The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XXIII 115
"If I had not come up and you had followed me," replied Ibarra, completing the thought in his own way, "in
the bottom of the lake, I should still have been with my family!" He had not forgotten that there lay the bones
of his father.
The old women did not want to visit the other corral but wished to return, saying that the day had begun
inauspiciously and that many more accidents might occur. "All because we didn't hear mass," sighed one.
"But what accident has befallen us, ladies?" asked Ibarra. "The cayman seems to have been the only unlucky
one."
"All of which proves," concluded the ex-student of theology, "that in all its sinful life this unfortunate reptile
has never attended mass--at least, I've never seen him among the many other caymans that frequent the
church."
So the boats were turned in the direction of the other corral and Andeng had to get her sinigang ready again.
The day was now well advanced, with a fresh breeze blowing. The waves curled up behind the body of the
cayman, raising "mountains of foam whereon the smooth, rich sunlight glitters," as the poet says. The music
again resounded; Iday played on the harp, while the men handled the accordions and guitars with greater or
less skill. The prize-winner was Albino, who actually scratched the instruments, getting out of tune and losing
the time every moment or else forgetting it and changing to another tune entirely different.
The second corral was visited with some misgivings, as many expected to find there the mate of the dead
cayman, but nature is ever a jester, and the nets came up full at each haul. Aunt Isabel superintended the
sorting of the fish and ordered that some be left in the trap for decoys. "It's not lucky to empty the corral
completely," she concluded.
Then they made their way toward the shore near the forest of old trees that belonged to Ibarra. There in the
shade by the clear waters of the brook, among the flowers, they ate their breakfast under improvised canopies.
The space was filled with music while the smoke from the fires curled up in slender wreaths. The water
bubbled cheerfully in the hot dishes as though uttering sounds of consolation, or perchance of sarcasm and
irony, to the dead fishes. The body of the cayman writhed about, sometimes showing its torn white belly and
again its speckled greenish back, while man, Nature's favorite, went on his way undisturbed by what the
Brahmins and vegetarians would call so many cases of fratricide.