CHAPTER XXIV
EPISODE IN ESPADANA'S LIFE.
The festival was over. The citizens found, just as every year, that
their treasury was poorer, that they had worked, perspired, and stayed
up nights without enjoying themselves, without acquiring new friends,
and in a word, had paid dearly for the noise and their headaches. But
it did not matter. The next year they would do the same thing, and
the same for the coming century, just as had always been the custom
to the present time.
Enough sadness reigned in Captain Tiago's house. All the windows were
closed; the people scarcely made a noise, and no one dared to speak
except in the kitchen. Maria Clara, the soul of the house, lay sick
in her bed.
"What do you think, Isabel? Shall I make a donation to the cross of
Tunasan or to the cross of Matahong?" asked the solicitous father
in a low voice. "The cross of Tunasan grows, but that of Matahong
sweats. Which do you think is the most miraculous?"
Isabel thought for a moment, moved her head and murmured: "To grow-to
grow is more miraculous than to sweat. We all sweat, but we do not
all grow."
"That is true, yes, Isabel, but bear in mind that for wood to sweat
when it is made into the leg of a chair is no small miracle. Well,
the best thing to do is to give alms to both crosses, so that neither
will feel resentful, and Maria Clara will recover more quickly. Are
the rooms in good order? You know that a new senor comes with the
doctors, a relative of Father Damaso by marriage. It is necessary
that nothing be lacking."
The two cousins, Sinang and Victoria, were at the other end of the
dining-room. They had come to keep company with the sick Maria. Andeng
was helping them clean up a tea service in order to serve tea.
"Do you know Doctor Espadana?" asked Maria Clara's foster sister,
directing her question to Victoria.
"No!" replied the latter. "The only thing that I know about him is
that he charges very dearly, according to Captain Tiago."
"Then he ought to be very good," said Andeng. "The one who performed
the operation on the stomach of Dona Marta charged a big price,
but he was very wise."
"You goose!" exclaimed Sinang. "Not all who charge high prices are
wise. Look at Doctor Guevara. He did not know how to aid a woman in
childbirth, but after cutting off the child's head, he collected one
hundred pesos from the widower. What he did know was how to charge."
"What do you know about it?" her cousin asked, giving her a jab with
her elbow.
"Why shouldn't I know about it? The husband, who is a wood-sawyer,
after losing his wife, had to lose his house also, for the Alcalde was
a friend of the doctor's and made him pay. Why shouldn't I know? My
father loaned him money so that he could make a trip to Santa Cruz."
A coach stopped before the house and cut off all the conversation.
Captain Tiago, followed by Aunt Isabel, ran downstairs to receive
the new arrivals. They were the doctor, Don Tiburcio de Espadana, his
wife, Doctora Dona Victorina de los Reyes de de Espadana; and a young
Spaniard. The latter had a sympathetic face and a pleasing appearance.
The doctora wore a silk gown, embroidered with flowers, and on her
hat, a large parrot half crushed among trimmings of red and blue
ribbons. The dust of the road had mingled with the rice powder on
her cheeks, strongly accentuating her wrinkles. She was leaning on
the arm of her lame husband.
"I have the pleasure to present to you our cousin, Don Alfonso Linares
de Espadana," said Dona Victorina, pointing toward the young man. "The
gentleman is a god-son of a relative of Father Damaso, and is private
secretary to all the ministers."
The young man bowed gracefully. Captain Tiago almost kissed his hand.
Dona Victorina was a woman of about forty-five summers, which,
according to her arithmetical calculations, was equivalent to
thirty-two springs. She had been pretty in her youth, but, raging over
her own beauty, she had looked with disdain on many Filipino adorers,
for her aspirations were for the other race. She had not cared to
entrust her little white hand to anybody, but this not on account
of lack of confidence on her part, for she had entrusted rings and
jewels of inestimable value to various foreign adventurers.
Six months before the time of the happenings of which we are writing,
she saw her beautiful dream realized, that dream of her whole life,
on account of which she had disdained all manner of flattery and even
the promises of love, which had been cooed into her ears, or sung
in serenades by Captain Tiago. Late, it is true, she had realized
her dream; but she knew well the proverb-"Better late than never,"
and consoled herself by repeating it again and again. "There is no
complete happiness on this earth," was her other favorite proverb, but
neither of these ever passed her lips in the presence of other people.
Dona Victorina, after passing her first, second, third and fourth youth
in fishing in the sea of men for the object of her dreams, had at last
to content herself with what fortune cared to give her. The poor little
woman, if she, instead of having passed thirty-two springs, had not
passed more than thirty-one-the difference according to her arithmetic
was very great-would have thrown back the prize which Destiny offered
her, and preferred to wait for another more in conformity with her
tastes. But, as the man proposed and necessity disposed it so, for she
needed a husband very badly, she was compelled to content herself with
a poor man, who had been driven by necessity to leave the Province
of Estremadura in Spain. He, after wandering about the world for six
or seven months, a modern Ulysses, found at last in the island of
Luzon, hospitality, money, and a faded Calypso, his better half-but
alas! a bitter half. He was known as the unhappy Tiburcio Espadana,
and, although he was thirty-five years old and seemed even older,
he was, however, younger than Dona Victorina, who was only thirty-two.
He had come to the Philippines in the capacity of clerk in the
custom house, but after all the sea-sickness of the voyage and
after fracturing a leg on the way, he had the bad luck to receive
his discharge fifteen days after his arrival. He was left without a
single cuarto.
Distrusting the sea, he did not wish to return to Spain without having
made a fortune. So he decided to devote himself to something. Spanish
pride did not permit him to do any manual labor. The poor man would
have worked with pleasure to have earned an honorable living, but the
prestige of the Spaniard did not permit this, nor did that prestige
provide him with the necessities of life.
At first he lived at the expense of some of his countrymen, but,
as Tiburcio had some self-respect, the bread was sour to him, and
instead of getting fat he grew thin. As he had neither knowledge of
any science, money nor recommendations, his countrymen, in order to
get rid of him, advised him to go to some of the provinces and pass
himself off as a Doctor of Medicine. At first, he did not like the
idea, and opposed the plan, for although he had been a servant in the
San Carlos Hospital, he had not learned anything about the science of
healing, his duty having been to dust off the benches and light the
fires, and, even in this work, he had served only a short time. But
as necessity was pressing him hard, and as his friends pointed out the
vanity of his scruples, he took their advice, went into the provinces
and began to visit the sick, charging as much for his services as
his conscience permitted. Later on he began to charge dearly and
to put a high price on his visits. On this account, he was at once
taken to be a great doctor and would probably have made his fortune,
had not the attention of the Protective Medical Society of Manila,
been called to his exorbitant charges and to his harmful competition.
Private citizens and professors interceded in his behalf. "Man!" said
the zealous Doctor C. in speaking of him. "Let him make his little
money. Let him make his little six or seven thousand pesos. He will be
able to return to his native land then and live in peace. What does
it matter to you? Let him deceive the unwary natives. Then they may
become smarter. He is a poor, unhappy fellow. Do not take the bread
from his mouth. Be a good Spaniard!"
Doctor C. was a good Spaniard and he winked at the matter. But when the
facts reached the ears of the people, they began to lose confidence in
him, and little by little Don Tiburcio Espadana lost his clientage,
and found himself almost obliged to beg for bread day by day. Then
it was that he learned from a friend of his, who was also a friend
of Dona Victorina about the position of that woman, and about her
patriotism and good heart. Don Tiburcio saw in her a bit of blue sky
and asked to be presented.
Dona Victorina and Don Tiburcio met. Tarde venientibus ossa, he would
have exclaimed if he had known Latin. She was no longer passable,
she was past. Her abundant hair had been reduced to a wad about the
size of an onion top, as the servants were wont to describe it. Her
face was full of wrinkles and her teeth had begun to loosen. Her eyes
had also suffered, and considerably, too. She had to squint frequently
when she cared to look off at a certain distance. Her character was
the only thing that had remained unchanged.
At the end of half an hour's conversation, they came to an
understanding and accepted each other. She would have preferred
a Spaniard less lame, less of a stammerer, less bald, one with
more teeth, one of more rank and social standing, or categoria,
as she called it. But this class of Spaniards never came to ask her
hand. She had heard, too, more than once that "opportunity is bald,"
and she honestly believed that Don Tiburcio was that very opportunity,
for on account of his dark days he had prematurely lost his hair. What
woman is not prudent at thirty-two?
Don Tiburcio, for his part, felt a vague melancholy when he thought
of his honeymoon. He smiled with resignation especially when he
called the phantom of hunger to his aid. He had never had ambition
or pretensions. His tastes were simple, his thoughts limited;
but his heart, untouched till then, had dreamed of a very different
divinity. In his youth when, tired by his day's labor, after a frugal
meal, he lay down on a poor bed, he dreamed of a smiling, affectionate
image. Afterward, when his sorrows and privations increased, the
years passed and his poetical dreams were not fulfilled, he thought
merely of a good woman, a willing hand, a worker, who might afford
him a small dowry, console him when tired from labor, and quarrel
with him from time to time. Yes, he was thinking of the quarrels as
a happiness! But when, obliged to wander from country to country,
in search no longer of a fortune, but of some commodity to sustain
his life for the remainder of his days; when, deluded by the accounts
of his countrymen who came from beyond the seas, he embarked for the
Philippines-then the vision of a housekeeper gave way to an image
of an arrogant mestiza, a beautiful native with large black eyes,
draped in silks and transparent garments, loaded with diamonds and
gold, offering him her love and her carriages.
He arrived in the Philippines and believed that he was about to
realize his dream, for the young women who, in silver-plated carriages,
frequented the Luneta and the Malecon, Manila's popular and fashionable
drives, looked at him with a certain curiosity. Later, when this
curiosity on their part had ceased, the mestiza disappeared from his
dreams, and with great labor he formed in his mind a picture of a
widow, but an agreeable widow. So it was that when he saw only part
of his dream taking on real form, he became sad. But he was somewhat
of a philosopher and said to himself: "That was a dream, but in the
world one does not live in dreams." Thus he settled all his doubts;
she wasted a lot of rice powder on her cheeks. Pshaw! When they were
once married he would make her stop that easily enough; she had many
wrinkles in her face, but his coat had more bare spots and patches;
she was old, pretentious, and imperious, but hunger was more imperious,
and still more pretentious; and then, too, he had a sweet disposition,
and, who could tell?-love modifies character; she spoke Spanish very
badly, but he himself did not speak it well; at least, the head of
the Customs department had so notified him in his discharge from his
position, and besides, what did it matter? What if she was old and
ridiculous? He was lame, toothless and bald. When some friend jested
with him, he would respond: "Give me bread and call me a fool."
Don Tiburcio was what is vulgarly called a man who would not harm a
fly. He was modest and incapable of conceiving an evil thought. He
would have made a good missionary had he lived in olden times. His
stay in the country had not given him that conviction of his
own superiority, of his own worth, and of his high importance,
which the larger part of his countrymen acquire in a few weeks
in the Philippines. His heart had never been able to conceive
hatred for anybody or anything. He had not yet been able to find a
revolutionist. He only looked upon the people as unhappy beings whom
it was fitting for him to deprive of a little of their wealth in order
to prevent himself becoming even more unhappy than they. When they
tried to make a case against him for passing as a doctor without a
proper license, he did not resent it, he did not complain. He saw the
justice of the case, and only replied: "But it is necessary to live!"
So they were married and went to Santa Ana to pass their honeymoon. But
on the night of the wedding Dona Victorina had a bad attack of
indigestion. Don Tiburcio gave thanks to God and showed solicitude
and care. On the second night, however, he conducted himself like an
honorable man, but on the day following, when he looked in the mirror
at his bare gums, he smiled with melancholy: he had grown ten years
older at least.
Dona Victorina, charmed with her husband, had a good set of front
teeth made for him, and had the best tailors in the city dress and
equip him. She ordered carriages and calesas, sent to Batangas and
Albay provinces for the finest spans of horses, and even obliged him
to make two entries in the coming horse races.
In the meantime, while she was transforming her husband, she did not
forget her own person. She laid aside the silk saya or Filipino skirt
and pina cloth bodice, for a dress of European style. She substituted
false curls in front for the simple hair dress of the Filipinos. Her
dresses, which fitted her "divinely bad," disturbed the peace and
tranquillity of the entire neighborhood.
The husband never went out of the house afoot-she did not want people
to see that he was lame. He always took her for drives through the
places most deserted, much to her pain, for she wanted to display
her husband on the drives most frequented by the public. But out of
respect for their honeymoon, she kept silent.
The last quarter of the honeymoon had just begun when he wanted to
stop her from using rice powder on her cheeks, saying to her that it
was false and not natural. Dona Victorina frowned and looked squarely
at his front set of teeth. He at once became silent, and she learned
his weakness.
She soon got the idea that she was to become a mother and made the
following announcement to all her friends: "Next month, we, I and
de Espadana are going to the Peninsula. [17] I don't want to have my
son born here and have them call him a revolutionist."
She added a de to her husband's name. The de did not cost anything
and gave categoria to the name. When she signed herself, she wrote
Victorina de los Reyes de de Espadana. That de de Espadana was her
mania. Neither the lithographer who printed her cards, nor her husband,
could get the idea out of her head.
"If I do not put more than one de in the name people will think that
I haven't it, fool!" said she to her husband.
She was talking continually about her preparations for the voyage
to Spain. She learned by memory the names of the points where the
steamers called, and it was a pleasure to hear her talk-"I am going
to see the sismus of the Suez Canal. De Espadana thinks that it is
the most beautiful, and De Espadana has seen the whole world."-"I
will probably never return to this land of savages."-"I was not
born to live here. Aden or Port Said would be more suitable for
me. I have always thought so since I was a child." Dona Victorina,
in her geography, divided the world into two parts, the Philippines
and Spain. In this she differed from the lower class of people in
Madrid for they divide it into Spain and America, or Spain and China,
America and China being merely different names for the same country.
The husband knew that some of these things were barbarisms, but he
kept silent so that she would not mock him and twit him with his
stammering. She feigned to be whimsical in order to increase her
illusion that she was a mother, and she began to dress herself in
colors, adorn herself with flowers and ribbons, and to walk through the
Escolta in a wrapper. But oh! what an illusion! Three months passed and
the dream vanished. By this time, having no fear that her son would
be a revolutionist, she gave up the voyage. She consulted doctors,
mid-wives and old women, but all in vain. To the great displeasure
of Captain Tiago she made fun of San Pascual Bailon, as she did not
care to run to any saint. On account of this a friend of her husband
told her:
"Believe me, Senora, you are the only espiritu fuerte (strong-minded
person) in this country."
She smiled without understanding what espiritu fuerte meant, but, at
night, when it was time to be sleeping, she asked her husband about it.
"Daughter," replied he, "the e-espir-espiritu most fu-fuerte that I
know-know about is a-a-ammonia. My fr-fr-friend must have be-been
us-using a figure of rhetoric."
From that time on, she was always saying, whenever she could, "I am
the only ammonia in this country, speaking rhetorically, as Senor N. de
N. who is from the Peninsula and who has much categoria, puts it."
Whatever she said had to be done. She had come to dominate her
husband completely. On his part, he offered no great resistance,
and was converted into a little lap dog for her. If he incommoded
her she would not let him go out for a drive, and when she became
really infuriated, she would snatch out his false teeth and leave him
a horrible-looking man for one or more days, according to the offense.
It occurred to her that her husband ought to be a Doctor of Medicine
and Surgery, and so she expressed herself to him.
"Daughter! Do you want them to arrest me?" he said, frightened.
"Don't be a fool. Let me arrange it!" she replied. "You are not going
to attend any one, but I want them to call you a doctor and me a
doctora, eh?"
And on the following day Rodoreda, a prominent marble dealer in Manila,
received an order for the following engraving on black marble: Dr. De
Espadana, Specialist in All Kinds of Diseases.
All of the servants had to give them their new titles, and, in
consequence of it all, she increased the number of her curls in
front, the layer of rice powder, the ribbons and laces, and looked
with more disdain than ever on the poor and less fortunate women
of her country, who had less categoria than she. Each day she felt
herself more dignified and elevated, and, following along this road,
in less than a year she would think herself of divine origin.
These sublime thoughts, however, did not prevent her from growing more
ridiculous and older each day. Every time that Captain Tiago met her
in the street and remembered that he had once made love to her in vain,
he would go at once to the church and give a peso for a mass as a thank
offering for his good luck in not marrying her. In spite of this,
Captain Tiago highly respected her husband, on account of his title
of "specialist in all kinds of diseases," and he listened with close
attention to the few phrases that he managed to stutter out. In fact,
it was on account of this title and the fact that the doctor did not
attend everybody, that the Captain chose him to attend his daughter.
As to the young man Linares, it is a different story. When she
was making ready for her voyage to Spain, Dona Victorina thought of
having an administrator from the Peninsula to look after her affairs,
for she did not trust Filipinos. Her husband remembered a nephew in
Madrid who was studying to become a lawyer, and who was considered
the smartest one in his family. They wrote to him, then, sending him
in advance money for the passage, and, when the dream was dispelled,
the young man was already on his way.
These are the three persons who had just arrived.
While they were eating their breakfast, Father Salvi arrived, and,
as the husband and wife had already met the friar, they presented
him to the young Linares, with all his titles. The young man blushed.
As was natural they spoke of Maria Clara. The young maiden was resting
and sleeping. They talked over the voyage. Dona Victorina showed her
verbosity by criticising the customs of the provinces, the nipa houses,
the bamboo bridges, without forgetting to tell the curate about her
friendship with the Commander of the Army, the Alcalde so and so,
Judge so and so of the Supreme Court, and with the governor of the
province, all persons of categoria, who had much consideration for her.
"If you had come two days before, Dona Victorina," replied Captain
Tiago during a short pause, "you would have met His Excellency,
the Governor General. He sat right there."
"What? How's that? Was His Excellency here? And in your house? A lie!"
"I tell you he sat right there. If you had come two days before-"
"Ah! What a shame that little Clara did not fall sick
before!" exclaimed she, in real sorrow. And directing herself to
Linares: "Do you hear, cousin? His Excellency was here! You see
De Espadana was right when he told you that we were not going to
the house of a miserable native. For you should know, Don Santiago,
that our cousin was a friend of all the Ministers in Madrid and all
the Dukes, and he dined in the house of Count del Campanario (belfry)."
"Duke de la Torre (tower), Victorina," said her husband, correcting
her.
"It amounts to the same thing. Do you think you can tell me that-"
"Would I find Father Damaso in town to-day?" interrupted Linares,
turning to Father Salvi. "They have told me that he is near here."
"He is, precisely, and will come here in a little while," replied
the curate.
"How glad I am! I have a letter for him," exclaimed the young man. "And
if it had not been for this happy chance which brought me here,
I would have come expressly to visit him."
"The happy chance-that is, Maria Clara-had, in the meantime
awakened."
"De Espadana!" said Dona Victorina, finishing her breakfast. "Are
we going to see little Clara?" And turning to Captain Tiago, "For
you only, Don Santiago; for you alone! My husband does not treat
anybody except people of categoria, and he even refuses some of
them! My husband is not like those about here-in Madrid he only
visited people of categoria."
They passed into the sick room.
The room was almost dark. The windows were shut for fear of a draught,
and the little light which illuminated the room came from the two
wax candles which were burning in front of an image of the Virgin
of Antipolo.
Her head wrapped up in a handkerchief, saturated in cologne water,
her body wrapped in wide folds of white sheets which outlined her
virginal form, the sick maiden lay on her bed of kamakon [18] among
jusi and pina curtains. Her hair, forming a frame around her oval
face, increased her transparent paleness, which was animated only
by her large eyes full of sadness. At her side were her two friends
and Andeng.
De Espadana felt of her pulse, examined her tongue, asked some
questions, and shaking his head seriously, said:
"Sh-sh-she is si-sick. But we-we-we can cu-cu-cure her."
Dona Victorina looked with pride at those around her.
"A li-lichen in mil-milk in the-the morning; syrup of marsh
marsh-mal-mallow, tw-o-two hounds'-hounds' tongue pi-pills,"
ordered De Espadana.
"Take courage, little Clara," said Dona Victorina, approaching her. "We
have come to cure you. I am going to present our cousin to you."
Linares was absorbed, contemplating those eloquent eyes which seemed
to be seeking some one, and he did not hear Dona Victorina call him.
"Senor Linares," said the curate, calling him out of his ecstacy. "Here
comes Father Damaso."
In fact, Father Damaso was coming, pale and somewhat sad. On leaving
his bed, his first visit was to Maria Clara. He was no longer the
Father Damaso that he had been, so robust and talkative. He now walked
along in silence and with unsteady footsteps.