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 XLV 208<br />
"It's fifteen days now since I was told of your misfortune," began the young man slowly in a low voice as he<br />
stared at the light. "I started at once and have been seeking you from mountain to mountain. I've traveled over<br />
nearly the whole of two provinces."<br />
"In order not to shed innocent blood," continued the old man, "I have had to flee. My enemies were afraid to<br />
show themselves. I was confronted merely with some unfortunates who have never done me the least harm."<br />
After a brief pause during which he seemed to be occupied in trying to read the thoughts in the dark<br />
countenance of the old man, Elias replied: "I've come to make a proposition to you. Having sought in vain for<br />
some survivor of the family that caused the misfortunes of mine, I've decided to leave the province where I<br />
live and move toward the North among the independent pagan tribes. Don't you want to abandon the life you<br />
have entered upon and come with me? I will be your son, since you have lost your own; I have no family, and<br />
in you will find a father."<br />
<strong>The</strong> old man shook his, head in negation, saying, "When one at my age makes a desperate resolution, it's<br />
because there is no other recourse. A man who, like myself, has spent his youth and his mature years toiling<br />
for the future of himself and his sons; a man who has been submissive to every wish of his superiors, who has<br />
conscientiously performed difficult tasks, enduring all that he might live in peace and quiet--when that man,<br />
whose blood time has chilled, renounces all his past and foregoes all his future, even on the very brink of the<br />
grave, it is because he has with mature judgment decided that peace does not exist and that it is not the highest<br />
good. Why drag out miserable days on foreign soil? I had two sons, a daughter, a home, a fortune, I was<br />
esteemed and respected; now I am as a tree shorn of its branches, a wanderer, a fugitive, hunted like a wild<br />
beast through the forest, and all for what? Because a man dishonored my daughter, because her brothers called<br />
that man's infamy to account, and because that man is set above his fellows with the title of minister of God!<br />
In spite of everything, I, her father, I, dishonored in my old age, forgave the injury, for I was indulgent with<br />
the passions of youth and the weakness of the flesh, and in the face of irreparable wrong what could I do but<br />
hold my peace and save what remained to me? But the culprit, fearful of vengeance sooner or later, sought the<br />
destruction of my sons. Do you know what he did? No? You don't know, then, that he pretended that there had<br />
been a robbery committed in the convento and that one of my sons figured among the accused? <strong>The</strong> other<br />
could not be included because he was in another place at the time. Do you know what tortures they were<br />
subjected to? You know of them, for they are the same in all the towns! I, I saw my son hanging <strong>by</strong> the hair, I<br />
heard his cries, I heard him call upon me, and I, coward and lover of peace, hadn't the courage either to kill or<br />
to die! Do you know that the theft was not proved, that it was shown to be a false charge, and that in<br />
punishment the curate was transferred to another town, but that my son died as a result of his tortures? <strong>The</strong><br />
other, the one who was left to me, was not a coward like his father, so our persecutor was still fearful that he<br />
would wreak vengeance on him, and, under the pretext of his not having his cedula, [124] which he had not<br />
carried with him just at that time, had him arrested <strong>by</strong> the Civil Guard, mistreated him, enraged and harassed<br />
him with insults until he was driven to suicide! And I, I have outlived so much shame; but if I had not the<br />
courage of a father to defend my sons, there yet remains to me a heart burning for revenge, and I will have it!<br />
<strong>The</strong> discontented are gathering under my command, my enemies increase my forces, and on the day that I feel<br />
myself strong enough I will descend to the lowlands and in flames sate my vengeance and end my own<br />
existence. And that day will come or there is no God!" [125]<br />
<strong>The</strong> old man arose trembling. With fiery look and hollow voice, he added, tearing his long hair, "Curses,<br />
curses upon me that I restrained the avenging hands of my sons--I have murdered them! Had I let the guilty<br />
perish, had I confided less in the justice of God and men, I should now have my sons--fugitives, perhaps, but I<br />
should have them; they would not have died under torture! I was not born to be a father, so I have them not!<br />
Curses upon me that I had not learned with my years to know the conditions under which I lived! But in fire<br />
and blood <strong>by</strong> my own death I will avenge them!"<br />
In his paroxysm of grief the unfortunate father tore away the bandage, reopening a wound in his forehead<br />
from which gushed a stream of blood.