The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XXXIX 185
seeking applause and full of vanity, at eventide, repentant and disenchanted, makes an effort to raise her
drooping petals to the sky, seeking a little shade to hide herself and die without the mocking of the light that
saw her in her splendor, without seeing the vanity of her pride, begging also that a little dew should weep
upon her. The nightbird leaves his solitary retreat, the hollow of an ancient trunk, and disturbs the sad
loneliness of the open places--"
"No, don't sing!" she exclaimed in perfect Tagalog, as she rose with agitation. "Don't sing! Those verses hurt
me."
The crazy woman became silent. The boy ejaculated, "Abá! She talks Tagalog!" and stood staring with
admiration at his mistress, who, realizing that she had given herself away, was ashamed of it, and as her
nature was not that of a woman, the shame took the aspect of rage and hate; so she showed the door to the
imprudent boy and closed it behind him with a kick.
Twisting the whip in her nervous hands, she took a few turns around the room, then stopping suddenly in front
of the crazy woman, said to her in Spanish, "Dance!" But Sisa did not move.
"Dance, dance!" she repeated in a sinister tone.
The madwoman looked at her with wandering, expressionless eyes, while the alfereza lifted one of her arms,
then the other, and shook them, but to no purpose, for Sisa did not understand. Then she began to jump about
and shake herself, encouraging Sisa to imitate her. In the distance was to be heard the music of the procession
playing a grave and majestic march, but Doña Consolacion danced furiously, keeping other time to other
music resounding within her. Sisa gazed at her without moving, while her eyes expressed curiosity and
something like a weak smile hovered around her pallid lips: the lady's dancing amused her. The latter stopped
as if ashamed, raised the whip,--that terrible whip known to thieves and soldiers, made in Ulango [111] and
perfected by the alferez with twisted wires,--and said, "Now it's your turn to dance--dance!"
She began to strike the madwoman's bare feet gently with the whip. Sisa's face drew up with pain and she was
forced to protect herself with her hands.
"Aha, now you're starting!" she exclaimed with savage joy, passing from lento to allegro vivace.
The afflicted Sisa gave a cry of pain and quickly raised her foot.
"You've got to dance, you Indian--!" The whip swung and whistled.
Sisa let herself fall to the floor and placed both hands on her knees while she gazed at her tormentor with
wildly-staring eyes. Two sharp cuts of the whip on her shoulder made her stand up, and it was not merely a
cry but a howl that the unfortunate woman uttered. Her thin camisa was torn, her skin broken, and the blood
was flowing.
The sight of blood arouses the tiger; the blood of her victim aroused Doña Consolacion. "Dance, damn you,
dance! Evil to the mother who bore you!" she cried. "Dance, or I'll flog you to death!" She then caught Sisa
with one hand and, whipping her with the other, began to dance about.
The crazy woman at last understood and followed the example by swinging her arms about awkwardly. A
smile of satisfaction curled the lips of her teacher, the smile of a female Mephistopheles who succeeds in
getting a great pupil. There were in it hate, disdain, jest, and cruelty; with a burst of demoniacal laughter she
could not have expressed more.
Thus, absorbed in the joy of the sight, she was not aware of the arrival of her husband until he opened the door