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 VII 52<br />
to wash our heads. <strong>The</strong> tears came into your eyes and you said that she did not understand mythology. 'Silly<br />
boy,' your mother exclaimed, 'you'll see how sweet your hair will smell afterwards.' I laughed, but you were<br />
offended and would not talk with me, and for the rest of the day appeared so serious that then I wanted to cry.<br />
On our way back to the town through the hot sun, I picked some sage leaves that grew beside the path and<br />
gave them to you to put in your hat so that you might not get a headache. You smiled and caught my hand,<br />
and we made up."<br />
Ibarra smiled with happiness as he opened his pocketbook and took from it a piece of paper in which were<br />
wrapped some dry, blackened leaves which gave off a sweet odor. "Your sage leaves," he said, in answer to<br />
her inquiring look. "This is all that you have ever given me."<br />
She in turn snatched from her bosom a little pouch of white satin. "You must not touch this," she said, tapping<br />
the palm of his hand lightly. "It's a letter of farewell."<br />
"<strong>The</strong> one I wrote to you before leaving?"<br />
"Have you ever written me any other, sir?"<br />
"And what did I say to you then?"<br />
"Many fibs, excuses of a delinquent debtor," she answered smilingly, thus giving him to understand how<br />
sweet to her those fibs were. "Be quiet now and I'll read it to you. I'll leave out your fine phrases in order not<br />
to make a martyr of you."<br />
Raising the paper to the height of her eyes so that the youth might not see her face, she began: "'My'--but I'll<br />
not read what follows that because it's not true."<br />
Her eyes ran along some lines.<br />
"'My father wishes me to go away, in spite of all my pleadings. 'You are a man now,' he told me, 'and you<br />
must think about your future and about your duties. You must learn the science of life, a thing which your<br />
fatherland cannot teach you, so that you may some day be useful to it. If you remain here in my shadow, in<br />
this environment of business affairs, you will not learn to look far ahead. <strong>The</strong> day in which you lose me you<br />
will find yourself like the plant of which our poet Baltazar tells: grown in the water, its leaves wither at the<br />
least scarcity of moisture and a moment's heat dries it up. Don't you understand? You are almost a young man,<br />
and yet you weep!' <strong>The</strong>se reproaches hurt me and I confessed that I loved you. My father reflected for a time<br />
in silence and then, placing his hand on my shoulder, said in a trembling voice, 'Do you think that you alone<br />
know how to love, that your father does not love you, and that he will not feel the separation from you? It is<br />
only a short time since we lost your mother, and I must journey on alone toward old age, toward the very time<br />
of life when I would seek help and comfort from your youth, yet I accept my loneliness, hardly knowing<br />
whether I shall ever see you again. But you must think of other and greater things; the future lies open before<br />
you, while for me it is already passing behind; your love is just awakening, while mine is dying; fire burns in<br />
your blood, while the chill is creeping into mine. Yet you weep and cannot sacrifice the present for the future,<br />
useful as it may be alike to yourself and to your country.' My father's eyes filled with tears and I fell upon my<br />
knees at his feet, I embraced him, I begged his forgiveness, and I assured him that I was ready to set out--'"<br />
Ibarra's growing agitation caused her to suspend the reading, for he had grown pale and was pacing back and<br />
forth.<br />
"What's the matter? What is troubling you?" she asked him.<br />
"You have almost made me forget that I have my duties, that I must leave at once for the town. Tomorrow is