“Ah!
” sighed the curate, then he added, “I’ve come to talk
Noli Me Tangere: Chapter 54
– Revelations
The vesper bells are ringing, and at the holy sound all
pause, drop their tasks, and uncover. The laborer
returning from the fields ceases the song with which he
was pacing his carabao and murmurs a prayer, the
women in the street cross themselves and move their
lips affectedly so that none may doubt their piety, a man
stops caressing his game-cock and recites the angelus
to bring better luck, while inside the houses they pray
aloud. Every sound but that of the Ave Maria dies away,
becomes hushed.
Nevertheless, the curate, without his hat, rushes across
the street, to the scandalizing of many old women, and,
greater scandal still, directs his steps toward the house
of the alferez. The devout women then think it time to
cease the movement of their lips in order to kiss the
curate’s hand, but Padre Salvi takes no notice of them.
This evening he finds no pleasure in placing his bony
hand on his Christian nose that he may slip it down
dissemblingly (as Doña Consolacion has observed)
over the bosom of the attractive young woman who may
have bent over to receive his blessing. Some important
matter must be engaging his attention when he thus
forgets his own interests and those of the Church!
In fact, he rushes headlong up the stairway and knocks
impatiently at the alferez’s door. The latter puts in his
appearance, scowling, followed by his better half, who
smiles like one of the damned.
“Ah, Padre, I was just going over to see you. That old
goat of yours–”
“I have a very important matter–”
“I can’t stand for his running about and breaking down
the fence. I’ll shoot him if he comes back!”
“That is, if you are alive tomorrow!” exclaimed the
panting curate as he made his way toward the sala.
“What, do you think that puny doll will kill me? I’ll bust
him with a kick!”
Padre Salvi stepped backward with an involuntary
glance toward the alferez’s feet. “Whom are you talking
about?” he asked tremblingly.
“About whom would I talk but that simpleton who has
challenged me to a duel with revolvers at a hundred
paces?”
to you about a very urgent matter.”
“Enough of urgent matters! It’ll be like that affair of the
two boys.”
Had the light been other than from coconut oil and the
lamp globe not so dirty, the alferez would have noticed
the curate’s pallor.
“Now this is a serious matter, which concerns the lives of
all of us,” declared Padre Salvi in a low voice.
“A serious matter?” echoed the alferez, turning pale.
“Can that boy shoot straight?”
“I’m not talking about him.”
“Then, what?”
The friar made a sign toward the door, which the alferez
closed in his own way–with a kick, for he had found his
hands superfluous and had lost nothing by ceasing to be
bimanous.
A curse and a roar sounded outside. “Brute, you’ve split
my forehead open!” yelled his wife.
“Now, unburden yourself,” he said calmly to the curate.
The latter stared at him for a space, then asked in the
nasal, droning voice of the preacher, “Didn’t you see me
come–running?”
“Sure! I thought you’d lost something.”
“Well, now,” continued the curate, without heeding the
alferez’s rudeness, “when I fail thus in my duty, it’s
because there are grave reasons.”
“Well, what else?” asked the other, tapping the floor with
his foot.
“Be calm!”
“Then why did you come in such a hurry?”
The curate drew nearer to him and asked mysteriously,
“Haven’t– you–heard–anything?”
The alferez shrugged his shoulders.
“You admit that you know absolutely nothing?”
“Do you want to talk about Elias, who put away your
senior sacristan last night?” was the retort.
“No, I’m not talking about those matters,” answered the
curate ill-naturedly. “I’m talking about a great danger.”
“Well, damn it, out with it!”
“Come,” said the friar slowly and disdainfully, “you see
once more how important we ecclesiastics are. The
meanest lay brother is worth as much as a regiment,
while a curate–”
Then he added in a low and mysterious tone, “I’ve
discovered a big conspiracy!”
The alferez started up and gazed in astonishment at the
friar.
“A terrible and well-organized plot, which will be carried
out this very night.”
“This very night!” exclaimed the alferez, pushing the
curate aside and running to his revolver and sword
hanging on the wall.
“Who’ll I arrest? Who’ll I arrest?” he cried.
“Calm yourself! There is still time, thanks to the
promptness with which I have acted. We have till eight
o’clock.”
“I’ll shoot all of them!”
“Listen! This afternoon a woman whose name I can’t
reveal (it’s a secret of the confessional) came to me and
told everything. At eight o’clock they will seize the
barracks by surprise, plunder the convento, capture the
police boat, and murder all of us Spaniards.”
The alferez was stupefied.
“The woman did not tell me any more than this,” added
the curate.
“She didn’t tell any more? Then I’ll arrest her!”
“I can’t consent to that. The bar of penitence is the
throne of the God of mercies.”
“There’s neither God nor mercies that amount to
anything! I’ll arrest her!”
“You’re losing your head! What you must do is to get
yourself ready. Muster your soldiers quietly and put them
in ambush, send me four guards for the convento, and
notify the men in charge of the boat.”
“The boat isn’t here. I’ll ask for help from the other
sections.”
“No, for then the plotters would be warned and would not
carry out their plans. What we must do is to catch them
alive and make them talk –I mean, you’ll make them talk,
since I, as a priest, must not meddle in such matters.
Listen, here’s where you win crosses and stars. I ask
only that you make due acknowledgment that it was I
who warned you.”
“It’ll be acknowledged, Padre, it’ll be acknowledged–and
perhaps you’ll get a miter!” answered the glowing
alferez, glancing at the cuffs of his uniform.
“So, you send me four guards in plain clothes, eh? Be
discreet, and tonight at eight o’clock it’ll rain stars and
crosses.”
While all this was taking place, a man ran along the road
leading to Ibarra’s house and rushed up the stairway.
“Is your master here?” the voice of Elias called to a
servant.
“He’s in his study at work.”
Ibarra, to divert the impatience that he felt while waiting
for the time when he could make his explanations to
Maria Clara, had set himself to work in his laboratory.
“Ah, that you, Elias?” he exclaimed. “I was thinking about
you. Yesterday I forgot to ask you the name of that
Spaniard in whose house your grandfather lived.”
“Let’s not talk about me, sir–”
“Look,” continued Ibarra, not noticing the youth’s
agitation, while he placed a piece of bamboo over a
flame, “I’ve made a great discovery. This bamboo is
incombustible.”
“It’s not a question of bamboo now, sir, it’s a question of
your collecting your papers and fleeing at this very
moment.”
Ibarra glanced at him in surprise and, on seeing the
gravity of his countenance, dropped the object that he
held in his hands.
“Burn everything that may compromise you and within
an hour put yourself in a place of safety.”
“Why?” Ibarra was at length able to ask.
“Put all your valuables in a safe place–”
“Why?”
“Burn every letter written by you or to you–the most
innocent thing may be wrongly construed–”
“But why all this?”
“Why! Because I’ve just discovered a plot that is to be
attributed to you in order to ruin you.”
“A plot? Who is forming it?”
“I haven’t been able to discover the author of it, but just a
moment ago I talked with one of the poor dupes who are
paid to carry it out, and I wasn’t able to dissuade him.”
“But he–didn’t he tell you who is paying him?”
“Yes! Under a pledge of secrecy he said that it was you.”
“My God!” exclaimed the terrified Ibarra.
“There’s no doubt of it, sir. Don’t lose any time, for the
plot will probably be carried out this very night.”
Ibarra, with his hands on his head and his eyes staring
unnaturally, seemed not to hear him.
“The blow cannot be averted,” continued Elias. “I’ve
come late, I don’t know who the leaders are. Save
yourself, sir, save yourself for your country’s sake!”
“Whither shall I flee? She expects me tonight!”
exclaimed Ibarra, thinking of Maria Clara.
“To any town whatsoever, to Manila, to the house of
some official, but anywhere so that they may not say that
you are directing this movement.”
“Suppose that I myself report the plot?”
“You an informer!” exclaimed Elias, stepping back and
staring at him. “You would appear as a traitor and
coward in the eyes of the plotters and faint-hearted in
the eyes of others. They would say that you planned the
whole thing to curry favor. They would say–”
“But what’s to be done?”
“I’ve already told you. Destroy every document that
relates to your affairs, flee, and await the outcome.”
“And Maria Clara?” exclaimed the young man. “No, I’ll
die first!”
Elias wrung his hands, saying, “Well then, at least parry
the blow. Prepare for the time when they accuse you.”
Ibarra gazed about him in bewilderment. “Then help me.
There in that writing-desk are all the letters of my family.
Select those of my father, which are perhaps the ones
that may compromise me. Read the signatures.”
So the bewildered and stupefied young man opened and
shut boxes, collected papers, read letters hurriedly,
tearing up some and laying others aside. He took down
some books and began to turn their leaves.
Elias did the same, if not so excitedly, yet with equal
eagerness. But suddenly he paused, his eyes bulged, he
turned the paper in his hand over and over, then asked
in a trembling voice:
“Was your family acquainted with Don Pedro
Eibarramendia?”
“I should say so!” answered Ibarra, as he opened a
chest and took out a bundle of papers. “He was my
great-grandfather.”
“Your great-grandfather Don Pedro Eibarramendia?”
again asked Elias with changed and livid features.
“Yes,” replied Ibarra absently, “we shortened the
surname; it was too long.”
“Was he a Basque?” demanded Elias, approaching him.
“Yes, a Basque–but what’s the matter?” asked Ibarra in
surprise.
Clenching his fists and pressing them to his forehead,
Elias glared at Crisostomo, who recoiled when he saw
the expression on the other’s face. “Do you know who
Don Pedro Eibarramendia was?” he asked between his
teeth. “Don Pedro Eibarramendia was the villain who
falsely accused my grandfather and caused all our
misfortunes. I have sought for that name and God has
revealed it to me! Render me now an accounting for our
misfortunes!”
Elias caught and shook the arm of Crisostomo, who
gazed at him in terror. In a voice that was bitter and
trembling with hate, he said, “Look at me well, look at
one who has suffered and you live, you live, you have
wealth, a home, reputation–you live, you live!”

Beside himself, he ran to a small collection of arms and

snatched up a dagger. But scarcely had he done so
when he let it fall again and stared like a madman at the
motionless Ibarra.

“What was I about to do?” he muttered, fleeing from the

house.