Part 2 (1/2)
”But, Don Custodio,” exclaimed Dona Victorina with smirks and grimaces, ”if everybody takes to raising ducks the _balot_ [5] eggs will become abundant. Ugh, how nasty! Rather, let the bar close up entirely!”
CHAPTER II
ON THE LOWER DECK
There, below, other scenes were being enacted. Seated on benches or small wooden stools among valises, boxes, and baskets, a few feet from the engines, in the heat of the boilers, amid the human smells and the pestilential odor of oil, were to be seen the great majority of the pa.s.sengers. Some were silently gazing at the changing scenes along the banks, others were playing cards or conversing in the midst of the sc.r.a.ping of shovels, the roar of the engine, the hiss of escaping steam, the swash of disturbed waters, and the shrieks of the whistle. In one corner, heaped up like corpses, slept, or tried to sleep, a number of Chinese pedlers, seasick, pale, frothing through half-opened lips, and bathed in their copious perspiration. Only a few youths, students for the most part, easily recognizable from their white garments and their confident bearing, made bold to move about from stern to bow, leaping over baskets and boxes, happy in the prospect of the approaching vacation. Now they commented on the movements of the engines, endeavoring to recall forgotten notions of physics, now they surrounded the young schoolgirl or the red-lipped _buyera_ with her collar of _sampaguitas,_ whispering into their ears words that made them smile and cover their faces with their fans.
Nevertheless, two of them, instead of engaging in these fleeting gallantries, stood in the bow talking with a man, advanced in years, but still vigorous and erect. Both these youths seemed to be well known and respected, to judge from the deference shown them by their fellow pa.s.sengers. The elder, who was dressed in complete black, was the medical student, Basilio, famous for his successful cures and extraordinary treatments, while the other, taller and more robust, although much younger, was Isagani, one of the poets, or at least rimesters, who that year came from the Ateneo, [6] a curious character, ordinarily quite taciturn and uncommunicative. The man talking with them was the rich Capitan Basilio, who was returning from a business trip to Manila.
”Capitan Tiago is getting along about the same as usual, yes, sir,”
said the student Basilio, shaking his head. ”He won't submit to any treatment. At the advice of _a certain person_ he is sending me to San Diego under the pretext of looking after his property, but in reality so that he may be left to smoke his opium with complete liberty.”
When the student said _a certain person_, he really meant Padre Irene, a great friend and adviser of Capitan Tiago in his last days.
”Opium is one of the plagues of modern times,” replied the capitan with the disdain and indignation of a Roman senator. ”The ancients knew about it but never abused it. While the addiction to cla.s.sical studies lasted--mark this well, young men--opium was used solely as a medicine; and besides, tell me who smoke it the most?--Chinamen, Chinamen who don't understand a word of Latin! Ah, if Capitan Tiago had only devoted himself to Cicero--” Here the most cla.s.sical disgust painted itself on his carefully-shaven Epicurean face. Isagani regarded him with attention: that gentleman was suffering from nostalgia for antiquity.
”But to get back to this academy of Castilian,” Capitan Basilio continued, ”I a.s.sure you, gentlemen, that you won't materialize it.”
”Yes, sir, from day to day we're expecting the permit,” replied Isagani. ”Padre Irene, whom you may have noticed above, and to whom we've presented a team of bays, has promised it to us. He's on his way now to confer with the General.”
”That doesn't matter. Padre Sibyla is opposed to it.”
”Let him oppose it! That's why he's here on the steamer, in order to--at Los Banos before the General.”
And the student Basilio filled out his meaning by going through the pantomime of striking his fists together.
”That's understood,” observed Capitan Basilio, smiling. ”But even though you get the permit, where'll you get the funds?”
”We have them, sir. Each student has contributed a real.”
”But what about the professors?”
”We have them: half Filipinos and half Peninsulars.” [7]
”And the house?”
”Makaraig, the wealthy Makaraig, has offered one of his.”
Capitan Basilio had to give in; these young men had everything arranged.
”For the rest,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, ”it's not altogether bad, it's not a bad idea, and now that you can't know Latin at least you may know Castilian. Here you have another instance, namesake, of how we are going backwards. In our times we learned Latin because our books were in Latin; now you study Latin a little but have no Latin books. On the other hand, your books are in Castilian and that language is not taught--_aetas parentum pejor avis tulit nos nequiores!_ as Horace said.” With this quotation he moved away majestically, like a Roman emperor.
The youths smiled at each other. ”These men of the past,” remarked Isagani, ”find obstacles for everything. Propose a thing to them and instead of seeing its advantages they only fix their attention on the difficulties. They want everything to come smooth and round as a billiard ball.”
”He's right at home with your uncle,” observed Basilio.