The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XLII 200
"What! How's that? His Excellency here! In your house? No!"
"I tell you that he sat right there. If you had only come two days ago--"
"Ah, what a pity that Clarita did not get sick sooner!" she exclaimed with real feeling. Then turning to
Linares, "Do you hear, cousin? His Excellency was here! Don't you see now that De Espadaña was right when
he told you that you weren't going to the house of a miserable Indian? Because, you know, Don Santiago, in
Madrid our cousin was the friend of ministers and dukes and dined in the house of Count El Campanario."
"The Duke of La Torte, Victorina," corrected her husband. [121]
"It's the same thing. If you will tell me--"
"Shall I find Padre Damaso in his town?" interrupted Linares, addressing Padre Salvi. "I've been told that it's
near here."
"He's right here and will be over in a little while," replied the curate.
"How glad I am of that! I have a letter to him," exclaimed the youth, "and if it were not for the happy chance
that brings me here, I would have come expressly to visit him."
In the meantime the happy chance had awakened.
"De Espadaña," said Doña Victorina, when the meal was over, "shall we go in to see Clarita?" Then to
Capitan Tiago, "Only for you, Don Santiago, only for you! My husband only attends persons of quality, and
yet, and yet--! He's not like those here. In Madrid he only visited persons of quality."
They adjourned to the sick girl's chamber. The windows were closed from fear of a draught, so the room was
almost dark, being only dimly illuminated by two tapers which burned before an image of the Virgin of
Antipolo. Her head covered with a handkerchief saturated in cologne, her body wrapped carefully in white
sheets which swathed her youthful form with many folds, under curtains of jusi and piña, the girl lay on her
kamagon bed. Her hair formed a frame around her oval countenance and accentuated her transparent paleness,
which was enlivened only by her large, sad eyes. At her side were her two friends and Andeng with a bouquet
of tuberoses.
De Espadaña felt her pulse, examined her tongue, asked a few questions, and said, as he wagged his head
from side to side, "S-she's s-sick, but s-she c-can be c-cured." Doña Victorina looked proudly at the
bystanders.
"Lichen with milk in the morning, syrup of marshmallow, two cynoglossum pills!" ordered De Espadaña.
"Cheer up, Clarita!" said Doña Victorina, going up to her. "We've come to cure you. I want to introduce our
cousin."
Linares was so absorbed in the contemplation of those eloquent eyes, which seemed to be searching for some
one, that he did not hear Doña Victorina name him.
"Señor Linares," said the curate, calling him out of his abstraction, "here comes Padre Damaso."
It was indeed Padre Damaso, but pale and rather sad. On leaving his bed his first visit was for Maria Clara.
Nor was it the Padre Damaso of former times, hearty and self-confident; now he moved silently and with
some hesitation.