Never an Empire Page 8

  ‘What? Why should I sleep there?’

  ‘Because I don’t want Father Enrique disturbed. I don’t want anyone coming to him in the night, that’s why.’

  ‘Why would anyone come?’

  ‘I don’t think they will but I want to be sure.’ Maria stood up and looked down at him. ‘If you want me to speak to the head man you will do as I say and sleep by the door.’

  Reluctantly the sacristan got up, collected his sleeping mat, and took it to the door. He turned: it would be cold and uncomfortable outside and there was always the possibility of sudden rain, but Maria had her back to him and was already busy unrolling her own sleeping mat. The sacristan gave up. It was only for one night and she was a strong-willed woman. Better cold and uncomfortable or even wet for one night than a small payment. He went outside, unrolled his mat, and lay down across the doorway, pulling his thin blanket over himself. From somewhere drifted the sound of drunken laughter.

  ‘I’m glad at least somebody’s happy and comfortable.’

  But he spoke quietly so his words wouldn’t pass the door and soon, despite the cold, he was asleep.

  As it happened, his night in the open was not necessary. No one came to disturb Father Enrique.

  Chapter Eleven

  As in every village life began with the dawn. Lamps and oil were expensive, a luxury, something for those who could afford them like the head man whose hut the priest had been given. For the rest daylight meant rising to begin a working day which went on until the setting sun signalled its end.

  The sun slowly climbed into the sky while the whole village busied itself preparing for another important day. Morning Mass would be said in the centre of the village, the altar had to be erected and the canopy to shade the priest built over it. Then, after Mass and a hasty breakfast, all those being baptised had to be made ready. It was a great pity that no more time had been given to prepare, with only three days’ notice of the priest’s arrival little or nothing could be done. And it was worse for the women who would be married in the afternoon. It was bad enough that their husbands could not be present, but to marry without a proper dress or even some sort of dress that was not an everyday thing, tears of frustration in plenty were shed and women from sixteen to almost sixty did their best.

  Everyone did their best, of course, and everyone helped everyone else but, well, it was a pity the priest had not given them more time. A woman didn’t get married every day, did she? Then, as if there wasn’t enough to do, there was the food for the celebrations in the evening.

  ‘What we need is a miracle,’ said a young woman sitting among a crowd of women all furiously doing last-minute sewing.

  An older woman responded rather acidly.

  ‘If Father Enrique is the saint they say he is in San Juan maybe he could have brought a few loaves and fishes we’d have been spared a lot of trouble and hard work.’

  There was good-natured but subdued laughter. Today wasn’t a good day for blasphemy. It might bring bad luck. The young woman’s tone made her feelings clear.

  ‘Well I for one wouldn’t want to celebrate my baptism, my children’s baptism, and my wedding day on a bit of bread and a piece of fish, no matter how miraculous.’

  All the younger women laughed but the older women frowned at each other. The young didn’t have the proper respect these days. One of the older women tried to bring a little order and decorum to the gathering.

  ‘It is not a fitting subject for jokes or laughter. Father Enrique is a truly holy man.’

  But the young woman was not so easily put in her place.

  ‘Yes, and we’ll all know just how holy when we get the bill.’

  The old women gave up. It was a special day, a day of baptisms and weddings. On such a day one had to make allowances.

  While the preparations proceeded and the whole village worked, Father Enrique slept on. The travelling of the previous day and the long session of hearing Confessions had left him exhausted. Maria decided to let him sleep on as long as she could but used the time it afforded her well. She found the head man and explained that Father Enrique needed to sleep after yesterday’s exertions and had told her to deal with the matter of payment. He was, as she expected, extremely pleased that there had already been Confessions and an excellent sermon without so much as the mention of payment. He was even more pleased that he would be dealing with a woman to settle the money side of things. Maria pleased him even more by saying that Father Enrique left the amount he would receive entirely to the head man. However, Father Enrique had explained to her that she must make it clear that all that he did, Confessions, sermon, Mass, baptism, marriage, were all only as valid as the price paid for them. If nothing was paid they were valueless, if only a little paid their validity last no more than a short time, a week, a month, how long depended on the value the village placed on what Father Enrique had brought to them. If a great deal was paid what they received gained in value accordingly and if the best price was paid then the results would last a lifetime and beyond. Only the head man, Father Enrique had explained, knew how much the people of his village were worth and how much they were in need of salvation. How could he, as a priest of a town like San Juan Bautista, who knew nothing about the village or its people, put a price on what he brought? Before leaving, said Maria, Father Enrique would explain all of this to the people and tell them at what price their head man had valued them and their immortal souls.

  The head man, by this time almost shaking at what he had heard, begged her to name a price. With some sort of price named he might still be able to negotiate. But Maria refused.

  ‘Father Enrique was adamant. He is such a holy man, so bound up in the spiritual, he has no time for worldly things such as money; all of that he leaves in God’s hands.’ She paused to make sure the message went well home. ‘And God always provides, provides most graciously. I cannot think what might happen to anyone who might oppose God so directly as to take advantage of Father’s gentle and pious innocence.’

  He capitulated, of course. To pay anything less than a princely amount would be a disaster for him as head man and even worse for his immortal soul. You couldn’t fight against such innocence and piety, never mind negotiate. This priest’s visitation might save him and the whole village from hell and damnation but it looked set to ruin him financially. Maria, satisfied that her work was done, left the head man to decide the exact figure he thought would satisfy God and the figure Father Enrique would announce on his departure. As she set off back to the hut where Father Enrique slept she decided to make sure and get full payment well before they left and, with armed police to look after them, there was no need to worry that the head man might have second thoughts after they left and try to get his money back. She wouldn’t put it past him.

  At the hut the sacristan was sitting outside by a fire on which was a metal bowl filled with hot water.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘It is done.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Never mind how much. You’ll see soon enough. Is that water ready? It’s time for Father Enrique to get up.’

  The sacristan wondered for a second whether he should press her for a proper answer, looked at her standing over him and decided not. Instead he tested the water.

  ‘It’s ready.’

  ‘Good. Give it to me.’

  ‘It’s hot.’

  ‘Then use your blanket.’

  ‘It might get burned.’

  ‘Yes, it might, and I might forget to pay you.’

  Like the head man, the sacristan knew when to concede defeat. He took his blanket from his bedroll, used it to get the hot bowl off the fire and stood up then, accompanied by a whiff of singed material, handed the whole lot over to Maria who took it into the hut.

  Father Enrique was still fast asleep, gently snoring, when she went into his room and placed the bowl of hot water by his bed. She shook his shoulder.

  ‘Father, it is time to get up.’

  He rep
lied but his voice told her that although he spoke he was still asleep.

  ‘Carmen?’

  She shook him again, a little more roughly and raised her voice.

  ‘It’s Maria. Father, it’s time to get up.’

  Father Enrique turned onto his back and looked at her sleepily, seemed to become aware of something wrong, then looked round the room.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Where you were yesterday, in the village. It will be another long day and you must begin. Your hot water is by your bed.’

  And she left him.

  The hot water stood on the floor steaming with a rough towel beside it which Maria had picked up on the way through to wake him. His clothes lay where he had dropped them the night before.

  He sat up on the edge of the bed. Nothing had happened: she had not come. Then he remembered her face in the firelight and the laughter of the policeman and he was glad she hadn’t come. Now he knew what sort of woman she was he could remove her from his mind and his heart. Once back in San Juan he would make some excuse and go to Manila where he would find a fellow priest and confess his sin. Then he could return to his parish and all would be as it was before he ever set eyes on her. He stood up feeling better. Today he would be a priest and nothing but a priest. The madness which had possessed him for a while was gone and he was glad.

  Maria found the sacristan sitting at the table in the main room. He didn’t look happy; it had been uncomfortable on the floor by the door and he had not slept well, although he had not been disturbed. All of his discomfort he blamed on Maria. Who would come and disturb the priest at night when he had gone to bed? It was nonsense, stupid woman’s nonsense, and on top of all that he still didn’t know what he would get for all the trouble he had been put to helping the priest in this mad escapade.

  ‘Is he awake?’

  ‘He will be.’

  ‘They are waiting, they have been waiting since dawn and the sun is already well up.’

  ‘Let them wait; they are nothing. He is the priest, and without him they would have nothing to wait for. Go and tell them he is getting ready and will be with them soon.’

  The sacristan left and after a few minutes Father Enrique came in. Maria was getting his breakfast ready for after Mass. It was some sort of porridge.

  ‘This is poor stuff to give a priest, Father.’

  ‘They are poor people.’

  ‘No reason to set such food before a priest, especially one who has travelled so far to be with them.’

  ‘It is all they have. They have to live on that and worse.’

  ‘Pigs eat slops but that’s doesn’t mean the farmer should eat slops with them.’

  Father Enrique was in a good mood. A burden that the Devil had laid on him had been lifted. He didn’t like to find Maria so snappy.

  ‘Why are you in such a bad mood, Maria? The day has only just begun; how can anyone have upset you already?’

  ‘When I woke you, you called for Carmen.’

  He turned his eyes away from her and looked down at the porridge she was mixing. She was right; it didn’t look appetising.

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stopped mixing and looked at him. ‘Did you think she would come to you, here in her own village?’ He shrugged. Last night he had hoped, had wanted her to come. But this morning things were different. ‘You were a fool to come if you thought that.’

  He looked up at her.

  ‘But it was your idea. You said I should come. You said that if I came you would be able to help me.’

  ‘Yes, it was my idea. But my idea was for you to come as a priest, not sniffing around for a woman to take into your bed.’ She resumed her mixing. Father Enrique watched her for a moment. It was already thoroughly mixed, so why did she go on playing with it? ‘If you can be a priest, and nothing more than a priest, I will help you.’ He realised it was something for her to do, something to occupy her hands and her eyes while she spoke to him. She stopped and wiped her hands on a cloth. ‘Get ready and go. Go out there and be the priest they want. Baptise them, marry them, say Mass for them. Make them feel the Church has not abandoned them and while you do that I will see what can be done about Carmen.’

  Maria picked up the bowl of porridge mixture and went out. Father Enrique stood for a moment. Already he could feel desire seeping back into him. Maria would see what she could do about Carmen. He tried to tell himself that he wanted nothing done about her. He wanted her out of his life. He tried to bring back to the front of his mind the picture of her in the firelight, looking at him from beside the drunken policeman, but the only image that came was of her naked on his bed. He looked at the doorway. The smoke of the fire drifted across it in the sunlight. The day was well advanced. The people would be gathered patiently, waiting for him to say Mass, and all he could do was stand here thinking of her. He forced himself into some sort of action. Maria was right, whatever his private reasons for coming the people of the village wanted him only as a priest.

  He went to the doorway and stepped out into the morning sunlight and stopped. There, standing a little way from the door of the hut, was Carmen, looking straight at him. Beside her was a young man in a uniform, a soldier’s uniform. He was smiling and looking at Father Enrique. He came forward with Carmen at his side.

  ‘Good morning, Father, I am Lieutenant Ponce of General Sakay’s army. He turned to Carmen. ‘This is my wife, Carmen,’ his smile widened to a grin, ‘or at least she will be when you marry us. And this is our daughter, Maria Carmen.’ Father Enrique looked at the baby Carmen was holding. Suddenly the lieutenant stood to attention and saluted. ‘Welcome to our village, Father, it is a great honour.’ Then he relaxed again and the smile returned. ‘I suppose no one has mentioned money?’

  The question left Father Enrique looking puzzled and his confusion was real, though caused by this sudden and wholly unforeseen confrontation with Carmen, not as the beautiful young woman with whom he thought he was in love, but Carmen as a wife and a mother. He forced his eyes and his attention back to the lieutenant.

  ‘Money?’

  The smile widened once more.

  ‘They told me, Father, how very unworldly you are. I mean payment. You have travelled a long way, you are rendering us a great service. We must show our gratitude. We must pay.’

  ‘Pay?’

  The lieutenant laughed and turned to Carmen.

  ‘See, this is a real priest, not one who lives in comfort and feeds well while his people suffer. He comes all this way and doesn’t even think of payment.’

  Carmen looked at Father Enrique shyly.

  ‘He is indeed a very special man.’

  ‘A holy man.’ The Lieutenant turned back to Father Enrique. ‘You must be paid, Father, to take so much and give nothing in return would bring shame on the whole village.’

  Father Enrique felt he must say something, anything. He looked around and saw Maria standing silently by the fire on which the bowl of porridge was beginning to burn. He looked at the porridge.

  ‘Yes, I see, but it is a poor village.’

  The Lieutenant laughed again.

  ‘Good heavens, Father, you can’t refuse; besides the village isn’t paying. I am.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Well, not me personally but I carry the money. It is from General Sakay himself.’

  ‘General Sakay? But why should he pay me anything?’

  ‘Partly for what you have done here for the village and partly for what you have done for him.’

  ‘But I have done nothing for the general.’

  ‘Oh yes you have, Father, you have brought us two policemen who are now tied up and will soon go with me and my men back into the mountains. See.’

  The lieutenant pointed and Father Enrique looked. Standing in the shadow of a hut with four armed men around them were the policemen with their hands tied, looking very sorry for themselves.

  ‘You have captured the policemen?’

  ‘Yes, they are not
very good policemen, Father, instead of doing their job of protecting you they preferred to sit and drink. When we came this morning we didn’t even have to capture them, we only had to wake them up and believe me that was hard enough.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘The chief of police in San Juan has four of our men in his gaol waiting to be sent to Manila where they will be tried and hung. We will free his policemen if he frees our men. If our men go to Manila and die his policemen will die in exactly the same way.’

  ‘But that is dreadful.’

  ‘No, Father, that is war, and in this war everyone has to choose a side. The police have chosen the Americans. We have chosen freedom and independence and you have brought us the hostages we needed. Welcome to the revolution, Father; like it or not you have chosen a side.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Despite his rather grand uniform the chief of police of San Juan de Bautista couldn’t help but look a comfortable man. Middle aged, short and stout, with a handsome flowing moustache, he seemed like a favourite uncle who would smile easily, laugh willingly, and give generously at Christmas and birthdays. At the moment, however, he looked far from comfortable and showed no inclination whatsoever to laugh or even smile. He pulled agitatedly at his moustache as he stalked about his office.

  Father Enrique waited silently, sitting by the imposing desk, watching, listening, and doing his best to preserve an air of impartial detachment. He did not want to be part of what was happening and, as a priest, he should have no part. Quite how he had become embroiled in such an awful matter he still did not clearly understand.

  ‘I don’t understand why you had to go there in the first place.’ The chief stopped and shot a suspicious look at Father Enrique. ‘Did anyone suggest it to you, anyone at all? Think carefully.’