<div id="d0e3859" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">
</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XXI</h2>
<h2>The Story of a Mother</h2>
<div class="poem" lang="es">
<p class="line" style=""><span>Andaba incierto—volaba errante,
<p class="line" style=""><span>Un solo instante—sin descansar.<SPAN id="d0e3870src" href="#d0e3870" class="noteref">1</SPAN>
<p>Sisa ran in the direction of her home with her thoughts in that confused whirl which is produced in our being when, in the
midst of misfortunes, protection and hope alike are gone. It is then that everything seems to grow dark around us, and, if
we do see some faint light shining from afar, we run toward it, we follow it, even though an abyss yawns in our path. The
mother wanted to save her sons, and mothers do not ask about means when their children are concerned. Precipitately she ran,
pursued by fear and dark forebodings. Had they already arrested her son Basilio? Whither had her boy Crispin fled?
<p>As she approached her little hut she made out above the garden fence the caps of two soldiers. It would be impossible to tell
what her heart felt: she forgot everything. She was not ignorant of the boldness of those men, who did not lower their gaze
before even the richest people of the town. What would they do now to her and to her sons, accused of theft! The civil-guards
are not men, they are civil-guards; they do not listen to supplications and they are accustomed to see tears.
<p>Sisa instinctively raised her eyes toward the sky, that sky which smiled with brilliance indescribable, and in whose transparent
blue floated some little fleecy clouds. She stopped to control the trembling that had seized her whole body. The soldiers
were leaving the house and were alone, <SPAN id="d0e3881"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3881">150</SPAN>]</span>as they had arrested nothing more than the hen which Sisa had been fattening. She breathed more freely and took heart again.
“How good they are and what kind hearts they have!” she murmured, almost weeping with joy. Had the soldiers burned her house
but left her sons at liberty she would have heaped blessings upon them! She again looked gratefully toward the sky through
which a flock of herons, those light clouds in the skies of the Philippines, were cutting their path, and with restored confidence
she continued on her way. As she approached those fearful men she threw her glances in every direction as if unconcerned and
pretended not to see her hen, which was cackling for help. Scarcely had she passed them when she wanted to run, but prudence
restrained her steps.
<p>She had not gone far when she heard herself called by an imperious voice. Shuddering, she pretended not to hear, and continued
on her way. They called her again, this time with a yell and an insulting epithet. She turned toward them, pale and trembling
in spite of herself. One of them beckoned to her. Mechanically Sisa approached them, her tongue paralyzed with fear and her
<p>“Tell us the truth or we’ll tie you to that tree and shoot you,” said one of them in a threatening tone.
<p>The woman stared at the tree.
<p>“You’re the mother of the thieves, aren’t you?” asked the other.
<p>“Mother of the thieves!” repeated Sisa mechanically.
<p>“Where’s the money your sons brought you last night?”
<p>“Ah! The money—”
<p>“Don’t deny it or it’ll be the worse for you,” added the other. “We’ve come to arrest your sons, and the older has escaped
from us. Where have you hidden the younger?”
<p>Upon hearing this Sisa breathed more freely and answered, “Sir, it has been many days since I’ve seen Crispin. I expected
to see him this morning at the convento, but there they only told me—”
<p><SPAN id="d0e3902"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3902">151</SPAN>]</span>The two soldiers exchanged significant glances. “All right!” exclaimed one of them. “Give us the money and we’ll leave you
<p>“Sir,” begged the unfortunate woman, “my sons wouldn’t steal even though they were starving, for we are used to that kind
of suffering. Basilio didn’t bring me a single cuarto. Search the whole house and if you find even a real, do with us what
you will. Not all of us poor folks are thieves!”
<p>“Well then,” ordered the soldier slowly, as he fixed his gaze on Sisa’s eyes, “come with us. Your sons will show up and try
to get rid of the money they stole. Come on!”
<p>“I—go with you?” murmured the woman, as she stepped backward and gazed fearfully at their uniforms. “And why not?”
<p>“Oh, have pity on me!” she begged, almost on her knees. “I’m very poor, so I’ve neither gold nor jewels to offer you. The
only thing I had you’ve already taken, and that is the hen which I was thinking of selling. Take everything that you find
in the house, but leave me here in peace, leave me here to die!”
<p>“Go ahead! You’re got to go, and if you don’t move along willingly, we’ll tie you.”
<p>Sisa broke out into bitter weeping, but those men were inflexible. “At least, let me go ahead of you some distance,” she begged,
when she felt them take hold of her brutally and push her along.
<p>The soldiers seemed to be somewhat affected and, after whispering apart, one of them said: “All right, since from here until
we get into the town, you might be able to escape, you’ll walk between us. Once there you may walk ahead twenty paces, but
take care that you don’t delay and that you don’t go into any shop, and don’t stop. Go ahead, quickly!”
<p>Vain were her supplications and arguments, useless her promises. The soldiers said that they had already compromised <SPAN id="d0e3920"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3920">152</SPAN>]</span>themselves by having conceded too much. Upon finding herself between them she felt as if she would die of shame. No one indeed
was coming along the road, but how about the air and the light of day? True shame encounters eyes everywhere. She covered
her face with her pañuelo and walked along blindly, weeping in silence at her disgrace. She had felt misery and knew what
it was to be abandoned by every one, even her own husband, but until now she had considered herself honored and respected:
up to this time she had looked with compassion on those boldly dressed women whom the town knew as the concubines of the soldiers.
Now it seemed to her that she had fallen even a step lower than they in the social scale.
<p>The sound of hoofs was heard, proceeding from a small train of men and women mounted on poor nags, each between two baskets
hung over the back of his mount; it was a party carrying fish to the interior towns. Some of them on passing her hut had often
asked for a drink of water and had presented her with some fishes. Now as they passed her they seemed to beat and trample
upon her while their compassionate or disdainful looks penetrated through her pañuelo and stung her face. When these travelers
had finally passed she sighed and raised the pañuelo an instant to see how far she still was from the town. There yet remained
a few telegraph poles to be passed before reaching the <i>bantayan</i>, or little watch-house, at the entrance to the town. Never had that distance seemed so great to her.
<p>Beside the road there grew a leafy bamboo thicket in whose shade she had rested at other times, and where her lover had talked
so sweetly as he helped her carry her basket of fruit and vegetables. Alas, all that was past, like a dream! The lover had
become her husband and a cabeza de barangay, and then trouble had commenced to knock at her door. As the sun was beginning
to shine hotly, the soldiers asked her if she did not want to <SPAN id="d0e3929"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3929">153</SPAN>]</span>rest there. “Thanks, no!” was the horrified woman’s answer.
<p>Real terror seized her when they neared the town. She threw her anguished gaze in all directions, but no refuge offered itself,
only wide rice-fields, a small irrigating ditch, and some stunted trees; there was not a cliff or even a rock upon which she
might dash herself to pieces! Now she regretted that she had come so far with the soldiers; she longed for the deep river
that flowed by her hut, whose high and rock-strewn banks would have offered such a sweet death. But again the thought of her
sons, especially of Crispin, of whose fate she was still ignorant, lightened the darkness of her night, and she was able to
murmur resignedly, “Afterwards—afterwards—we’ll go and live in the depths of the forest.”
<p>Drying her eyes and trying to look calm, she turned to her guards and said in a low voice, with an indefinable accent that
was a complaint and a lament, a prayer and a reproach, sorrow condensed into sound, “Now we’re in the town.” Even the soldiers
seemed touched as they answered her with a gesture. She struggled to affect a calm bearing while she went forward quickly.
<p>At that moment the church bells began to peal out, announcing the end of the high mass. Sisa hurried her steps so as to avoid,
if possible, meeting the people who were coming out, but in vain, for no means offered to escape encountering them. With a
bitter smile she saluted two of her acquaintances, who merely turned inquiring glances upon her, so that to avoid further
mortification she fixed her gaze on the ground, and yet, strange to say, she stumbled over the stones in the road! Upon seeing
her, people paused for a moment and conversed among themselves as they gazed at her, all of which she saw and felt in spite
of her downcast eyes.
<p>She heard the shameless tones of a woman who asked from behind at the top of her voice, “Where did you catch her? And the
money?” It was a woman without <SPAN id="d0e3939"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3939">154</SPAN>]</span>a tapis, or tunic, dressed in a green and yellow skirt and a camisa of blue gauze, easily recognizable from her costume as
a <i>querida</i> of the soldiery. Sisa felt as if she had received a slap in the face, for that woman had exposed her before the crowd. She
raised her eyes for a moment to get her fill of scorn and hate, but saw the people far, far away. Yet she felt the chill of
their stares and heard their whispers as she moved over the ground almost without knowing that she touched it.
<p>“Eh, this way!” a guard called to her. Like an automaton whose mechanism is breaking, she whirled about rapidly on her heels,
then without seeing or thinking of anything ran to hide herself. She made out a door where a sentinel stood and tried to enter
it, but a still more imperious voice called her aside. With wavering steps she sought the direction of that voice, then felt
herself pushed along by the shoulders; she shut her eyes, took a couple of steps, and lacking further strength, let herself
fall to the ground, first on her knees and then in a sitting posture. Dry and voiceless sobs shook her frame convulsively.
<p>Now she was in the barracks among the soldiers, women, hogs, and chickens. Some of the men were sewing at their clothes while
their thighs furnished pillows for their <i>queridas</i>, who were reclining on benches, smoking and gazing wearily at the ceiling. Other women were helping some of the men clean
their ornaments and arms, humming doubtful songs the while.
<p>“It seems that the chicks have escaped, for you’ve brought only the old hen!” commented one woman to the new arrivals,—whether
alluding to Sisa or the still clucking hen is not certain.
<p>“Yes, the hen is always worth more than the chicks,” Sisa herself answered when she observed that the soldiers were silent.
<p>“Where’s the sergeant?” asked one of the guards in a disgusted tone. “Has report been made to the alferez yet?”
<p><SPAN id="d0e3958"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3958">155</SPAN>]</span>A general shrugging of shoulders was his answer, for no one was going to trouble himself inquiring about the fate of a poor
<p>There Sisa spent two hours in a state of semi-idiocy, huddled in a corner with her head hidden in her arms and her hair falling
down in disorder. At noon the alferez was informed, and the first thing that he did was to discredit the curate’s accusation.
<p>“Bah! Tricks of that rascally friar,” he commented, as he ordered that the woman be released and that no one should pay any
attention to the matter. “If he wants to get back what he’s lost, let him ask <span class="abbr" title="Saint"><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr></span> Anthony or complain to the nuncio. Out with her!”
<p>Consequently, Sisa was ejected from the barracks almost violently, as she did not try to move herself. Finding herself in
the street, she instinctively started to hurry toward her house, with her head bared, her hair disheveled, and her gaze fixed
on the distant horizon. The sun burned in its zenith with never a cloud to shade its flashing disk; the wind shook the leaves
of the trees lightly along the dry road, while no bird dared stir from the shade of their branches.
<p>At last Sisa reached her hut and entered it in silence, She walked all about it and ran in and out for a time. Then she hurried
to old Tasio’s house and knocked at the door, but he was not at home. The unhappy woman then returned to her hut and began
to call loudly for Basilio and Crispin, stopping every few minutes to listen attentively. Her voice came back in an echo,
for the soft murmur of the water in the neighboring river and the rustling of the bamboo leaves were the only sounds that
broke the stillness. She called again and again as she climbed the low cliffs, or went down into a gully, or descended to
the river. Her eyes rolled about with a sinister expression, now flashing up with brilliant gleams, now becoming obscured
like the sky on a stormy night; it might be said that the light of reason was flickering and about to be extinguished.
<p><SPAN id="d0e3972"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3972">156</SPAN>]</span>Again returning to her hut, she sat down on the mat where she had lain the night before. Raising her eyes, she saw a twisted
remnant from Basilio’s camisa at the end of the bamboo post in the <i>dinding</i>, or wall, that overlooked the precipice. She seized and examined it in the sunlight. There were blood stains on it, but Sisa
hardly saw them, for she went outside and continued to raise and lower it before her eyes to examine it in the burning sunlight.
The light was failing and everything beginning to grow dark around her. She gazed wide-eyed and unblinkingly straight at the
<p>Still wandering about here and there, crying and wailing, she would have frightened any listener, for her voice now uttered
rare notes such as are not often produced in the human throat. In a night of roaring tempest, when the whirling winds beat
with invisible wings against the crowding shadows that ride upon it, if you should find yourself in a solitary and ruined
building, you would hear moans and sighs which you might suppose to be the soughing of the wind as it beats on the high towers
and moldering walls to fill you with terror and make you shudder in spite of yourself; as mournful as those unknown sounds
of the dark night when the tempest roars were the accents of that mother. In this condition night came upon her. Perhaps Heaven
had granted some hours of sleep while the invisible wing of an angel, brushing over her pallid countenance, might wipe out
the sorrows from her memory; perhaps such suffering was too great for weak human endurance, and Providence had intervened
with its sweet remedy, forgetfulness. However that may be, the next day Sisa wandered about smiling, singing, and talking
with all the creatures of wood and field.
<SPAN id="d0e3979"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">[<SPAN href="#d0e3979">157</SPAN>]</span></p>
<p class="footnote" lang="en-us"><span class="label"><SPAN id="d0e3870" href="#d0e3870src" class="noteref">1</SPAN></span> With uncertain pace, in wandering flight, for an instant only—without rest.