The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER I 27
Quite in contrast, the other priest, a Franciscan, talks much and gesticulates more. In spite of the fact that his
hair is beginning to turn gray, he seems to be preserving well his robust constitution, while his regular
features, his rather disquieting glance, his wide jaws and herculean frame give him the appearance of a Roman
noble in disguise and make us involuntarily recall one of those three monks of whom Heine tells in his "Gods
in Exile," who at the September equinox in the Tyrol used to cross a lake at midnight and each time place in
the hand of the poor boatman a silver piece, cold as ice, which left him full of terror. [18] But Fray Damaso is
not so mysterious as they were. He is full of merriment, and if the tone of his voice is rough like that of a man
who has never had occasion to correct himself and who believes that whatever he says is holy and above
improvement, still his frank, merry laugh wipes out this disagreeable impression and even obliges us to
pardon his showing to the room bare feet and hairy legs that would make the fortune of a Mendieta in the
Quiapo fairs. [19]
One of the civilians is a very small man with a black beard, the only thing notable about him being his nose,
which, to judge from its size, ought not to belong to him. The other is a rubicund youth, who seems to have
arrived but recently in the country. With him the Franciscan is carrying on a lively discussion.
"You'll see," the friar was saying, "when you've been here a few months you'll be convinced of what I say. It's
one thing to govern in Madrid and another to live in the Philippines."
"But--"
"I, for example," continued Fray Damaso, raising his voice still higher to prevent the other from speaking, "I,
for example, who can look back over twenty-three years of bananas and morisqueta, know whereof I speak.
Don't come at me with theories and fine speeches, for I know the Indian. [20] Mark well that the moment I
arrived in the country I was assigned to a toxin, small it is true, but especially devoted to agriculture. I didn't
understand Tagalog very well then, but I was, soon confessing the women, and we understood one another
and they came to like me so well that three years later, when I was transferred to another and larger town,
made vacant by the death of the native curate, all fell to weeping, they heaped gifts upon me, they escorted me
with music--"
"But that only goes to show--"
"Wait, wait! Don't be so hasty! My successor remained a shorter time, and when he left he had more
attendance, more tears, and more music. Yet he had been more given to whipping and had raised the fees in
the parish to almost double."
"But you will allow me--"
"But that isn't all. I stayed in the town of San Diego twenty years and it has been only a few months since I
left it."
Here he showed signs of chagrin.
"Twenty years, no one can deny, are more than sufficient to get acquainted with a town. San Diego has a
population of six thousand souls and I knew every inhabitant as well as if I had been his mother and
wet-nurse. I knew in which foot this one was lame, where the shoe pinched that one, who was courting that
girl, what affairs she had had and with whom, who was the real father of the child, and so on--for I was the
confessor of every last one, and they took care not to fail in their duty. Our host, Santiago, will tell you
whether I am speaking the truth, for he has a lot of land there and that was where we first became friends.
Well then, you may see what the Indian is: when I left I was escorted by only a few old women and some of
the tertiary brethren--and that after I had been there twenty years!"