Part 68

"What revolt? The curate against the alférez?"

"Oh, no; nothing of that kind. It was an uprising of the Chinese."

"The Chinese!" repeated all the listeners, with great disappointment.

"That's why we don't see one!"

"They are all dead!"

"I--I suspected they had something on foot!"

"I saw it, too. Last night----"

"What a pity they are all dead before Christmas!" cried Sister Rufa. "We shall not get their presents!"

The streets began to show signs of life. First the dogs, pigs, and chickens began to circulate; then some little ragged boys, keeping hold of each other's hands, ventured to approach the barracks. Two or three old women crept after them, their heads wrapt in handkerchiefs knotted under their chins, pretending to tell their beads, so as not to be driven back by the soldiers. When it was certain that one might come and go without risking a pistol shot, the men commenced to stroll out. Affecting indifference and stroking their cocks, they finally got as far as the tribunal.

Every quarter hour a new version of the affair was circulated. Ibarra with his servants had tried to carry off Maria Clara, and in defending her, Captain Tiago had been wounded. The number of dead was no longer fourteen, but thirty. At half-past seven the version which received most credit was clear and detailed.

"I've just come from the tribunal," said a passer, "where I saw Don Filipo and Don Crisóstomo prisoners. Well, Bruno, son of the man who was beaten to death, has confessed everything. You know, Captain Tiago is to marry his daughter to the young Spaniard. Don Crisóstomo wanted revenge, and planned to massacre all the Spaniards. His band attacked the convent and the barracks. They say many of them escaped. The guards burned Don Crisóstomo's house, and if he hadn't been arrested, they would have burned him, too."

"They burned the house?"

"You can still see the smoke from here," said the narrator.

Everybody looked: a column of smoke was rising against the sky. Then the comments began, some pitying, some accusing.

"Poor young man!" cried the husband of Sister Putá.

"What!" cried the sister. "You are ready to defend a man that heaven has so plainly punished? You'll find yourself arrested too. You uphold a falling house!"

The husband was silent; the argument had told.

"Yes," went on the old woman. "After striking down Father Dámaso, there was nothing left but to kill Father Salvi!"

"But you can't deny he was a good child."

"Yes, he was good," replied the old woman; "but he went to Europe, and those who go to Europe come back heretics, the curates say."

"Oho!" said the husband, taking his advantage. "And the curate, and all the curates, and the archbishop, and the pope, aren't they all Spaniards? What? And are they heretics?"

Happily for Sister Putá, the conversation was cut short. A servant came running, pale and horror-stricken.

"A man hung--in our neighbor's garden!" she gasped.

A man hung! Nobody stirred.

"Let's come and see," said the old man, rising.

"Don't go near him," cried Sister Putá, "'twill bring us misfortune. If he's hung, so much the worse for him!"

"Let me see him, woman. You, Juan, go and inform them at the tribunal; he may not be dead." And the old man went off, the women, even Sister Putá, following at a distance, full of fear, but also of curiosity.

Hanging from the branch of a sandal tree in the garden a human body met their gaze. The brave man examined it.