The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER IX 57
CHAPTER IX
Local Affairs
Ibarra had not been mistaken about the occupant of the victoria, for it was indeed Padre Damaso, and he was
on his way to the house which the youth had just left.
"Where are you going?" asked the friar of Maria Clara and Aunt Isabel, who were about to enter a
silver-mounted carriage. In the midst of his preoccupation Padre Damaso stroked the maiden's cheek lightly.
"To the convent to get my things," answered the latter.
"Ahaa! Aha! We'll see who's stronger, we'll see," muttered the friar abstractedly, as with bowed head and slow
step he turned to the stairway, leaving the two women not a little amazed.
"He must have a sermon to preach and is memorizing it," commented Aunt Isabel. "Get in, Maria, or we'll be
late."
Whether or not Padre Damaso was preparing a sermon we cannot say, but it is certain that some grave matter
filled his mind, for he did not extend his hand to Capitan Tiago, who had almost to get down on his knees to
kiss it.
"Santiago," said the friar at once, "I have an important matter to talk to you about. Let's go into your office."
Capitan Tiago began to feel uneasy, so much so that he did not know what to say; but he obeyed, following
the heavy figure of the priest, who closed the door behind him.
While they confer in secret, let us learn what Fray Sibyla has been doing. The astute Dominican is not at the
rectory, for very soon after celebrating mass he had gone to the convent of his order, situated just inside the
gate of Isabel II, or of Magellan, according to what family happened to be reigning in Madrid. Without paying
any attention to the rich odor of chocolate, or to the rattle of boxes and coins which came from the treasury,
and scarcely acknowledging the respectful and deferential salute of the procurator-brother, he entered, passed
along several corridors, and knocked at a door.
"Come in," sighed a weak voice.
"May God restore health to your Reverence," was the young Dominican's greeting as he entered.
Seated in a large armchair was an aged priest, wasted and rather sallow, like the saints that Rivera painted. His
eyes were sunken in their hollow sockets, over which his heavy eyebrows were almost always contracted, thus
accentuating their brilliant gleam. Padre Sibyla, with his arms crossed under the venerable scapulary of
St. Dominic, gazed at him feelingly, then bowed his head and waited in silence.
"Ah," sighed the old man, "they advise an operation, an operation, Hernando, at my age! This country, O this
terrible country! Take warning from my ease, Hernando!"
Fray Sibyla raised his eyes slowly and fixed them on the sick man's face. "What has your Reverence decided
to do?" he asked.
"To die! Ah, what else can I do? I am suffering too much, but--I have made many suffer, I am paying my
debt! And how are you? What has brought you here?"