gaze of strangers and persons from the capital. But she did not so

understand it. She knew that she was beautiful and attractive, that she

had the airs of a queen and dressed much better and with more splendor

than Maria Clara herself, who wore a tapis while she went in a flowing

skirt. It was therefore necessary for the alferez to threaten her,

"Either shut up, or I'll kick you back to your damned town!" Doña

Consolacion did not care to return to her town at the toe of a boot,

but she meditated revenge.

Never had the dark face of this lady been such as to inspire confidence

in any one, not even when she painted, but that morning it greatly

worried the servants, especially when they saw her move about the house

from one part to another, silently, as if meditating something terrible

or malign. Her glance reflected the look that springs from the eyes of

a serpent when caught and about to be crushed; it was cold, luminous,

and penetrating, with something fascinating, loathsome, and cruel in

it. The most insignificant error, the least unusual noise, drew from

her a vile insult that struck into the soul, but no one answered her,

for to excuse oneself would have been an additional fault.

So the day passed. Not encountering any obstacle that would block her

way,--her husband had been invited out,--she became saturated with

bile, the cells of her whole organism seemed to become charged with

electricity which threatened to burst in a storm of hate. Everything

about her folded up as do the flowers at the first breath of the

hurricane, so she met with no resistance nor found any point or high

place to discharge her evil humor. The soldiers and servants kept away

from her. That she might not hear the sounds of rejoicing outside she

had ordered the windows closed and charged the sentinel to let no one

enter. She tied a handkerchief around her head as if to keep it from

bursting and, in spite of the fact that the sun was still shining,

ordered the lamps to be lighted.

Sisa, as we saw, had been arrested as a disturber of the peace

and taken to the barracks. The alferez was not then present, so

the unfortunate woman had had to spend the night there seated on a

bench in an abandoned attitude. The next day the alferez saw her,

and fearing for her in those days of confusion nor caring to risk a

disagreeable scene, he had charged the soldiers to look after her,

to treat her kindly, and to give her something to eat. Thus the

madwoman spent two days.

Tonight, whether the nearness to the house of Capitan Tiago had brought

to her Maria Clara's sad song or whether other recollections awoke

in her old melodies, whatever the cause, Sisa also began to sing in a

sweet and melancholy voice the _kundíman_ of her youth. The soldiers

heard her and fell silent; those airs awoke old memories of the days

before they had been corrupted. Doña Consolacion also heard them in her

tedium, and on learning who it was that sang, after a few moments of

meditation, ordered that Sisa be brought to her instantly. Something

like a smile wandered over her dry lips.

When Sisa was brought in she came calmly, showing neither wonder nor

fear. She seemed to see no lady or mistress, and this wounded the

vanity of the Muse, who endeavored to inspire respect and fear. She

coughed, made a sign to the soldiers to leave her, and taking down

her husband's whip, said to the crazy woman in a sinister tone,

"Come on, _magcantar icau!_" [108]

Naturally, Sisa did not understand such Tagalog, and this ignorance

calmed the Medusa's wrath, for one of the beautiful qualities of this

lady was to try not to know Tagalog, or at least to appear not to know

it. Speaking it the worst possible, she would thus give herself the

air of a genuine _orofea_, [109] as she was accustomed to say. But

she did well, for if she martyrized Tagalog, Spanish fared no better

with her, either in regard to grammar or pronunciation, in spite of

her husband, the chairs and the shoes, all of which had done what

they could to teach her.

One of the words that had cost her more effort than the hieroglyphics

cost Champollion was the name _Filipinas_. The story goes that on

the day after her wedding, when she was talking with her husband, who

was then a corporal, she had said _Pilipinas_. The corporal thought

it his duty to correct her, so he said, slapping her on the head,

"Say _Felipinas_, woman! Don't be stupid! Don't you know that's what

your damned country is called, from _Felipe?_"

The woman, dreaming through her honeymoon, wished to obey and said

_Felepinas_. To the corporal it seemed that she was getting nearer to

it, so he increased the slaps and reprimanded her thus: "But, woman,

can't you pronounce _Felipe?_ Don't forget it; you know the king,

Don Felipe--the fifth--. Say _Felipe_, and add to it _nas_, which

in Latin means 'islands of Indians,' and you have the name of your

damned country!"

Consolacion, at that time a washerwoman, patted her bruises and

repeated with symptoms of losing her patience, "Fe-li-pe, Felipe--nas,

Fe-li-pe-nas, Felipinas, so?"

The corporal saw visions. How could it be _Felipenas_ instead of

_Felipinas?_ One of two things: either it was _Felipenas_ or it was

necessary to say _Felipi!_ So that day he very prudently dropped the

subject. Leaving his wife, he went to consult the books. Here his

astonishment reached a climax: he rubbed his eyes--let's see--slowly,

now! _F-i-l-i-p-i-n-a-s_, Filipinas! So all the well-printed books

gave it--neither he nor his wife was right!

"How's this?" he murmured. "Can history lie? Doesn't this book say that

Alonso Saavedra gave the country that name in honor of the prince,

Don Felipe? How was that name corrupted? Can it be that this Alonso

Saavedra was an Indian?" [110]

With these doubts he went to consult the sergeant Gomez, who, as

a youth, had wanted to be a curate. Without deigning to look at

the corporal the sergeant blew out a mouthful of smoke and answered

with great pompousness, "In ancient times it was pronounced _Filipi_

instead of _Felipe_. But since we moderns have become Frenchified we

can't endure two _i's_ in succession, so cultured people, especially

in Madrid--you've never been in Madrid?--cultured people, as I say,

have begun to change the first _i_ to _e_ in many words. This is

called modernizing yourself."

The poor corporal had never been in Madrid--here was the cause of

his failure to understand the riddle: what things are learned in

Madrid! "So now it's proper to say--"

"In the ancient style, man! This country's not yet cultured! In the

ancient style, _Filipinas!_" exclaimed Gomez disdainfully.

The corporal, even if he was a bad philologist, was yet a good

husband. What he had just learned his spouse must also know, so he

proceeded with her education: "Consola, what do you call your damned

country?"

"What should I call it? Just what you taught me: _Felifinas!_"

"I'll throw a chair at you, you ----! Yesterday you pronounced it

even better in the modern style, but now it's proper to pronounce it

like an ancient: _Feli_, I mean, _Filipinas!_"

"Remember that I'm no ancient! What are you thinking about?"

"Never mind! Say _Filipinas!_"

"I don't want to. I'm no ancient baggage, scarcely thirty years

old!" she replied, rolling up her sleeves and preparing herself for

the fray.

"Say it, you ----, or I'll throw this chair at you!"

Consolacion saw the movement, reflected, then began to stammer with

heavy breaths, "_Feli-, Fele-, File--_"

Pum! Crack! The chair finished the word. So the lesson ended in

fisticuffs, scratchings, slaps. The corporal caught her by the hair;

she grabbed his goatee, but was unable to bite because of her loose

teeth. He let out a yell, released her and begged her pardon. Blood

began to flow, one eye got redder than the other, a camisa was torn

into shreds, many things came to light, but not _Filipinas_.

Similar incidents occurred every time the question of language came

up. The corporal, watching her linguistic progress, sorrowfully

calculated that in ten years his mate would have completely forgotten

how to talk, and this was about what really came to pass. When they

were married she still knew Tagalog and could make herself understood

in Spanish, but now, at the time of our story, she no longer spoke any

language. She had become so addicted to expressing herself by means

of signs--and of these she chose the loudest and most impressive--that

she could have given odds to the inventor of Volapuk.

Sisa, therefore, had the good fortune not to understand her, so

the Medusa smoothed out her eyebrows a little, while a smile of

satisfaction lighted up her face; undoubtedly she did not know Tagalog,

she was an _orofea!_

"Boy, tell her in Tagalog to sing! She doesn't understand me, she

doesn't understand Spanish!"

The madwoman understood the boy and began to sing the _Song of

the Night_. Doña Consolacion listened at first with a sneer, which

disappeared little by little from her lips. She became attentive, then

serious, and even somewhat thoughtful. The voice, the sentiment in the

lines, and the song itself affected her--that dry and withered heart

was perhaps thirsting for rain. She understood it well: "The sadness,

the cold, and the moisture that descend from the sky when wrapped in

the mantle of night," so ran the _kundíman_, seemed to be descending

also on her heart. "The withered and faded flower which during the

day flaunted her finery, seeking applause and full of vanity, at

eventide, repentant and disenchanted, makes an effort to raise her

drooping petals to the sky, seeking a little shade to hide herself and

die without the mocking of the light that saw her in her splendor,

without seeing the vanity of her pride, begging also that a little

dew should weep upon her. The nightbird leaves his solitary retreat,

the hollow of an ancient trunk, and disturbs the sad loneliness of

the open places--"

"No, don't sing!" she exclaimed in perfect Tagalog, as she rose with

agitation. "Don't sing! Those verses hurt me."

The crazy woman became silent. The boy ejaculated, "_Abá!_ She talks

Tagalog!" and stood staring with admiration at his mistress, who,

realizing that she had given herself away, was ashamed of it, and as

her nature was not that of a woman, the shame took the aspect of rage

and hate; so she showed the door to the imprudent boy and closed it

behind him with a kick.

Twisting the whip in her nervous hands, she took a few turns around

the room, then stopping suddenly in front of the crazy woman, said

to her in Spanish, "Dance!" But Sisa did not move.

"Dance, dance!" she repeated in a sinister tone.

The madwoman looked at her with wandering, expressionless eyes, while

the alfereza lifted one of her arms, then the other, and shook them,

but to no purpose, for Sisa did not understand. Then she began to

jump about and shake herself, encouraging Sisa to imitate her. In

the distance was to be heard the music of the procession playing

a grave and majestic march, but Doña Consolacion danced furiously,

keeping other time to other music resounding within her. Sisa gazed at

her without moving, while her eyes expressed curiosity and something

like a weak smile hovered around her pallid lips: the lady's dancing

amused her. The latter stopped as if ashamed, raised the whip,--that

terrible whip known to thieves and soldiers, made in Ulango [111]

and perfected by the alferez with twisted wires,--and said, "Now it's

your turn to dance--dance!"

She began to strike the madwoman's bare feet gently with the

whip. Sisa's face drew up with pain and she was forced to protect

herself with her hands.

"Aha, now you're starting!" she exclaimed with savage joy, passing

from _lento_ to _allegro vivace_.

The afflicted Sisa gave a cry of pain and quickly raised her foot.

"You've got to dance, you Indian--!" The whip swung and whistled.

Sisa let herself fall to the floor and placed both hands on her knees

while she gazed at her tormentor with wildly-staring eyes. Two sharp

cuts of the whip on her shoulder made her stand up, and it was not

merely a cry but a howl that the unfortunate woman uttered. Her thin

camisa was torn, her skin broken, and the blood was flowing.

The sight of blood arouses the tiger; the blood of her victim aroused

Doña Consolacion. "Dance, damn you, dance! Evil to the mother who

bore you!" she cried. "Dance, or I'll flog you to death!" She then

caught Sisa with one hand and, whipping her with the other, began to

dance about.

The crazy woman at last understood and followed the example by

swinging her arms about awkwardly. A smile of satisfaction curled

the lips of her teacher, the smile of a female Mephistopheles who

succeeds in getting a great pupil. There were in it hate, disdain,

jest, and cruelty; with a burst of demoniacal laughter she could not

have expressed more.

Thus, absorbed in the joy of the sight, she was not aware of the

arrival of her husband until he opened the door with a loud kick. The

alferez appeared pale and gloomy, and when he saw what was going on

he threw a terrible glance at his wife, who did not move from her

place but stood smiling at him cynically.

The alferez put his hand as gently as he could on the shoulder of

the strange dancer and made her stop. The crazy woman sighed and sank

slowly to the floor covered with her own blood.

The silence continued. The alferez breathed heavily, while his wife

watched him with questioning eyes. She picked up the whip and asked

in a smooth, soft voice, "What's the matter with you? You haven't

even wished me good evening."

The alferez did not answer, but instead called the boy and said to him,

"Take this woman away and tell Marta to get her some other clothes

and attend to her. You give her something to eat and a good bed. Take

care that she isn't ill-treated! Tomorrow she'll be taken to Señor

Ibarra's house."

Then he closed the door carefully, bolted it, and approached his

wife. "You're tempting me to kill you!" he exclaimed, doubling up

his fists.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, rising and drawing away

from him.

"What's the matter with me!" he yelled in a voice of thunder, letting

out an oath and holding up before her a sheet of paper covered with

scrawls. "Didn't you write this letter to the alcalde saying that

I'm bribed to permit gambling, huh? I don't know why I don't beat

you to death."

"Let's see you! Let's see you try it if you dare!" she replied with

a jeering laugh. "The one who beats me to death has got to be more

of a man than you are!"

He heard the insult, but saw the whip. Catching up a plate from the

table, he threw it at her head, but she, accustomed to such fights,

dodged quickly and the plate was shattered against the wall. A cup

and saucer met with a similar fate.

"Coward!" she yelled; "you're afraid to come near me!" And to

exasperate him the more, she spat upon him.

The alferez went blind from rage and with a roar attempted to throw

himself upon her, but she, with astonishing quickness, hit him across

the face with the whip and ran hurriedly into an inner room, shutting

and bolting the door violently behind her. Bellowing with rage and

pain, he followed, but was only able to run against the door, which

made him vomit oaths.

"Accursed be your offspring, you sow! Open, open, or I'll break your

head!" he howled, beating the door with his hands and feet.

No answer was heard, but instead the scraping of chairs and trunks as

if she was building a barricade with the furniture. The house shook

under the kicks and curses of the alferez.

"Don't come in, don't come in!" called the sour voice inside. "If

you show yourself, I'll shoot you."

By degrees he appeared to become calm and contented himself with

walking up and down the room like a wild beast in its cage.

"Go out into the street and cool off your head!" the woman continued

to jeer at him, as she now seemed to have completed her preparations

for defense.

"I swear that if I catch you, even God won't save you, you old sow!"

"Yes, now you can say what you like. You didn't want me to go to

mass! You didn't let me attend to my religious duties!" she answered

with such sarcasm as only she knew how to use.

The alferez put on his helmet, arranged his clothing a little, and

went out with heavy steps, but returned after a few minutes without

making the least noise, having taken off his shoes. The servants,

accustomed to these brawls, were usually bored, but this novelty of the

shoes attracted their attention, so they winked to one another. The

alferez sat down quietly in a chair at the side of the Sublime Port

and had the patience to wait for more than half an hour.

"Have you really gone out or are you still there, old goat?" asked

the voice from time to time, changing the epithets and raising the

tone. At last she began to take away the furniture piece by piece. He

heard the noise and smiled.

"Boy, has your master gone out?" cried Doña Consolacion.

At a sign from the alferez the boy answered, "Yes, señora, he's

gone out."

A gleeful laugh was heard from her as she pulled back the bolt. Slowly

her husband arose, the door opened a little way--

A yell, the sound of a falling body, oaths, howls, curses, blows,

hoarse voices--who can tell what took place in the darkness of

that room?

As the boy went out into the kitchen he made a significant sign to

the cook, who said to him, "You'll pay for that."

"I? In any case the whole town will! She asked me if he had gone out,

not if he had come back!"