The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XVIII 88
"The coadjutor," murmured Juana timidly.
"Ahem! The coadjutor doesn't know how to preach," declared Sipa. "Padre Martin is better."
"Padre Martin!" exclaimed another disdainfully. "He hasn't any voice. Padre Damaso would be better."
"That's right!" cried Rufa. "Padre Damaso surely does know how to preach! He looks like a comedian!"
"But we don't understand him," murmured Juana.
"Because he's very deep! And as he preaches well--"
This speech was interrupted by the arrival of Sisa, who was carrying a basket on her head. She saluted the
Sisters and went on up the stairway.
"She's going in! Let's go in too!" they exclaimed. Sisa felt her heart beating violently as she ascended the
stairs. She did not know just what to say to the padre to placate his wrath or what reasons she could advance
in defense of her son. That morning at the first flush of dawn she had gone into her garden to pick the choicest
vegetables, which she placed in a basket among banana-leaves and flowers; then she had looked along the
bank of the river for the pakó which she knew the curate liked for salads. Putting on her best clothes and
without awakening her son, she had set out for the town with the basket on her head. As she went up the
stairway she, tried to make as little noise as possible and listened attentively in the hope that she might hear a
fresh, childish voice, so well known to her. But she heard nothing nor did she meet any one as she made her
way to the kitchen. There she looked into all the corners. The servants and sacristans received her coldly,
scarcely acknowledging her greeting.
"Where can I put these vegetables?" she asked, not taking any offense at their coldness.
"There, anywhere!" growled the cook, hardly looking at her as he busied himself in picking the feathers from
a capon.
With great care Sisa arranged the vegetables and the salad leaves on the table, placing the flowers above them.
Smiling, she then addressed one of the servants, who seemed to be more approachable than the cook: "May I
speak with the padre?"
"He's sick," was the whispered answer.
"And Crispin? Do you know if he is in the sacristy?" The servant looked surprised and wrinkled his eyebrows.
"Crispin? Isn't he at your house? Do you mean to deny it?"
"Basilio is at home, but Crispin stayed here," answered Sisa, "and I want to see him."
"Yes, he stayed, but afterwards he ran away, after stealing a lot of things. Early this morning the curate
ordered me to go and report it to the Civil Guard. They must have gone to your house already to hunt for the
boys."
Sisa covered her ears and opened her mouth to speak, but her lips moved without giving out any sound.
"A pretty pair of sons you have!" exclaimed the cook. "It's plain that you're a faithful wife, the sons are so like
the father. Take care that the younger doesn't surpass him."
Sisa broke out into bitter weeping and let herself fall upon a bench.