The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER LVI 257
"The fellow's still asleep," remarked the directorcillo facetiously. "Better pour some water over him."
Amid the laughter of the bystanders the rustic left the place where he had played such a ridiculous part and
went toward the church. In the sacristy he asked for the senior sacristan.
"He's still asleep," was the rough answer. "Don't you know that the convento was assaulted last night?"
"Then I'll wait till he wakes up." This with a stupid stare at the sacristans, such as is common to persons who
are used to rough treatment.
In a corner which was still in shadow the one-eyed senior sacristan lay asleep in a big chair. His spectacles
were placed on his forehead amid long locks of hair, while his thin, squalid chest, which was bare, rose and
fell regularly.
The rustic took a seat near by, as if to wait patiently, but he dropped a piece of money and started to look for it
with the aid of a candle under the senior sacristan's chair. He noticed seeds of amores-secos on the pantaloons
and on the cuffs of the sleeper's camisa. The latter awoke, rubbed his one good eye, and began to scold the
rustic with great ill-humor.
"I wanted to order a mass, sir," was the reply in a tone of excuse.
"The masses are already over," said the sacristan, sweetening his tone a little at this. "If you want it for
tomorrow--is it for the souls in purgatory?"
"No, sir," answered the rustic, handing him a peso.
Then gazing fixedly at the single eye, he added, "It's for a person who's going to die soon."
Hereupon he left the sacristy. "I could have caught him last night!" he sighed, as he took off the bandage and
stood erect to recover the face and form of Elias.