The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
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CHAPTER XXXIV 165<br />
"Of nothing more, Petra, than that he know how to weave the nito. It would be well for him to be able to sell<br />
hats and cigar-cases so that he wouldn't have to beg alms, as the curate does here every year in the name of the<br />
Pope. It always fills me with compassion to see a saint poor, so I give all my savings."<br />
Another countryman here joined in the conversation, saying, "It's all settled, cumare, [95] my son has got to<br />
be a doctor, there's nothing like being a doctor!"<br />
"Doctor! What are you talking about, cumpare?" retorted Petra. "<strong>The</strong>re's nothing like being a curate!"<br />
"A curate, pish! A curate? <strong>The</strong> doctor makes lots of money, the sick people worship him, cumare!"<br />
"Excuse me! <strong>The</strong> curate, <strong>by</strong> making three or four turns and saying deminos pabiscum, [96] eats God and<br />
makes money. All, even the women, tell him their secrets."<br />
"And the doctor? What do you think a doctor is? <strong>The</strong> doctor sees all that the women have, he feels the pulses<br />
of the dalagas! I'd just like to be a doctor for a week!"<br />
"And the curate, perhaps the curate doesn't see what your doctor sees? Better still, you know the saying, 'the<br />
fattest chicken and the roundest leg for the curate!'"<br />
"What of that? Do the doctors eat dried fish? Do they soil their fingers eating salt?"<br />
"Does the curate dirty his hands as your doctors do? He has great estates and when he works he works with<br />
music and has sacristans to help him."<br />
"But the confessing, cumare? Isn't that work?"<br />
"No work about that! I'd just like to be confessing everybody! While we work and sweat to find out what our<br />
own neighbors are doing, the curate does nothing more than take a seat and they tell him everything.<br />
Sometimes he falls asleep, but he lets out two or three blessings and we are again the children of God! I'd just<br />
like to be a curate for one evening in Lent!"<br />
"But the preaching? You can't tell me that it's not work. Just look how the fat curate was sweating this<br />
morning," objected the rustic, who felt himself being beaten into retreat.<br />
"Preaching! Work to preach! Where's your judgment? I'd just like to be talking half a day from the pulpit,<br />
scolding and quarreling with everybody, without any one daring to reply, and be getting paid for it besides. I'd<br />
just like to be the curate for one morning when those who are in debt to me are attending mass! Look there<br />
now, how Padre Damaso gets fat with so much scolding and beating."<br />
Padre Damaso was, indeed, approaching with the gait of a heavy man. He was half smiling, but in such a<br />
malignant way that Ibarra, upon seeing him, lost the thread of his talk. <strong>The</strong> padre was greeted with some<br />
surprise but with signs of pleasure on the part of all except Ibarra. <strong>The</strong>y were then at the dessert and the<br />
champagne was foaming in the glasses.<br />
Padre Damaso's smile became nervous when he saw Maria Clara seated at Crisostomo's right. He took a seat<br />
beside the alcalde and said in the midst of a significant silence, "Were you discussing something, gentlemen?<br />
Go ahead!"<br />
"We were at the toasts," answered the alcalde. "Señor Ibarra was mentioning all who have helped him in his<br />
philanthropic enterprise and was speaking of the architect when your Reverence--"