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 XLII 197<br />
wants were pressing and as his scruples were soon laid to rest <strong>by</strong> his friends he finally listened to them and<br />
went to the provinces. He began <strong>by</strong> visiting some sick persons, and at first made only moderate charges, as his<br />
conscience dictated, but later, like the young philosopher of whom Samaniego [117] tells, he ended <strong>by</strong> putting<br />
a higher price on his visits. Thus he soon passed for a great physician and would probably have made his<br />
fortune if the medical authorities in Manila had not heard of his exorbitant fees and the competition that he<br />
was causing others. Both private parties and professionals interceded for him. "Man," they said to the zealous<br />
medical official, "let him make his stake and as soon as he has six or seven thousand pesos he can go back<br />
home and live there in peace. After all, what does it matter to you if he does deceive the unwary Indians?<br />
<strong>The</strong>y should be more careful! He's a poor devil--don't take the bread from his mouth--be a good Spaniard!"<br />
This official was a good Spaniard and agreed to wink at the matter, but the news soon reached the ears of the<br />
people and they began to distrust him, so in a little while he lost his practise and again saw himself obliged<br />
almost to beg his daily bread. It was then that he learned through a friend, who was an intimate acquaintance<br />
of Doña Victorina's, of the dire straits in which that lady was placed and also of her patriotism and her kind<br />
heart. Don Tiburcio then saw a patch of blue sky and asked to be introduced to her.<br />
Doña Victorina and Don Tiburcio met: tarde venientibus ossa, [118] he would have exclaimed had he known<br />
Latin! She was no longer passable, she was passée. Her abundant hair had been reduced to a knot about the<br />
size of an onion, according to her maid, while her face was furrowed with wrinkles and her teeth were falling<br />
loose. Her eyes, too, had suffered considerably, so that she squinted frequently in looking any distance. Her<br />
disposition was the only part of her that remained intact.<br />
At the end of a half-hour's conversation they understood and accepted each other. She would have preferred a<br />
Spaniard who was less lame, less stuttering, less bald, less toothless, who slobbered less when he talked, and<br />
who had more "spirit" and "quality," as she used to say, but that class of Spaniards no longer came to seek her<br />
hand. She had more than once heard it said that opportunity is pictured as being bald, and firmly believed that<br />
Don Tiburcio was opportunity itself, for as a result of his misfortunes he suffered from premature baldness.<br />
And what woman is not prudent at thirty-two years of age?<br />
Don Tiburcio, for his part, felt a vague melancholy when he thought of his honeymoon, but smiled with<br />
resignation and called to his support the specter of hunger. Never had he been ambitious or pretentious; his<br />
tastes were simple and his desires limited; but his heart, untouched till then, had dreamed of a very different<br />
divinity. Back there in his youth when, worn out with work, he lay doom on his rough bed after a frugal meal,<br />
he used to fall asleep dreaming of an image, smiling and tender. Afterwards, when troubles and privations<br />
increased and with the passing of years the poetical image failed to materialize, he thought modestly of a good<br />
woman, diligent and industrious, who would bring him a small dowry, to console him for the fatigues of his<br />
toil and to quarrel with him now and then--yes, he had thought of quarrels as a kind of happiness! But when<br />
obliged to wander from land to land in search not so much of fortune as of some simple means of livelihood<br />
for the remainder of his days; when, deluded <strong>by</strong> the stories of his countrymen from overseas, he had set out<br />
for the Philippines, realism gave, place to an arrogant mestiza or a beautiful Indian with big black eyes,<br />
gowned in silks and transparent draperies, loaded down with gold and diamonds, offering him her love, her<br />
carriages, her all. When he reached Manila he thought for a time that his dream was to be realized, for the<br />
young women whom he saw driving on the Luneta and the Malecon in silver-mounted carriages had gazed at<br />
him with some curiosity. <strong>The</strong>n after his position was gone, the mestiza and the Indian disappeared and with<br />
great effort he forced before himself the image of a widow, of course an agreeable widow! So when he saw<br />
his dream take shape in part he became sad, but with a certain touch of native philosophy said to himself,<br />
"Those were all dreams and in this world one does not live on dreams!" Thus he dispelled his doubts: she used<br />
rice-powder, but after their marriage he would break her of the habit; her face had many wrinkles, but his coat<br />
was torn and patched; she was a pretentious old woman, domineering and mannish, but hunger was more<br />
terrible, more domineering and pretentious still, and anyway, he had been blessed with a mild disposition for<br />
that very end, and love softens the character. She spoke Spanish badly, but he himself did not talk it well, as<br />
he had been told when notified of his dismissal Moreover, what did it matter to him if she was an ugly and<br />
ridiculous old woman? He was lame, toothless, and bald! Don Tiburcio preferred to take charge of her rather