The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER LVII 260
The air hissed and the rattan cut his shoulders. He shuddered, his muscles contracted. The blows were
redoubled, but he remained unmoved.
"Whip him until he bursts or talks!" cried the exasperated alferez.
"Talk now," the directorcillo advised him. "They'll kill you anyhow."
They led him back into the hall where the other prisoner, with chattering teeth and quaking limbs, was calling
upon the saints.
"Do you know this fellow?" asked Padre Salvi.
"This is the first time that I've ever seen him," replied Tarsilo with a look of pity at the other.
The alferez struck him with his fist and kicked him. "Tie him to the bench!"
Without taking off the handcuffs, which were covered with blood, they tied him to a wooden bench. The
wretched boy looked about him as if seeking something and noticed Doña Consolacion, at sight of whom he
smiled sardonically. In surprise the bystanders followed his glance and saw the señora, who was lightly
gnawing at her lips.
"I've never seen an uglier woman!" exclaimed Tarsilo in the midst of a general silence. "I'd rather lie down on
a bench as I do now than at her side as the alferez does."
The Muse turned pale.
"You're going to flog me to death, Señor Alferez," he went on, "but tonight your woman will revenge me by
embracing you."
"Gag him!" yelled the furious alferez, trembling with wrath.
Tarsilo seemed to have desired the gag, for after it was put in place his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. At a
signal from the alferez, a guard armed with a rattan whip began his gruesome task. Tarsilo's whole body
contracted, and a stifled, prolonged cry escaped from him in spite of the piece of cloth which covered his
mouth. His head drooped and his clothes became stained with blood.
Padre Salvi, pallid and with wandering looks, arose laboriously, made a sign with his hand, and left the hall
with faltering steps. In the street he saw a young woman leaning with her shoulders against the wall, rigid,
motionless, listening attentively, staring into space, her clenched hands stretched out along the wall. The sun
beat down upon her fiercely. She seemed to be breathlessly counting those dry, dull strokes and those
heartrending groans. It was Tarsilo's sister.
Meanwhile, the scene in the hall continued. The wretched boy, overcome with pain, silently waited for his
executioners to become weary. At last the panting soldier let his arm fall, and the alferez, pale with anger and
astonishment, made a sign for them to untie him. Doña Consolacion then arose and murmured a few words
into the ear of her husband, who nodded his head in understanding.
"To the well with him!" he ordered.
The Filipinos know what this means: in Tagalog they call it timbaín. We do not know who invented this
procedure, but we judge that it must be quite ancient. Truth at the bottom of a well may perhaps be a sarcastic
interpretation.