"But--what say you? Shall we visit the church, which is only across the road? There we can talk without interruption. No one will be in the streets during the heat. And I will carry you over."
"Let us go to the church, yes; but I can walk. It is only a step."
Jose leaned upon Rosendo, the latter supporting him with his great arm, and together they crossed the road and mounted the shale platform on which stood the ancient edifice. Rosendo produced a huge key of antique pattern; and the rusty lock, after much resistance, yielded with a groan, and the heavy door creaked open, emitting an odor of dampness and must. Doffing their hats, the men entered the long, barn-like room. Rosendo carefully closed and locked the door behind them, a precaution necessary in a drowsing town of this nature, where the simple folk who see day after day pa.s.s without concern or event to break the deadening monotony, a.s.semble in eager, buzzing mult.i.tudes at the slightest prospect of extraordinary interest.
The room was dimly lighted, and was open to the peak of the roof. From the rough-hewn rafters above hung hundreds of hideous bats. At the far end stood the altar. It was adorned with decrepit images, and held a large wooden statue of the Virgin. This latter object was veiled with two flimsy curtains, which were designed to be raised and lowered with great pomp and the ringing of a little bell during service. The image was attired in real clothes, covered with tawdry finery, gilt paper, and faded ribbons. The head bore a wig of hair; and the face was painted, although great sections of the paint had fallen, away, leaving the suggestion of pockmarks. Beneath this image was located the _sagrario_, the little cupboard in which the _hostia_, the sacred wafer, was wont to be kept exposed in the _custodia_, a cheap receptacle composed of two watch crystals. At either side of this stood half consumed wax tapers. A few rough benches were strewn about the floor; and dust and green mold lay thick over all.
At the far right-hand corner of the building a lean-to had been erected to serve as the _sacristia_, or vestry. In the worm-eaten wardrobe within hung a few vestments, adorned with cheap finery, and heavily laden with dust, over which scampered vermin of many varieties. An air of desolation and abandon hung over the whole church, and to Jose seemed to symbolize the decay of a sterile faith.
Rosendo carefully dusted off a bench near one of the windows and bade Jose be seated.
"_Padre_," he began, after some moments of deep reflection, "the little Carmen is not an ordinary child."
"I have seen that, Rosendo," interposed Jose.
"We--we do not understand her," Rosendo went on, carefully weighing his words; "and we sometimes think she is not--not altogether like us--that her coming was a miracle. But you do not believe in miracles," he added quizzically.
"Why do you say that, Rosendo?" Jose returned in surprise.
Rosendo paused before replying.
"You were very sick, Padre; and in the fever you--" the impeccably honest fellow hesitated.
"Yes, I thought so," said Jose with an air of weary resignation. "And what else did I say, Rosendo?"
The faultless courtesy of the artless Rosendo, a courtesy so genuine that Jose knew it came right from the heart, made conversation on this topic a matter of extreme difficulty to him.
"Do not be uneasy, Padre," he said rea.s.suringly. "I alone heard you.
Whenever you began to talk I would not let others listen; and I stayed with you every day and night. But--it is just because of what you said in the _calentura_ that I am speaking to you now of the little Carmen."
Because of what he had said in his delirium! Jose"s astonishment grew apace.
"Padre, many bad priests have been sent to Simiti. It has been our curse. Priests who stirred up revolution elsewhere, who committed murder, and ruined the lives of fair women, have been put upon us. And when in Badillo I learned that you had been sent to our parish, I was filled with fear. I--I lost a daughter, Padre--"
The good man hesitated again. Then, as a look of stern resolution spread over his strong, dark face, he continued:
"It was Padre Diego! We drove him out of Simiti four years ago. But my daughter, my only child, went with him." The great frame shook with emotion, while he hurried on disconnectedly.
"Padre, the priest Diego said that the little Carmen should become a Sister--a nun--that she must be sent to the convent in Mompox--that she belonged to the Church, and the Church would some day have her.
But, by the Holy Virgin, the Church shall _not_ have her! And I myself will slay her before this altar rather than let such as Padre Diego lay their slimy paws upon the angel child!"
Rosendo leaped to his feet and began to pace the floor with great strides. The marvelous frame of the man, in which beat a heart too big for the sordid pa.s.sions of the flesh, trembled as he walked. Jose watched him in mute admiration, mingled with astonishment and a heightened sense of expectancy. Presently Rosendo returned and seated himself again beside the priest.
"Padre, I have lived in terror ever since Diego left Simiti. For myself I do not fear, for if ever I meet with the wretch I shall wring his neck with my naked hands! But--for the little Carmen--_Dios!_ they might steal her at any time! There are men here who would do it for a few _pesos_! And how could I prevent it? I pray daily to the Virgin to protect her. She--she is the light of my life. I watch over her hourly. I neglect my _hacienda_, that I may guard her--and I am a poor man, and cannot afford not to work."
The man buried his face in his huge hands and groaned aloud. Jose remained pityingly silent, knowing that Rosendo"s heaving heart must empty itself.
"Padre," Rosendo at length raised his head. His features were drawn, but his eyes glowed fiercely. "Priests have committed dark deeds here, and this altar has dripped with blood. When a child, with my own eyes I saw a priest elevate the Host before this altar, as the people knelt in adoration. While their heads were bowed I saw him drive a knife into the neck of a man who was his enemy; and the blood spurted over the image of the Virgin and fell upon the Sacred Host itself! And what did the wicked priest say in defense? Simply that he took this time to a.s.sa.s.sinate his man because then the victim could die adoring the Host and under the most favorable circ.u.mstances for salvation!
_Hombre!_ And did the priest pay the penalty for his crime? No! The Bishop of Cartagena transferred him to another parish, and told him to do better in future!"
Jose started in horror. But Rosendo did not stop.
"And I remember the story my father used to tell of the priest who poisoned a whole family in Simiti with the communion wafer. Their estates had been willed to the Church, and he was impatient to have the management of them. Again nothing was done about it."
"But, Rosendo, if Simiti has been so afflicted by bad priests, why are you confiding in me?" Jose asked in wonder.
"Because, Padre," Rosendo replied, "in the fever you said many things that made me think you were not a bad man. I did suspect you at first--but not after I heard you talk in your sleep. You, too, have suffered. And the Church has caused it. No, not G.o.d; but the men who say they know what He thinks and says. They make us all suffer. And after I heard you tell those things in your fever-sleep, I said to Maria that if you lived I knew you would help me protect the little Carmen. Then, too, you are a--" He lapsed abruptly into silence.
Jose pressed Rosendo"s hand. "Tell me about her. You have said she is not your daughter. I ask only because of sincere affection for you all, and because the child has aroused in me an unwonted interest."
Rosendo looked steadily into the eyes of the priest for some moments.
Jose as steadily returned the glance. From the eyes of the one there emanated a soul-searching scrutiny; from those of the other an answering bid for confidence. The bid was accepted.
"Padre," began Rosendo, "I place trust in you. Something makes me believe that you are not like other priests I have known. And I have seen that you already love the little Carmen. No, she is not my child.
One day, about eight years ago, a steamer on its way down the river touched at Badillo to put off a young woman, who was so sick that the captain feared she would die on board. He knew nothing of her, except that she had embarked at Honda and was bound for Barranquilla. He hoped that by leaving her in the care of the good people of Badillo something might be done. The boat went its way; and the next morning the woman died, shortly after her babe was born. They buried her back of the village, and Escolastico"s woman took the child. They tried to learn the history of the mother; but, though the captain of the boat made many inquiries, he could only find that she had come from Bogota the day before the boat left Honda, and that she was then very sick.
Some weeks afterward Escolastico happened to come to Simiti, and told me the story. He complained that his family was already large, and that his woman found the care of the babe a burden. I love children, Padre, and it seemed to me that I could find a place for the little one, and I told him I would fetch her. And so a few days later I brought her to Simiti. But before leaving Badillo I fixed a wooden cross over the mother"s grave and wrote on it in pencil the name "_Dolores_," for that was the name in the little gold locket which we found in her valise. There were some clothes, better than the average, and the locket. In the locket were two small pictures, one of a young man, with the name "_Guillermo_" written beneath it, and one of the woman, with "_Dolores_" under it. That was all. Captain Julio took the locket to Honda when he made inquiries there; but brought it back again, saying that n.o.body recognized the faces. I named the babe Carmen, and have brought her up as my own child. She--Padre, I adore her!"
Jose listened in breathless silence.
"But we sometimes think," said Rosendo, resuming his dramatic narrative, "that it was all a miracle, perhaps a dream; that it was the angels who left the babe on the river bank, for she herself is not of the earth."
"Tell me, Rosendo, just what you mean," said Jose reverently, laying his hand gently upon the older man"s arm.
Rosendo shook his head slowly. "Talk with her, Padre, and you will see. I cannot explain. Only, she is not like us. She is like--"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"--she is like--G.o.d. And she knows Him better than she knows me."
Jose"s head slowly sank upon his breast. The gloom within the musty church was thick; and the bats stirred restlessly among the dusty rafters overhead. Outside, the relentless heat poured down upon the deserted streets.
"Padre," Rosendo resumed. "In the _calentura_ you talked of wonderful things. You spoke of kings and popes and foreign lands, of beautiful cities and great marvels of which we know nothing. It was wonderful!
And you recited beautiful poems--but often in other tongues than ours.
Padre, you must be very learned. I listened, and was astonished, for we are so ignorant here in Simiti, oh, so ignorant! We have no schools, and our poor little children grow up to be only _peones_ and fishermen. But--the little Carmen--ah, she has a mind! Padre--"
Again he lapsed into silence, as if fearful to ask the boon.
"Yes, Rosendo, yes," Jose eagerly rea.s.sured him. "Go on."
Rosendo turned full upon the priest and spoke rapidly. "Padre, will you teach the little Carmen what you know? Will you make her a strong, learned woman, and fit her to do big things in the world--and then--then--"
"Yes, Rosendo?"
"--then get her away from Simiti? She does not belong here, Padre.
And--?" his voice sank to a hoa.r.s.e whisper--"will you help me keep her from the Church?"
Jose sat staring at the man with dilating eyes.
"Padre, she has her own Church. It is her heart."