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 LVII 261<br />
In the center of the yard rose the picturesque curb of a well, roughly fashioned from living rock. A rude<br />
apparatus of bamboo in the form of a well-sweep served for drawing up the thick, slimy, foul-smelling water.<br />
Broken pieces of pottery, manure, and other refuse were collected there, since this well was like the jail, being<br />
the place for what society rejected or found useless, and any object that fell into it, however good it might<br />
have been, was then a thing lost. Yet it was never closed up, and even at times the prisoners were condemned<br />
to go down and deepen it, not because there was any thought of getting anything useful out of such<br />
punishment, but because of the difficulties the work offered. A prisoner who once went down there would<br />
contract a fever from which he would surely die.<br />
Tarsilo gazed upon all the preparations of the soldiers with a fixed look. He was pale, and his lips trembled or<br />
murmured a prayer. <strong>The</strong> haughtiness of his desperation seemed to have disappeared or, at least, to have<br />
weakened. Several times he bent his stiff neck and fixed his gaze on the ground as though resigned to his<br />
sufferings. <strong>The</strong>y led him to the well-curb, followed <strong>by</strong> the smiling Doña Consolacion. In his misery he cast a<br />
glance of envy toward the heap of corpses and a sigh escaped from his breast.<br />
"Talk now," the directorcillo again advised him. "<strong>The</strong>y'll hang you anyhow. You'll at least die without<br />
suffering so much."<br />
"You'll come out of this only to die," added a cuadrillero.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y took away the gag and hung him up <strong>by</strong> his feet, for he must go down head foremost and remain some<br />
time under the water, just as the bucket does, only that the man is left a longer time. While the alferez was<br />
gone to look for a watch to count the minutes, Tarsilo hung with his long hair streaming down and his eyes<br />
half closed.<br />
"If you are Christians, if you have any heart," he begged in a low voice, "let me down quickly or make my<br />
head strike against the sides so that I'll die. God will reward you for this good deed--perhaps some day you<br />
may be as I am!"<br />
<strong>The</strong> alferez returned, watch in hand, to superintend the lowering.<br />
"Slowly, slowly!" cried Doña Consolacion, as she kept her gaze fixed on the wretch. "Be careful!"<br />
<strong>The</strong> well-sweep moved gently downwards. Tarsilo rubbed against the jutting stones and filthy weeds that<br />
grew in the crevices. <strong>The</strong>n the sweep stopped while the alferez counted the seconds.<br />
"Lift him up!" he ordered, at the end of a half-minute. <strong>The</strong> silvery and harmonious tinkling of the drops of<br />
water falling back indicated the prisoner's return to the light. Now that the sweep was heavier he rose rapidly.<br />
Pieces of stone and pebbles torn from the walls fell noisily. His forehead and hair smeared with filthy slime,<br />
his face covered with cuts and bruises, his body wet and dripping, he appeared to the eyes of the silent crowd.<br />
<strong>The</strong> wind made him shiver with cold.<br />
"Will you talk?" he was asked.<br />
"Take care of my sister," murmured the unhappy boy as he gazed beseechingly toward one of the cuadrilleros.<br />
<strong>The</strong> bamboo sweep again creaked, and the condemned boy once more disappeared. Doña Consolacion<br />
observed that the water remained quiet. <strong>The</strong> alferez counted a minute.<br />
When Tarsilo again came up his features were contracted and livid. With his bloodshot eyes wide open, he<br />
looked at the <strong>by</strong>standers.