The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

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