Part 2 (1/2)
CHAPTER II
AT THE DINNER TABLE.
Father Sibyla wore a satisfied air. He moved along tranquilly, and his closed, thin lips showed no signs of disdain. On the other hand, the Franciscan was in a very bad humor. As he walked toward the table, he kicked over the chairs which happened to be in his way and boxed the ears of one of the cadets. The lieutenant was very solemn and grave.
The two friars instinctively started for the head of the table, perhaps by force of habit, and, as might have been expected, they met on opposite sides of the same chair. Then, with ponderous courtesy, each entreated the other to sit down, giving in turn his reasons why the other should take precedence. Every one at the table understood how both really felt in the matter, and all knew well that the one who did not take the coveted seat would grumble discontentedly for the remainder of the evening. The farce proceeded something like this:
”You take it, Brother Damaso! It is for you!”
”No, you take it, Brother Sibyla!”
”You are an old friend of the family, the confessor of its deepest mysteries; your age, your dignity, your----”
”No, that is all right as far as age goes, but, on the other hand you are the priest of this suburb,” answered Father Damaso in an insincere tone, without, however, leaving the chair.
”As you order it, I obey,” concluded Father Sibyla, making ready to sit down.
”But I do not order it,” protested the Franciscan, ”I do not order it.”
Father Sibyla was about to take the seat without any further regard to the protests of his brother, when his eyes chanced to meet those of the lieutenant. According to the religious customs in the Philippines, the highest military officer is inferior to even a convent cook. ”Cedent arma togae,” said Cicero in the Senate. ”Cedent arma cottae,” say the friars in the Philippines. Father Sibyla, however, was a person of some culture and refinement, and, as soon as he noticed the expression on the lieutenant's face, said: ”Here! We are now out in the world, and not in the Church. This seat belongs to you, lieutenant!” But, to judge from the tone of his voice, he thought that, although he was out in the world and not in the Church, the seat nevertheless belonged to him. The lieutenant, either to save himself trouble or in order to avoid sitting between two friars, declined the honor in a very few words.
Neither of the disputants had thought of the owner of the house. Ibarra saw him looking upon the scene and smiling with satisfaction.
”How is this, Don Santiago! Aren't you going to sit down with us?”
But all of the seats were already occupied, and Lucullus did not dine in the house of Lucullus.
”Sit still! Don't get up!” said Captain Tiago, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder. ”The fact is that this feast is given in honor of the Virgin on account of your safe arrival. Here! Bring on the tinola! I ordered some tinola made expressly for you, for I feel quite certain that you have not had any since you left the Philippines a long while ago.”
A large dish was brought in, still steaming and filled to the brim with tinola. The Dominican, after murmuring the Benedicite (to which only a few of those present could give the response), began to serve the contents of the dish. Either from carelessness or for some other reason, he pa.s.sed to Father Damaso a plate filled with the soup and stew, but containing only two small pieces of chicken, a bony neck and a tough wing. Meanwhile the others, especially Ibarra, were eating all sorts of choice bits. The Franciscan, of course, noticed this, mussed over the stew, took a mouthful of the soup, dropped his spoon with a clatter into his plate, and pushed the dish to one side. While this was going on, the Dominican appeared to be absorbed in conversation with the young blonde. Senor Laruja had also begun to converse with Ibarra.
”How long has it been since you were last in this country?” said he.
”About seven years,” responded Ibarra.
”You must have forgotten all about it.”
”On the contrary, although my country seems to have forgotten me, I have always kept her in mind.”
”What do you mean?” interposed the blonde.
”I mean that for over a year I have not received any news from here, so that now I feel like a total stranger. I do not yet know how or when my father died.”
”Ah!” exclaimed the lieutenant.
”Where have you been that you did not telegraph?” asked one of the ladies. ”When I was married, we telegraphed to the Peninsula.”