Two weeks after his arrival in Simití Josè conducted his first
services in the ancient church. After four years of silence, the rusty
bell sent out its raucous call from the old tower that still morning
and announced the revival of public worship.
As the priest stepped from the sacristy and approached the altar his
heart experienced a sudden sinking. Before him his little flock bowed
reverently and expectantly. Looking out at them, a lump rose in his
throat. He was their pastor, and daily his love had grown for these
kindly, simple folk. And now, what would he not have given could he
have stretched forth his hands, as did the Master, to heal them of
their ills and lift them out of the shadows of ignorance! Ah, if he
could have thrown aside the mummery and pagan ceremonialism which he
was there to conduct, and have sat down among them, as Jesus was wont
to do on those still mornings in Galilee! Instead, he stood before
them an apostate vassal of Rome, hypocritically using the Church to
shield and maintain himself in Simití while he reared away from her
the child Carmen.
Yet, what could he do? He had heard the call; and he had answered,
"Master, here am I." And now he was occupying, while waiting to be
led, step by step, out of his cruelly anomalous position and into his
rightful domain. A traitor to Holy Church? Nay, he thought he would
have been a traitor to all that was best and holiest within himself
had he done otherwise. In the name of the Church he would serve these
humble people. Serving them, he honored the Master. And honoring
Christ, he could not dishonor the Church.
Josè's conduct of the Mass was perfunctory. Vainly he strove to hold
in thought the symbolism of the service, the offering of Christ as a
propitiation for the world's sins. But gradually the folly of Milton's
extravagant, wild dream, which the poet clothed in such imperishable
beauty, stole over him and blinded this vision. He saw the Holy
Trinity sitting in solemn council in the courts of heaven. He heard
their perplexed discussion of the ravages of Satan in the terrestrial
paradise below. He heard the Father pronounce His awful curse upon
mankind. And he beheld the Son rise and with celestial magnanimity
offer himself as the sacrificial lamb, whose blood should wash away
the serpent-stain of sin. How inept the whole drama!
And then he thought of Carmen. He had seen her, as he looked out over
his people, sitting with Doña Maria, arrayed in a clean white frock,
and swinging her plump bare legs beneath the bench, while wonder and
amazement peered out from her big brown eyes as she followed his every
move. What would such things mean to her, whose God was ever-present
good? What did they mean to the priest himself, who was beginning to
see Him as infinite, divine mind, knowing no evil--the One whose
thoughts are not as ours?
He took up the holy water and sprinkled the assemblage. "Purge me with
hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than
snow." But how is the human mind purged of error? By giving it truth.
And does the infinite mind purge the thought of men in any other way?
His mind was full as he took up the Missal. "_Kyrie Eleison_, _Christe
Eleison_."
He hesitated. With a tug he pulled his mind back to the work before
him. But why was he invoking clemency from One who knows no evil?
Heretofore he had always thought that God knew evil, that He must
recognize it, and that He strove Himself to overcome it. But if God
knew evil, then evil were real and eternal! Dreamily he began to
intone the _Gloria in Excelsis Deo_. All hail, thou infinite mind,
whose measureless depths mortal man has not even begun to sound! His
soul could echo that strain forever.
He turned to the Lesson and read: "But there went up a mist from the
earth, and watered the whole face of the ground. And the Lord God
formed man of the dust of the ground." He stopped a moment for
thought. The _Lord_ God! The mist of error watered the false
thought--the one lie about God--and out of it formed the man of flesh,
the false concept which is held in the minds of mortals. Aye, it was
the lie, posing as the Lord of creation, which had formed its false
man out of the dust of the ground, and had forced it upon the
acceptance of mankind! Josè turned back and read the whole of the
first chapter of Genesis, where he felt that he stood upon truth.
The tapers on the altar flickered fitfully. The disturbed bats
blundered among the rafters overhead. Outside, the dusty roads burned
with a white glare. Within, he and the people were worshiping God.
Worship? This? "God is a spirit, and they that worship Him must
worship Him in spirit and in truth." In _Truth_!
Josè recited the Nicene creed, with the thought that its man-made
fetters had bound the Christian world for dreary centuries. Then, the
Preface and Canon concluded, he pronounced the solemn words of
consecration which turned the bread and wine before him into the flesh
and blood of Christ Jesus. He looked at the wafer and the chalice long
and earnestly. He--Josè de Rincón--mortal, human, a weakling among
weaklings--could he command God by his "_Hoc est enim corpus meum_" to
descend from heaven to this altar? Could he so invoke the power of the
Christ as to change bread and wine into actual flesh and blood? And
yet, with all the priestly powers which Holy Church had conferred upon
him, he could not heal a single bodily ill, nor avert one human
misfortune!
Ah, pagan Rome! Well have you avenged yourself upon those who wrought
your fall, for in the death conflict you left the taint of your
paganism upon them, and it endures in their sons even to this fair
day!
Josè deferred his sermon until the close of the service. He wanted
time to think over again what he could say to these simple people.
They sat before him, dull, inert, yet impressionable--bare of feet, or
wearing hempen sandals, and clad in cheap cottons and calicos, with
here and there a flash of bright ribbon among the women, and
occasionally a parasol of brilliant hue, which the owner fondly
clasped, while impatiently awaiting the close of the service that she
might proudly parade it. A few of the men wore starched linen shirts,
but without collars. The Alcalde, with his numerous family, and the
family of Don Felipe Alcozer, sat well in front. The former regarded
Josè expectantly, as the priest turned to deliver his simple sermon.
"My children," Josè began, "when the good man whom we call the Saviour
sent his disciples out into the world he told them to preach the
gospel and heal the sick. We have no record that he asked them to do
more, for that included his whole mission. I am here to do his work.
And, as I believe myself to have been led to you, so I shall preach
what I believe to be given me by the great Father of us all. I shall
teach you the Christ as I comprehend him. I would I could heal the
sick as well. But the gift of healing which Jesus bestowed has been
lost to mankind." He paused and seemed to think deeply. Then he
continued:
"I am your servant, and your friend. I want you to believe that
whatever I do in your midst and whatever I say to you follows only
after I have prayerfully considered your welfare. As time has passed I
have seemed to see things in a clearer light than before. What I may
see in the future I shall point out to you as you are able to
understand me. To that end we must suffer many things to be as they
are for the present, for I am learning with you. I shall give you a
single thought to take with you to-day. Jesus once said, 'As a man
thinketh, so is he.' I want you to remember that, if you would be well
and happy and prosperous, you must think only about good things. Some
day you will see why this is so. But go back now to your _fincas_ and
your fishing, to your little stores and your humble homes, firmly
resolving never to think a bad thought, whether about yourself or your
neighbor. And pray for yourselves and me--"
He looked off into the gloom overhead. Again he seemed to hear the Man
of Galilee: "Ask and ye shall receive."
"And, my children--"
He thought suddenly of Carmen and her visits to the shales. His face
shone for a moment with a new light.
"--let your prayers be no mere requests that God will bless us, but
rather let them be statements that He is infinite good, and that He
cannot do otherwise than give us all we need. No, I ask not that you
intercede for me; nor shall I do so for you. But I do ask that you
join with me in trying to realize that God is good; that He loves us
as His dear children; and that He is daily, hourly pouring out His
inexhaustible goodness upon us. We shall all see that goodness when we
learn to think no evil."
His eyes rested upon Carmen as he spoke these last words. Then with a
simple invocation he dismissed the congregation.
The Alcalde carried Josè off to dinner with him, much against the
inclination of the priest, who preferred to be alone. But the Alcalde
was the chief influence in the town, and it was policy to cultivate
him.
"The blessed Virgin shows that she has not forgotten Simití, Padre, by
sending you here," said Don Mario, when they were seated in the shade
of the ample _patio_.
Josè knew the Alcalde was sounding him. "Yes, friend," with just a
trace of amusement in his voice. "It was doubtless because of the
Virgin that I was directed here," he replied, thinking of Carmen.
"Excellent advice that you gave the people, Padre; but it is not
likely they understood you, poor fools! Now if Padre Diego had been
preaching he would have ranted like a windstorm; but he would have
made an impression. I am afraid soft words will not sink into their
thick skulls."
Dinner was served in the open, during which the Alcalde chattered
volubly.
"Don Rosendo returns soon?" he finally ventured. Josè knew that for
some time he had been edging toward the question.
"_Quien sabe, señor!_" replied the priest, with a careless shrug of
his shoulders.
"But--_Caramba_! he is old to prospect for gold--and alone, too!" Don
Mario eyed Josè sharply.
"Ah, you priests!" he burst out laughing. "You are all alike when it
comes to money. Padre Diego was up to the same schemes; and before he
left he had a hat full of titles to mines."
"But I am not seeking to acquire mineral property!" exclaimed Josè
with some aspersion.
"No? Then you had nothing to do with Rosendo's trip?"
Josè kept silence.
"_Na_, Padre, let us be confidential," said the Alcalde, hitching his
chair closer to the priest. "Look, I understand why Rosendo went into
the Guamocó country--but you can trust me to say nothing about it.
Only, Padre, if he should find the mine he will have trouble enough
to hold it. But I can help you both. You know the denouncement
papers must go through my hands, and I send them to Cartagena for
registration."
He sat back in his chair with a knowing look.
"There is only one man here to be afraid of," he resumed; "and that is
Don Felipe Alcozer; although he may never return to Simití." He
reflected a few moments. Then:
"Now, Padre, let us have some understanding about interests in the
mine, should Rosendo find it. The mine will be useless to us unless we
work it, for there is no one to buy it from us. To work it, we must
have a stamp-mill, or _arrastras_. The Antioquanians are skilled in
the making of wooden stamp-mills; but one would cost perhaps two
thousand _pesos oro_. Nobody here can furnish so much money but Don
Felipe. I will arrange with him for a suitable interest. And I will
fix all the papers so that the title will be held by us three. Rosendo
is only a _peon_. You can pay him for his trouble, and he need not
have an interest."
Josè breathed easier while this recital was in progress. So Don Mario
believed Rosendo to have gone in search of the lost mine, La Libertad!
Good; for Cartagena would soon get the report, and his own tenure of
the parish would be rendered doubly sure thereby. The monthly greasing
of Wenceslas' palm with what Rosendo might extract from the Guamocó
sands, coupled with the belief that Josè was maintaining a man in the
field in search of Don Ignacio's lost mine, rendered Cartagena's
interference a very remote contingency. He almost laughed as he
replied:
"Rosendo will doubtless prospect for some months, Don Mario, and I am
sure we shall have plenty of time to discuss any arrangement of
interests later, should occasion arise. But this is the Sabbath day.
So let us not talk business any further."
When the afternoon heat began to wane, Josè left the Alcalde and
returned to his cottage. Since the service of the morning he had been
fighting a constantly deepening sense of depression. An awful
loneliness now gripped his heart, and dank gloom was again sweeping
through the corridors of his soul. God, what a sacrifice, to remain
buried in that dismal town! His continuance in the priesthood of an
abjured faith was violative of every principle of honesty! The time
would come when the mask of hypocrisy would have to be raised, and the
resultant exposure would be worse then than open apostasy now!
He entered his dreary little abode and threw himself upon a chair.
There had been no reaction like this for days. He looked out into the
deserted street. Mud hovels; ragged, thatched roofs; lowly _peones_
drowsing away life's little hour within! There was scarcely a book in
the town. Few of its inhabitants could even read or write. Culture,
education, refinement--all wanting. Nothing but primal existence--the
barest necessities of real life. He could not stand it! He had been a
fool all his years! He would throw everything to the winds and go out
into the world to live his life as it had been intended he should live
it. He would send his resignation to the Bishop to-morrow. Then he
would hire Juan to take him to Bodega Central; and the few _pesos_ he
had left would get him to Barranquilla. There he would work until he
had earned enough for his passage to the great States up north, of
which the explorer had told such wonderful tales. Once there, he could
teach, or--
His thought turned to Rosendo. He saw him, bent with age, and wearied
with toil, alone in the awful solitude of the jungle, standing knee
deep in the cold mountain water, while from early dawn till sunset he
incessantly swung the heavy _batea_ to concentrate the few flakes of
precious gold it might contain. And the old man was facing years of
just such loneliness and heavy toil--facing them gladly.
He thought of Carmen. Was she worth such sacrifice as he and Rosendo
were making? God forgive him! Yes--a thousand times yes! If he
betrayed Rosendo's confidence and fled like a coward now, leaving her
to fall into the sooty hands of men like Padre Diego, to be crushed,
warped, and squeezed into the molds of Holy Church, could he ever
again face his fellow-men?
He jumped to his feet. "Get thee behind me, Satan!" he cried in a
voice that echoed through the barren rooms. He smote his chest and
paced the floor. Then he stopped still. He heard Carmen's voice again.
It was the same simple melody she had sung the day he awoke from his
fever. He stood listening. His eyes filled. Then--
"Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with
might,
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of
sight."