EL FILIBUSTERISMO

III. LEGENDS.

CHAPTER III

LEGENDS

Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin!

When Padre Florentino joined the group above, the bad humor provoked by

the previous discussion had entirely disappeared. Perhaps their spirits

had been raised by the attractive houses of the town of Pasig, or the

glasses of sherry they had drunk in preparation for the coming meal, or

the prospect of a good breakfast. Whatever the cause, the fact was that

they were all laughing and joking, even including the lean Franciscan,

although he made little noise and his smiles looked like death-grins.

"Evil times, evil times!" said Padre Sibyla with a laugh.

"Get out, don't say that, Vice-Rector!" responded the Canon Irene,

giving the other's chair a shove. "In Hongkong you're doing a fine

business, putting up every building that--ha, ha!"

"Tut, tut!" was the reply; "you don't see our expenses, and the

tenants on our estates are beginning to complain--"

"Here, enough of complaints, _puñales,_ else I'll fall to

weeping!" cried Padre Camorra gleefully. "We're not complaining,

and we haven't either estates or banking-houses. You know that my

Indians are beginning to haggle over the fees and to flash schedules on

me! Just look how they cite schedules to me now, and none other than

those of the Archbishop Basilio Sancho, [10] as if from his time up

to now prices had not risen. Ha, ha, ha! Why should a baptism cost

less than a chicken? But I play the deaf man, collect what I can,

and never complain. We're not avaricious, are we, Padre Salvi?"

At that moment Simoun's head appeared above the hatchway.

"Well, where've you been keeping yourself?" Don Custodio called to

him, having forgotten all about their dispute. "You're missing the

prettiest part of the trip!"

"Pshaw!" retorted Simoun, as he ascended, "I've seen so many rivers

and landscapes that I'm only interested in those that call up legends."

"As for legends, the Pasig has a few," observed the captain, who did

not relish any depreciation of the river where he navigated and earned

his livelihood. "Here you have that of _Malapad-na-bato,_ a rock sacred

before the coming of the Spaniards as the abode of spirits. Afterwards,

when the superstition had been dissipated and the rock profaned, it was

converted into a nest of tulisanes, since from its crest they easily

captured the luckless bankas, which had to contend against both the

currents and men. Later, in our time, in spite of human interference,