第 二十二 章 · Chapter XXII

Lights and Shadows

Three days have passed since the events narrated, three days which

the town of San Diego has devoted to making preparations for the

fiesta, commenting and murmuring at the same time. While all were

enjoying the prospect of the pleasures to come, some spoke ill of the

gobernadorcillo, others of the teniente-mayor, others of the young men,

and there were not lacking those who blamed everybody for everything.

There was a great deal of comment on the arrival of Maria Clara,

accompanied by her Aunt Isabel. All rejoiced over it because they loved

her and admired her beauty, while at the same time they wondered at the

change that had come over Padre Salvi. "He often becomes inattentive

during the holy services, nor does he talk much with us, and he is

thinner and more taciturn than usual," commented his penitents. The

cook noticed him getting thinner and thinner by minutes and complained

of the little honor that was done to his dishes. But that which caused

the most comment among the people was the fact that in the convento

were to be seen more than two lights burning during the evening while

Padre Salvi was on a visit to a private dwelling--the home of Maria

Clara! The pious women crossed themselves but continued their comments.

Ibarra had telegraphed from the capital of the province welcoming Aunt

Isabel and her niece, but had failed to explain the reason for his

absence. Many thought him a prisoner on account of his treatment of

Padre Salvi on the afternoon of All Saints, but the comments reached

a climax when, on the evening of the third day, they saw him alight

before the home of his fiancée and extend a polite greeting to the

priest, who was just entering the same house.

Sisa and her sons were forgotten by all.

If we should now go into the home of Maria Clara, a beautiful nest

set among trees of orange and ilang-ilang, we should surprise the two

young people at a window overlooking the lake, shadowed by flowers

and climbing vines which exhaled a delicate perfume. Their lips

murmured words softer than the rustling of the leaves and sweeter

than the aromatic odors that floated through the garden. It was the

hour when the sirens of the lake take advantage of the fast falling

twilight to show their merry heads above the waves to gaze upon the

setting sun and sing it to rest. It is said that their eyes and hair

are blue, and that they are crowned with white and red water plants;

that at times the foam reveals their shapely forms, whiter than

the foam itself, and that when night descends completely they begin

their divine sports, playing mysterious airs like those of Æolian

harps. But let us turn to our young people and listen to the end of

their conversation. Ibarra was speaking to Maria Clara.

"Tomorrow before daybreak your wish shall be fulfilled. I'll arrange

everything tonight so that nothing will be lacking."

"Then I'll write to my girl friends to come. But arrange it so that

the curate won't be there."

"Why?"

"Because he seems to be watching me. His deep, gloomy eyes trouble

me, and when he fixes them on me I'm afraid. When he talks to me, his

voice--oh, he speaks of such odd, such strange, such incomprehensible

things! He asked me once if I have ever dreamed of letters from my

mother. I really believe that he is half-crazy. My friend Sinang and

my foster-sister, Andeng, say that he is somewhat touched, because

he neither eats nor bathes and lives in darkness. See to it that he

does not come!"

"We can't do otherwise than invite him," answered Ibarra

thoughtfully. "The customs of the country require it. He is in your

house and, besides, he has conducted himself nobly toward me. When

the alcalde consulted him about the business of which I've told you,

he had only praises for me and didn't try to put the least obstacle

in the way. But I see that you're serious about it, so cease worrying,

for he won't go in the same boat with us."

Light footsteps were heard. It was the curate, who approached with a

forced smile on his lips. "The wind is chilly," he said, "and when

one catches cold one generally doesn't get rid of it until the hot

weather. Aren't you afraid of catching cold?" His voice trembled

and his eyes were turned toward the distant horizon, away from the

young people.

"No, we rather find the night pleasant and the breeze delicious,"

answered Ibarra. "During these months we have our autumn and our

spring. Some leaves fall, but the flowers are always in bloom."

Fray Salvi sighed.

"I think the union of these two seasons beautiful, with no cold winter

intervening," continued Ibarra. "In February the buds on the trees

will burst open and in March we'll have the ripe fruit. When the hot

month's come we shall go elsewhere."

Fray Salvi smiled and began to talk of commonplace things, of the

weather, of the town, and of the fiesta. Maria Clara slipped away on

some pretext.

"Since we are talking of fiestas, allow me to invite you to the one

that we are going to celebrate tomorrow. It is to be a picnic in the

woods, which we and our friends are going to hold together."

"Where will it be held?"

"The young women wish to hold it by the brook in the neighboring wood,

near to the old balete, so we shall rise early to avoid the sun."

The priest thought a moment and then answered: "The invitation is

very tempting and I accept it to prove to you that I hold no rancor

against you. But I shall have to go late, after I've attended to my

duties. Happy are you who are free, entirely free."

A few moments later Ibarra left in order to look after the arrangements

for the picnic on the next day. The night was dark and in the street

some one approached and saluted him respectfully.

"Who are you?" asked Ibarra.

"Sir, you don't know my name," answered the unknown, "but I've been

waiting for you two days."

"For what purpose?"

"Because nowhere has any pity been shown me and they say that I'm an

outlaw, sir. But I've lost my two sons, my wife is insane, and every

one says that I deserve what has happened to me."

Ibarra looked at the man critically as he asked, "What do you want

now?"

"To beg for your pity upon my wife and sons."

"I can't stop now," replied Ibarra. "If you wish to come, you can

tell me as we go along what has happened to you."

The man thanked him, and the two quickly disappeared in the shadows

along the dimly lighted street.