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 IV 40<br />
was not permitted to engage in manual labor, which would injure our prestige, he somehow or other obtained<br />
a position as collector of the tax on vehicles. <strong>The</strong> poor devil had no education at all, a fact of which the natives<br />
soon became aware, as it was a marvel for them to see a Spaniard who didn't know how to read and write.<br />
Every one ridiculed him and the payment of the tax was the occasion of broad smiles. He knew that he was an<br />
object of ridicule and this tended to sour his disposition even more, rough and bad as it had formerly been.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y would purposely hand him the papers upside down to see his efforts to read them, and wherever he<br />
found a blank space he would scribble a lot of pothooks which rather fitly passed for his signature. <strong>The</strong><br />
natives mocked while they paid him. He swallowed his pride and made the collections, but was in such a state<br />
of mind that he had no respect for any one. He even came to have some hard words with your father.<br />
"One day it happened that he was in a shop turning a document over and over in the effort to get it straight<br />
when a schoolboy began to make signs to his companions and to point laughingly at the collector with his<br />
finger. <strong>The</strong> fellow heard the laughter and saw the joke reflected in the solemn faces of the <strong>by</strong>standers. He lost<br />
his patience and, turning quickly, started to chase the boys, who ran away shouting ba, be, bi, bo, bu. [30]<br />
Blind with rage and unable to catch them, he threw his cane and struck one of the boys on the head, knocking<br />
him down. He ran up and began to kick the fallen boy, and none of those who had been laughing had the<br />
courage to interfere. Unfortunately, your father happened to come along just at that time. He ran forward<br />
indignantly, caught the collector <strong>by</strong> the arm, and reprimanded him severely. <strong>The</strong> artilleryman, who was no<br />
doubt beside himself with rage, raised his hand, but your father was too quick for him, and with the strength<br />
of a descendant of the Basques--some say that he struck him, others that he merely pushed him, but at any rate<br />
the man staggered and fell a little way off, striking his head against a stone. Don Rafael quietly picked the<br />
wounded boy up and carried him to the town hall. <strong>The</strong> artilleryman bled freely from the mouth and died a few<br />
moments later without recovering consciousness.<br />
"As was to be expected, the authorities intervened and arrested your father. All his hidden enemies at once<br />
rose up and false accusations came from all sides. He was accused of being a heretic and a filibuster. To be a<br />
heretic is a great danger anywhere, but especially so at that time when the province was governed <strong>by</strong> an<br />
alcalde who made a great show of his piety, who with his servants used to recite his rosary in the church in a<br />
loud voice, perhaps that all might hear and pray with him. But to be a filibuster is worse than to be a heretic<br />
and to kill three or four tax-collectors who know how to read, write, and attend to business. Every one<br />
abandoned him, and his books and papers were seized. He was accused of subscribing to El Correo de<br />
Ultramar, and to newspapers from Madrid, of having sent you to Germany, of having in his possession letters<br />
and a photograph of a priest who had been legally executed, and I don't know what not. Everything served as<br />
an accusation, even the fact that he, a descendant of Peninsulars, wore a camisa. Had it been any one but your<br />
father, it is likely that he would soon have been set free, as there was a physician who ascribed the death of the<br />
unfortunate collector to a hemorrhage. But his wealth, his confidence in the law, and his hatred of everything<br />
that was not legal and just, wrought his undoing. In spite of my repugnance to asking for mercy from any one,<br />
I applied personally to the Captain-General--the predecessor of our present one--and urged upon him that<br />
there could not be anything of the filibuster about a man who took up with all the Spaniards, even the poor<br />
emigrants, and gave them food and shelter, and in whose veins yet flowed the generous blood of Spain. It was<br />
in vain that I pledged my life and swore <strong>by</strong> my poverty and my military honor. I succeeded only in being<br />
coldly listened to and roughly sent away with the epithet of chiflado." [31]<br />
<strong>The</strong> old man paused to take a deep breath, and after noticing the silence of his companion, who was listening<br />
with averted face, continued: "At your father's request I prepared the defense in the case. I went first to the<br />
celebrated Filipino lawyer, young A----, but he refused to take the case. 'I should lose it,' he told me, 'and my<br />
defending him would furnish the motive for another charge against him and perhaps one against me. Go to<br />
Señor M----, who is a forceful and fluent speaker and a Peninsular of great influence.' I did so, and the noted<br />
lawyer took charge of the case, and conducted it with mastery and brilliance. But your father's enemies were<br />
numerous, some of them hidden and unknown. False witnesses abounded, and their calumnies, which under<br />
other circumstances would have melted away before a sarcastic phrase from the defense, here assumed shape<br />
and substance. If the lawyer succeeded in destroying the force of their testimony <strong>by</strong> making them contradict