Very early that morning Father Salví had said mass, cleaning, according to his custom, a dozen dirty souls in a few minutes. The reading of a few letters, which had arrived well sealed with wax, seemed to cause the worthy curate to lose his appetite, for he allowed his chocolate to get cold.
“The Father is ill,” said the cook as he prepared another cup. “It is several days since he has eaten anything; of six dishes which I put on the table for him, he has not touched two.”
“It must be that he does not sleep well,” replied the servant. “He has nightmare since he changed his bedroom. Every day his eyes are sinking deeper, he grows gradually thinner, and is very yellow.”
As a matter of fact, it was a pitiful sight to behold Father Salví. He did not care to touch his second cup of chocolate, nor to taste the Cebu cakes. He walked pensively to and fro in the spacious sala, crumpling between his bony fingers some letters which he would read from time to time. Finally, he called for his carriage, got ready and ordered the coachman to take him to the woods where the picnic was to be held. Arriving at the place, Father Salví dismissed the carriage and all alone, entered the forest.
A shady but difficult path runs through the thicket and leads to the brook which is formed by the hot springs so plentiful at the base of Mount Makiling.
For some time, Father Salví was wandering among the thick underbrush, here trying to evade the thorns which entangled his habit of guingon as if to detain him; there trying to step over the roots of the trees which stuck up through the ground and made the inexperienced traveler [69]stumble again and again. Suddenly he stopped. Mirthful laughter and the sound of young voices reached his ears. The voices and the laughter seemed to come from the direction of the brook and each time seemed to be coming nearer.
“I am going to see if I can find a heron’s nest,” said a voice, beautiful and sweet, and at once recognized by the curate. “You know they say that if a person possesses one of those nests he can make himself invisible to everybody. How I would like to see him and not have him see me! I could follow him everywhere.”
Father Salví hid behind the thick trunk of an old tree and listened.
“That is to say, you want to do with him what the curate does with you: watch him everywhere?” replied the merry voice. “Be careful, for jealousy makes one grow thin and the eyes sink in.”
“No, no. It is not jealousy, it is pure curiosity,” replied the silvery voice, while the other repeated, “yes, yes, jealousy; that’s what it is.” And then she broke out in a merry chuckle.
“If I were jealous of him I would not use the heron’s nest to make myself invisible to him, but would make him invisible to everybody else.”
“But then you yourself would not be able to see him and you would not want that to happen. The best thing to do, if we find a heron’s nest is to give it to the priest. Then he could watch us as much as he pleased, and we would not be troubled with the sight of him. What do you think of the idea?”
“But I don’t believe in the story about the heron’s nests, anyway,” replied one. “But if I were really jealous I would know how to keep watch of a person and make myself invisible....”
“And how? How would you do it? Perhaps you would do as Sister Listener does in the convent?”
This reference to days passed in the convent provoked a jolly laugh all around.
Father Salví saw from his hiding-place Maria Clara, Victoria, and Sinang, wading in the stream. All three were looking into the water, which was like a mirror, in [70]search of the heron’s nest. They were getting wet up to their knees, the wide folds of their bathing skirts allowing one to guess how graceful were the curves of their limbs. They were wearing their hair loose and their arms were bare. Striped, bright-colored bodices covered their breasts. The three lasses, at the same time that they were hunting for that which did not exist, collected flowers and plants which were growing on the banks of the stream.
The religious Acteon, pale and immovable, stood gazing upon Maria Clara, that chaste Diana. The eyes which shone in those dark orbits never tired of admiring those white and beautiful arms, that pretty, round neck, those tiny and rosy feet as they played in the water. As he contemplated all this, strange feelings were awakened in his breast, new dreams took possession of his burning mind.
The three pretty forms disappeared in a thick growth of bamboo behind a bend in the stream, but their cruel allusions could still be heard by the curate. Intoxicated with the strange ideas in his head, staggering, and covered with perspiration, Father Salví left his hiding-place and looked about him in all directions with staring eyes. He stood immovable, in doubt. He took a few steps as if to follow the young women, but he turned about, and walked along the bank of the stream in order to find the rest of the picnic party.
Some distance ahead, in the middle of the stream, he could see a bathing place well enclosed by bamboo. He could hear, merry laughter and feminine accents coming from that direction. Still further down the stream he could see a bamboo bridge and some men in bathing. In the meantime, a multitude of servants were bustling about the improvised fireplaces, some engaged in plucking chickens, others in washing rice and roasting pig. And there on the opposite bank, in a clearing which had been made, were a number of men and women under a tent. The tent had been made by hanging canvas from the limbs of some of the old trees and by erecting a few poles. There in the group was the alferez, the teniente mayor, the coadjutor, the gobernadorcillo, the school teacher, a number, of past captains and lieutenants, including even [71]Captain Basilio, who was Sinang’s father, and the former rival of the deceased Don Rafael. Ibarra had said to him: “The mere fact that we are parties to a law-suit does not mean that we have to be enemies.” So it was that the celebrated orator of the conservative party had accepted the invitation to the picnic with enthusiasm, and had even brought along three turkeys and put his servants at the disposition of the young man.
The parish priest was received with respect and deference by all, even by the alferez.
“But where did Your Reverence come from?” some one asked on seeing his face full of scratches, and his habit covered with leaves and pieces of dried branches. “Has Your Reverence fallen down?”
“No, I lost my way,” replied Father Salví, looking down and examining his clothes.
Bottles of lemonade were opened, green cocoanuts were cut in two so that those who were coming out of the bath might have the refreshing milk to drink and the delicate meat to eat. The young women in addition received rosaries of sampagas interwoven with roses and ilang-ilang, which gave a beautiful fragrance to their loose hair. Some were sitting or lying in hammocks which had been hung from the branches of the trees; others were entertaining themselves in a game that was going on around a large, flat stone. Playing cards, checkers, dice and many other games were in progress.
They showed the alligator to the curate, but he seemed absorbed and paid no attention until they mentioned the fact that the wide wound in the animal’s neck had been made by Ibarra. Then, too, the pilot, the principal figure in the incident, had disappeared and could not be found anywhere.
Finally Maria Clara came out of the bath, accompanied by her friends, fresh as a rose when first it blooms, and when the dew on its divine petals glistens like diamonds. Her first smile was for Ibarra; and her first frown for Father Salví. The latter noticed this, but he did not even sigh.
It was now time to eat. The curate, the coadjutor, the alferez, the gobernadorcillo, and some of the captains, together [72]with the tenente mayor sat down at the table over which Ibarra presided. The mothers of the girls did not allow any one to eat at the table with their charges.
“Do you know anything yet, Se?or Alferez, about the criminal who assaulted Father Dámaso?” asked Father Salví.
“About what criminal, Father?” asked the alferez, looking at the parish priest through his empty wine glass.
“About whom could it be? About the one who, day before yesterday, struck Father Dámaso, of course.”
“Struck Father Dáma............