Chapter Chapter 12 · PLACIDO PENITENTE

Reluctantly, and almost with tearful eyes, Placido Penitente was going

along the Escolta on his way to the University of Santo Tomas. It had

hardly been a week since he had come from his town, yet he had already

written to his mother twice, reiterating his desire to abandon his

studies and go back there to work. His mother answered that he should

have patience, that at the least he must be graduated as a bachelor of

arts, since it would be unwise to desert his books after four years of

expense and sacrifices on both their parts.

Whence came to Penitente this aversion to study, when he had been one

of the most diligent in the famous college conducted by Padre Valerio

in Tanawan? There Penitente had been considered one of the best

Latinists and the subtlest disputants, one who could tangle or untangle

the simplest as well as the most abstruse questions. His townspeople

considered him very clever, and his curate, influenced by that opinion,

already classified him as a filibuster—a sure proof that he was neither

foolish nor incapable. His friends could not explain those desires for

abandoning his studies and returning: he had no sweethearts, was not a

gambler, hardly knew anything about hunkían and rarely tried his luck

at the more familiar revesino. He did not believe in the advice of the

curates, laughed at Tandang Basio Macunat, had plenty of money and good

clothes, yet he went to school reluctantly and looked with repugnance

on his books.

On the Bridge of Spain, a bridge whose name alone came from Spain,

since even its ironwork came from foreign countries, he fell in with

the long procession of young men on their way to the Walled City to

their respective schools. Some were dressed in the European fashion and

walked rapidly, carrying books and notes, absorbed in thoughts of their

lessons and essays—these were the students of the Ateneo. Those from

San Juan de Letran were nearly all dressed in the Filipino costume, but

were more numerous and carried fewer books. Those from the University

are dressed more carefully and elegantly and saunter along carrying

canes instead of books. The collegians of the Philippines are not very

noisy or turbulent. They move along in a preoccupied manner, such that

upon seeing them one would say that before their eyes shone no hope, no

smiling future. Even though here and there the line is brightened by

the attractive appearance of the schoolgirls of the Escuela Municipal,

[24] with their sashes across their shoulders and their books in their

hands, followed by their servants, yet scarcely a laugh resounds or a

joke can be heard—nothing of song or jest, at best a few heavy jokes or

scuffles among the smaller boys. The older ones nearly always proceed

seriously and composedly, like the German students.

Placido was proceeding along the Paseo de Magallanes toward the

breach—formerly the gate—of Santo Domingo, when he suddenly felt a slap

on the shoulder, which made him turn quickly in ill humor.

“Hello, Penitente! Hello, Penitente!”

It was his schoolmate Juanito Pelaez, the barbero or pet of the

professors, as big a rascal as he could be, with a roguish look and a

clownish smile. The son of a Spanish mestizo—a rich merchant in one of

the suburbs, who based all his hopes and joys on the boy’s talent—he

promised well with his roguery, and, thanks to his custom of playing

tricks on every one and then hiding behind his companions, he had

acquired a peculiar hump, which grew larger whenever he was laughing

over his deviltry.

“What kind of time did you have, Penitente?” was his question as he

again slapped him on the shoulder.

“So, so,” answered Placido, rather bored. “And you?”

“Well, it was great! Just imagine—the curate of Tiani invited me to

spend the vacation in his town, and I went. Old man, you know Padre

Camorra, I suppose? Well, he’s a liberal curate, very jolly, frank,

very frank, one of those like Padre Paco. As there were pretty girls,

we serenaded them all, he with his guitar and songs and I with my

violin. I tell you, old man, we had a great time—there wasn’t a house

we didn’t try!”

He whispered a few words in Placido’s ear and then broke out into

laughter. As the latter exhibited some surprise, he resumed: “I’ll

swear to it! They can’t help themselves, because with a governmental

order you get rid of the father, husband, or brother, and then—merry

Christmas! However, we did run up against a little fool, the

sweetheart, I believe, of Basilio, you know? Look, what a fool this

Basilio is! To have a sweetheart who doesn’t know a word of Spanish,

who hasn’t any money, and who has been a servant! She’s as shy as she

can be, but pretty. Padre Camorra one night started to club two fellows

who were serenading her and I don’t know how it was he didn’t kill

them, yet with all that she was just as shy as ever. But it’ll result

for her as it does with all the women, all of them!”

Juanito Pelaez laughed with a full mouth, as though he thought this a

glorious thing, while Placido stared at him in disgust.

“Listen, what did the professor explain yesterday?” asked Juanito,

changing the conversation.

“Yesterday there was no class.”

“Oho, and the day before yesterday?”

“Man, it was Thursday!”

“Right! What an ass I am! Don’t you know, Placido, that I’m getting to

be a regular ass? What about Wednesday?”

“Wednesday? Wait—Wednesday, it was a little wet.”

“Fine! What about Tuesday, old man?”

“Tuesday was the professor’s nameday and we went to entertain him with

an orchestra, present him flowers and some gifts.”

“Ah, carambas!” exclaimed Juanito, “that I should have forgotten about

it! What an ass I am! Listen, did he ask for me?”

Penitente shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but they gave him a

list of his entertainers.”

“Carambas! Listen—Monday, what happened?”

“As it was the first school-day, he called the roll and assigned the

lesson—about mirrors. Look, from here to here, by memory, word for

word. We jump all this section, we take that.” He was pointing out with

his finger in the “Physics” the portions that were to be learned, when

suddenly the book flew through the air, as a result of the slap Juanito

gave it from below.

“Thunder, let the lessons go! Let’s have a dia pichido!”

The students in Manila call dia pichido a school-day that falls between

two holidays and is consequently suppressed, as though forced out by

their wish.

“Do you know that you really are an ass?” exclaimed Placido, picking up

his book and papers.

“Let’s have a dia pichido!” repeated Juanito.

Placido was unwilling, since for only two the authorities were hardly

going to suspend a class of more than a hundred and fifty. He recalled

the struggles and privations his mother was suffering in order to keep

him in Manila, while she went without even the necessities of life.

They were just passing through the breach of Santo Domingo, and

Juanito, gazing across the little plaza [25] in front of the old

Customs building, exclaimed, “Now I think of it, I’m appointed to take

up the collection.”

“What collection?”

“For the monument.”

“What monument?”

“Get out! For Padre Balthazar, you know.”

“And who was Padre Balthazar?”

“Fool! A Dominican, of course—that’s why the padres call on the

students. Come on now, loosen up with three or four pesos, so that they

may see we are sports. Don’t let them say afterwards that in order to

erect a statue they had to dig down into their own pockets. Do,

Placido, it’s not money thrown away.”

He accompanied these words with a significant wink. Placido recalled

the case of a student who had passed through the entire course by

presenting canary-birds, so he subscribed three pesos.

“Look now, I’ll write your name plainly so that the professor will read

it, you see—Placido Penitente, three pesos. Ah, listen! In a couple of

weeks comes the nameday of the professor of natural history. You know

that he’s a good fellow, never marks absences or asks about the lesson.

Man, we must show our appreciation!”

“That’s right!”

“Then don’t you think that we ought to give him a celebration? The

orchestra must not be smaller than the one you had for the professor of

physics.”

“That’s right!”

“What do you think about making the contribution two pesos? Come,

Placido, you start it, so you’ll be at the head of the list.”

Then, seeing that Placido gave the two pesos without hesitation, he

added, “Listen, put up four, and afterwards I’ll return you two.

They’ll serve as a decoy.”

“Well, if you’re going to return them to me, why give them to you?

It’ll be sufficient, for you to write four.”

“Ah, that’s right! What an ass I am! Do you know, I’m getting to be a

regular ass! But let me have them anyhow, so that I can show them.”

Placido, in order not to give the lie to the priest who christened him,

gave what was asked, just as they reached the University.

In the entrance and along the walks on each side of it were gathered

the students, awaiting the appearance of the professors. Students of

the preparatory year of law, of the fifth of the secondary course, of

the preparatory in medicine, formed lively groups. The latter were

easily distinguished by their clothing and by a certain air that was

lacking in the others, since the greater part of them came from the

Ateneo Municipal. Among them could be seen the poet Isagani, explaining

to a companion the theory of the refraction of light. In another group

they were talking, disputing, citing the statements of the professor,

the text-books, and scholastic principles; in yet another they were

gesticulating and waving their books in the air or making

demonstrations with their canes by drawing diagrams on the ground;

farther on, they were entertaining themselves in watching the pious

women go into the neighboring church, all the students making facetious

remarks. An old woman leaning on a young girl limped piously, while the

girl moved along with downcast eyes, timid and abashed to pass before

so many curious eyes. The old lady, catching up her coffee-colored

skirt, of the Sisterhood of St. Rita, to reveal her big feet and white

stockings, scolded her companion and shot furious glances at the

staring bystanders.

“The rascals!” she grunted. “Don’t look at them, keep your eyes down.”

Everything was noticed; everything called forth jokes and comments. Now

it was a magnificent victoria which stopped at the door to set down a

family of votaries on their way to visit the Virgin of the Rosary [26]

on her favorite day, while the inquisitive sharpened their eyes to get

a glimpse of the shape and size of the young ladies’ feet as they got

out of the carriages; now it was a student who came out of the door

with devotion still shining in his eyes, for he had passed through the

church to beg the Virgin’s help in understanding his lesson and to see

if his sweetheart was there, to exchange a few glances with her and go

on to his class with the recollection of her loving eyes.

Soon there was noticed some movement in the groups, a certain air of

expectancy, while Isagani paused and turned pale. A carriage drawn by a

pair of well-known white horses had stopped at the door. It was that of

Paulita Gomez, and she had already jumped down, light as a bird,

without giving the rascals time to see her foot. With a bewitching

whirl of her body and a sweep of her hand she arranged the folds of her

skirt, shot a rapid and apparently careless glance toward Isagani,

spoke to him and smiled. Doña Victorina descended in her turn, gazed

over her spectacles, saw Juanito Pelaez, smiled, and bowed to him

affably.

Isagani, flushed with excitement, returned a timid salute, while

Juanito bowed profoundly, took off his hat, and made the same gesture

as the celebrated clown and caricaturist Panza when he received

applause.

“Heavens, what a girl!” exclaimed one of the students, starting

forward. “Tell the professor that I’m seriously ill.” So Tadeo, as this

invalid youth was known, entered the church to follow the girl.

Tadeo went to the University every day to ask if the classes would be

held and each time seemed to be more and more astonished that they

would. He had a fixed idea of a latent and eternal holiday, and

expected it to come any day. So each morning, after vainly proposing

that they play truant, he would go away alleging important business, an

appointment, or illness, just at the very moment when his companions

were going to their classes. But by some occult, thaumaturgic art Tadeo

passed the examinations, was beloved by the professors, and had before

him a promising future.

Meanwhile, the groups began to move inside, for the professor of

physics and chemistry had put in his appearance. The students appeared

to be cheated in their hopes and went toward the interior of the

building with exclamations of discontent. Placido went along with the

crowd.

“Penitente, Penitente!” called a student with a certain mysterious air.

“Sign this!”

“What is it?”

“Never mind—sign it!”

It seemed to Placido that some one was twitching his ears. He recalled

the story of a cabeza de barangay in his town who, for having signed a

document that he did not understand, was kept a prisoner for months and

months, and came near to deportation. An uncle of Placido’s, in order

to fix the lesson in his memory, had given him a severe ear-pulling, so

that always whenever he heard signatures spoken of, his ears reproduced

the sensation.

“Excuse me, but I can’t sign anything without first understanding what

it’s about.”

“What a fool you are! If two celestial carbineers have signed it, what

have you to fear?”

The name of celestial carbineers inspired confidence, being, as it was,

a sacred company created to aid God in the warfare against the evil

spirit and to prevent the smuggling of heretical contraband into the

markets of the New Zion. [27]

Placido was about to sign to make an end of it, because he was in a

hurry,—already his classmates were reciting the O Thoma,—but again his

ears twitched, so he said, “After the class! I want to read it first.”

“It’s very long, don’t you see? It concerns the presentation of a

counter-petition, or rather, a protest. Don’t you understand? Makaraig

and some others have asked that an academy of Castilian be opened,

which is a piece of genuine foolishness—”

“All right, all right, after awhile. They’re already beginning,”

answered Placido, trying to get away.

“But your professor may not call the roll—”

“Yes, yes; but he calls it sometimes. Later on, later on! Besides, I

don’t want to put myself in opposition to Makaraig.”

“But it’s not putting yourself in opposition, it’s only—”

Placido heard no more, for he was already far away, hurrying to his

class. He heard the different voices—adsum, adsum—the roll was being

called! Hastening his steps he got to the door just as the letter Q was

reached.

“Tinamáan ñg—!” [28] he muttered, biting his lips.

He hesitated about entering, for the mark was already down against him

and was not to be erased. One did not go to the class to learn but in

order not to get this absence mark, for the class was reduced to

reciting the lesson from memory, reading the book, and at the most

answering a few abstract, profound, captious, enigmatic questions.

True, the usual preachment was never lacking—the same as ever, about

humility, submission, and respect to the clerics, and he, Placido, was

humble, submissive, and respectful. So he was about to turn away when

he remembered that the examinations were approaching and his professor

had not yet asked him a question nor appeared to notice him—this would

be a good opportunity to attract his attention and become known! To be

known was to gain a year, for if it cost nothing to suspend one who was

not known, it required a hard heart not to be touched by the sight of a

youth who by his daily presence was a reproach over a year of his life

wasted.

So Placido went in, not on tiptoe as was his custom, but noisily on his

heels, and only too well did he succeed in his intent! The professor

stared at him, knitted his brows, and shook his head, as though to say,

“Ah, little impudence, you’ll pay for that!”