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“How far would we get, Padre? Have you money?”
No, Josè had nothing. He lapsed into silence-shrouded despair.
The sun dropped below the wooded hills, and Cantar-las-horas had sung his weird vesper song. Dusk was thickening into night, though upon the distantSierrasa mellow glow still illumined the frosted peaks. Moments crept slowly through the enveloping silence.
Then the mental gloom parted, and through it arose the great soul of the black-faced man sitting beside the despairing priest.
“Padre”––Rosendo spoke slowly and with deep emotion. Tears trickled down his swart cheeks––“I am no longer young. More than sixty years of hardship and heavy toil rest upon me. My parents––I have not told you this––were slaves. They worked in the mines of Guamocó, under hard masters. They lived in bamboo huts, and slept on the damp ground. At four each morning, year after year, they were driven from their hard beds and sent out to toil under the lash fourteen hours a day, washing gold from the streams. The gold went to the building of Cartagena’s walls, and to her Bishop, to buy idleness and luxury for him and his fat priests. When the war came it lasted thirteen years; but we drove the Christian Spaniards into the sea! Then my father and mother went back to Guamocó; and there I was born. When I was old enough to use abateaI, too, washed gold in the Tiguí, and in the little streams so numerous in that region. But they had been pretty well washed out under the Spaniards; and so my father came down here and made a littlehaciendaon the hills across the lake from Simití. Then he and my poor mother lay down and died, worn out with their long years of toil for their cruel masters.”
He brushed the tears from his eyes; then resumed: “The district of Guamocó gradually became deserted. Revolution after revolution broke out in this unhappy country, sometimes stirred up by the priests, sometimes by political agitators who tried to get control of the Government. The men and boys went to the wars, and were killed off. Guamocó was again swallowed up by the forest––”
He stopped abruptly, and sat some moments silent.
“I have been back there many times since, and often I have washed gold again along the beautiful Tiguí,” he continued. “But the awful loneliness of the jungle, and the memories of those gloomy days when I toiled there as a boy, and the thoughts of my poor parents’ sufferings under the Spaniards, made me so sad that I could not stay. And then I got too old for that54kind of work, standing bent over in the cold mountain water all day long, swinging abateaheavy with gravel.”
He paused again, and seemed to lose himself in the memory of those dark days.
“But there is still gold in the Tiguí. I can find it. It means hard work––but I can do it. Padre, I will go back there and wash out gold for you to send to the Bishop of Cartagena, that you may stay here and protect and teach the little Carmen. Perhaps in time I can wash enough to get you both out of the country; but it will take many months, it may be, years.”
O, you, whose path in life winds among pleasant places, where roses nod in the scented breeze and fountains play, picture to yourself, if you may, the self-immolation of this sweet-souled man, who, in the winter of life, the shadows of eternity fast gathering about him, bends his black shoulders again to the burden which Love would lay upon them. Aye, Love, into which all else merged––Love for the unknown babe, left helpless and alone on the great river’s bank––Love for the radiant child, whose white soul the agents of carnal greed and lust would prostitute to their iniquitous system.
Night fell. By the light of their single candle the priest and Rosendo ate their simple fare in silence. Carmen was asleep, and the angels watched over her lowly bed.
The meal ended, Rosendo took up the candle, and Josè followed him into the bedroom. Reverently the two men approached the sleeping child and looked down upon her. The priest’s hand again sought Rosendo’s in a grasp which sealed anew the pact between them.
CHAPTER 8
Like the great Exemplar in the days of his preparation, Josè was early driven by the spirit into the wilderness, where temptation smote him sore. But his soul had been saved––“yet so as by fire.” Slowly old beliefs and faiths crumbled into dust, while the new remained still unrevealed. The drift toward atheism which had set in during his long incarceration in the convent of Palazzola had not made him yield to the temptation to raise the mask of hypocrisy and plunge into the pleasures of the world, nor accept the specious proffer of ecclesiastical preferment in exchange for his honest convictions. Honor, however bigoted the sense, bound him to his oath, or at least to a compromising observance of it harmless to the Church. Pride contributed to hold him from the degradation55of a renegade and apostate priest. And both rested primarily on an unshaken basis of maternal affection, which fell little short of obsession, leaving him without the strength to say, “Woman, what have I to do with thee?”
But, though atheism in belief leads almost inevitably to disintegration of morals, Josè had kept himself untainted. For his vital problems he had now, after many days, found “grace sufficient.” In what he had regarded as the contemptible tricks of fate, he was beginning to discern the guiding hand of a wisdom greater than the world’s. The danger threatened by Cartagena was, temporarily, at least, averted by Rosendo’s magnificent spirit. Under the spur of that sacrifice his own courage rose mightily to second it.
Rosendo spent the day in preparation for his journey into the Guamocó country. He had discussed with Josè, long and earnestly, its probable effect upon the people of Simití, and especially upon Don Mario, the Alcalde; but it was decided that no further explanation should be made than that he was again going to prospect in the mineral districts already so familiar to him. As Rosendo had said, this venture, together with the unannounced and unsolicited presence of the priest in the town, could not but excite extreme curiosity and raise the most lively conjectures, which might, in time, reach Wenceslas. On the other hand, if success attended his efforts, it was more than probable that Cartagena would remain quiet, as long as her itching palm was brightened with the yellow metal which he hoped to wrest from the sands of Guamocó. “It is only a chance, Padre,” Rosendo said dubiously. “In the days of the Spaniards the river sands of Guamocó produced from two to tenrealesa day to each slave. But the rivers have been almost washed out.”
Josè made a quick mental calculation. A Spanishrealwas equivalent to half a franc. Then tenrealeswould amount to five francs, the very best he could hope for as a day’s yield.
“And my supplies and the support of the señora and Carmen must come out of that,” Rosendo added. “Besides, I must pay Juan for working thehaciendaacross the lake for me while I am away.”
Possibly tenpesos oro, or forty francs, might remain at the end of each month for them to send to Cartagena. Josè sighed heavily as he busied himself with the preparations.
“I got these supplies from Don Mario on credit, Padre,” explained Rosendo. “I thought best to buy from him to prevent making him angry. I have coffee,panela, rice, beans, and tobacco for a month. He was very willing to let me have them––but do you know why? He wants me to go up there and fail.56Then he will have me in his debt, and I become hispeon––and I would never be anything after that but his slave, for never again would he let me get out of debt to him.”
Josè shuddered at the thought of the awful system of peonage prevalent in these Latin countries, an inhuman custom only a degree removed from the slavery of colonial times. This venture was, without doubt, a desperate risk. But it was for Carmen––and its expediency could not be questioned.
Josè penned a letter to the Bishop of Cartagena that morning, and sent it by Juan to Bodega Central to await the next down-river steamer. He did not know that Juan carried another letter for the Bishop, and addressed in the flowing hand of the Alcalde. Josè briefly acknowledged the Bishop’s communication, and replied that he would labor unflaggingly to uplift his people and further their spiritual development. As to the Bishop’s instructions, he would endeavor to make Simití’s contribution to the support of Holy Church, both material and spiritual, fully commensurate with the population. He did not touch on the other instructions, but closed with fervent assurances of his intention to serve his little flock with an undivided heart. Carmen received no lesson that day, and her rapidly flowing questions anent the unusual activity in the household were met with the single explanation that her padre Rosendo had found it necessary to go up to the Tiguí river, a journey which some day she might perhaps take with him.
During the afternoon Josè wrote two more letters, one to his uncle, briefly announcing his appointment to the parish of Simití, and his already lively interest in his new field; the other to his beloved mother, in which he only hinted at the new-found hope which served as his pillow at night. He did not mention Carmen, for fear that his letter might be opened ere it left Cartagena. But in tenderest expressions of affection, and regret that he had been the unwitting cause of his mother’s sorrow, he begged her to believe that his life had received a stimulus which could not but result in great happiness for them both, for he was convinced that he had at last found hismétier, even though among a lowly people and in a sequestered part of the world. He hoped again to be reunited to her––possibly she might some day meet him in Cartagena. And until then he would always hold her in tenderest love and the brightest and purest thought.
He brushed aside the tears as he folded this letter; and, lest regret and self-condemnation seize him again, hurried forth in search of Carmen, whose radiance always dispelled his gloom as the rushing dawn shatters the night.
She was not in Rosendo’s house, and Doña Maria said she57had seen the child some time before going in the direction of the “shales.” These were broad beds of rock to the south of town, much broken and deeply fissured, and so glaringly hot during most of the day as to be impassable. Thither Josè bent his steps, and at length came upon the girl sitting in the shade of a stuntedalgarrobatree some distance from the usual trail.
“Well, what are you doing here, little one?” he inquired in surprise.
The child looked up visibly embarrassed. “I was thinking, Padre,” she made slow reply.
“But do you have to go away from home to think?” he queried.
“I wanted to be alone; and there was so much going on in the house that I came out here.”
“And what have you been thinking about, Carmen?” pursued Josè, suspecting that her presence in the hot shale beds held some deeper significance than she had as yet revealed.
“I––I was just thinking that God is everywhere,” she faltered.
“Yes,chiquita. And––?”
“That He is where padre Rosendo is going, and that He will take care of him up there, and bring him back to Simití again.”
“And were you asking Him to do it, little one?”
“No, Padre; I was justknowingthat He would.”
The little lip quivered, and the brown eyes were wet with tears. But Josè could see that faith had conquered, whatever the struggle might have been. The child evidently had sought solitude, that she might most forcibly bring her trust in God to bear upon the little problem confronting her––that she might make the certainty of His immanence and goodness destroy in her thought every dark suggestion of fear or doubt.
“God will take care of him, won’t He, Padre?”
Josè had taken her hand and was leading her back to the house.
“You have said it, child; and I believe you are a law unto yourself,” was the priest’s low, earnest reply. The child smiled up at him; and Josè knew he had spoken truth.
That evening, the preparations for departure completed, Rosendo and Josè took their chairs out before the house, where they sat late, each loath to separate lest some final word be left unsaid. The tepid evening melted into night, which died away in a deep silence that hung wraith-like over the old town. Myriad stars rained their shimmering lustre out of the unfathomable vault above.
“Un canasto de flores,” mused Rosendo, looking off into the infinite blue.
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“A basket of flowers, indeed,” responded Josè reverently.
“Padre––” Rosendo’s brain seemed to struggle with a tremendous thought––“I often try to think of what is beyond the stars; and I cannot. Where is the end?”
“There is none, Rosendo.”
“But, if we could get out to the last star––what then?”
“Still no end, no limit,” replied Josè.
“And they are very far away––how far, Padre?”
“You would not comprehend, even if I could tell you, Rosendo. But––how shall I say it? Some are millions of miles from us. Others so far that their light reaches us only after the lapse of centuries.”
“Their light!” returned Rosendo quizzically.
“Yes. Light from those stars above us travels nearly two hundred thousand miles a second––”
“Hombre!” ejaculated the uncomprehending Rosendo.
“And yet, even at that awful rate of speed, it is probable that there are many stars whose light has not yet reached the earth since it became inhabited by men.”
“Caramba!”
“You may well say so, friend.”
“But, Padre––does the light never stop? When does it reach an end––a stopping-place?”
“There is no stopping-place, Rosendo. There is no solid sky above us. Go whichever way you will, you can never reach an end.”
Rosendo’s brow knotted with puzzled wonder: Even Josè’s own mind staggered anew at its concept of the immeasurable depths of space.
“But, Padre, if we could go far enough up we would get to heaven, wouldn’t we?” pursued Rosendo. “And if we went far enough down we would reach purgatory, and then hell, is it not so?”
Restraint fell upon the priest. He dared not answer lest he reveal his own paucity of ideas regarding these things. Happily the loquacious Rosendo continued without waiting for reply.
“Padre Simón used to say when I was a child that the red we saw in the sky at sunset was the reflection of the flames of hell; so I have always thought that hell was below us––perhaps in the center of the earth.”
For a time his simple mind mused over this puerile idea. Then––
“What do you suppose God looks like, Padre?”
Josè’s thought flew back to the galleries and chapels of Europe, where the masters have so often portrayed their ideas of God in the shape of an old, gray-haired man, partly bald,59and with long, flowing beard. Alas! how pitifully crude, how lamentably impotent such childish concepts. For they saw in God only their own frailties infinitely magnified. Small wonder that they lived and died in spiritual gloom!
“Padre,” Rosendo went on, “if there is no limit to the universe, then it is––”
“Infinite in extent, Rosendo,” finished Josè.
“Then whoever made it is infinite, too,” Rosendo added hypothetically.
“An infinite effect implies an infinite cause––yes, certainly,” Josè answered.
“So, if God made the universe, He is infinite, is He not, Padre?”
“Yes.”
“Then He can’t be at all like us,” was the logical conclusion.
Josè was thinking hard. The universe stands as something created. And scientists agree that it is infinite in extent. Its creator therefore must be infinite in extent. And as the universe continues to exist, that which called it into being, and still maintains it, must likewise continue to exist. Hence, Godis.
“Padre, what holds the stars in place?” Rosendo’s questions were as persistent as a child’s.
“They are held in place by laws, Rosendo,” the priest replied evasively. But as he made answer he revolved in his own mind that the laws by which an infinite universe is created and maintained must themselves be infinite.
“And God made those laws?”
“Yes, Rosendo.”
But, the priest mused, a power great enough to frame infinite laws must be itself all-powerful. And if it has ever been all-powerful, it could never cease to be so, for there could be nothing to deprive it of its power. Omnipotence excludes everything else. Or, what is the same thing, is all-inclusive.
But laws originate, even as among human beings, in mind, for a law is a mental thing. So the infinite laws which bind the stars together, and by which the universe was designed and is still maintained, could have originated only in a mind, and that one infinite.
“Then God surely must know everything,” commented Rosendo, by way of simple and satisfying conclusion.
Certainly the creator of an infinite universe––a universe, moreover, which reveals intelligence and knowledge on the part of its cause––the originator of infinite laws, which reveal omnipotence in their maker––must have all knowledge, all wisdom, at his command. But, on the other hand, intelligence, knowledge, wisdom, are ever mental things. What could embrace60these things, and by them create an infinite universe, but an infinitemind?
Josè’s thought reverted to Cardinal Newman’s reference to God as “an initial principle.” Surely the history of the universe reveals the patent fact that, despite the mutations of time, despite growth, maturity, and decay, despite “the wreck of matter and the crash of worlds,”somethingendures. What is it––law? Yes, but more. Ideas? Still more. Mind? Yes, the mind which is theanima mundi, the principle, of all things.
“But if He is so great, Padre, and knows everything, I don’t see why He made the devil,” continued Rosendo; “for the devil fights against Him all the time.”
Ah, simple-hearted child of nature! A mind so pure as yours should give no heed to thoughts of Satan. And the man at your side is now too deeply buried in the channels which run below the superficiality of the world’s thought to hear your childish question. Wait. The cause of an infinite effect must itself be infinite. The framer of infinite laws must be an infinite mind. And an infinite mind must contain all knowledge, and have all power. But were it to contain any seeds or germs of decay, or any elements of discord––in a word, any evil––it must disintegrate. Then it would cease to be omnipotent. Verily, to be eternal and perfectit must be wholly good! “And so,” the priest mused aloud, “we call it God.”
But, he continued to reflect, when we accept the conclusion that the universe is the product of an infinite mind, we are driven to certain other inevitable conclusions, if we would be logical. The minds of men manifest themselves continually, and the manifestation is in mental processes and things. Mental activity results in the unfolding of ideas. Does the activity of an infinite mind differ in this respect? And, if not, can the universe be other than a mental thing? For, if an infinite mind created a universe, it must have done soby the unfolding of its own ideas! And, remaining infinite, filling all space, this mind must ever continue to contain those ideas. And the universe––the creation––is mental.
The burden of thought oppressed the priest, and he got up from his chair and paced back and forth before the house. But still his searching mind burrowed incessantly, as if it would unearth a living thing that had been buried since the beginning.
In order to fully express itself, an infinite mind would have to unfold an infinite number and variety of ideas. And this unfolding would go on forever, since an infinite number is never reached. This is “creation,” and it could never terminate.
“Rosendo,” said Josè, returning to his chair, “you have61asked what God looks like. I cannot say, for God must be mind, unlimited mind. He has all knowledge and wisdom, as well as all power. He is necessarily eternal––has always existed, and always will, for He is entirely perfect and harmonious, without the slightest trace or taint of discord or evil.”
“Then you think He does not look like us?” queried the simple Rosendo.
“Mind does not look like a human body, Rosendo. And an infinite cause can be infinite only by being mind, not body. Moreover, He is unchanging––for He could not change and remain eternal. Carmen insists that He is everywhere. To be always present He must be what the Bible says He is spirit. Or, what is the same thing, mind. Rosendo, He manifests Himself everywhere and in everything––there is no other conclusion admissible. And to be eternal He has got to beabsolutely good!”
“But, Padre,” persisted Rosendo, “who made the devil?”
“There is no devil!”
“But there is wickedness––”
“No!” interrupted Josè emphatically. “God is infinite good, and there can be no real evil.”
“But how do you know that, Padre?”
“I can’t say how I know it––it reasons out that way logically. I think I begin to see the light. Can you not see that for some reason Carmen doesn’t admit the existence of evil? And you know, and I know, that she is on the right track. I have followed the opposite path all my life; and it led right into the slough of despond. Now I have turned, and am trying to follow her. And do you put the thought of Satan out of your mentality and do likewise.”
“But, the Virgin Mary––she has power with God?” Rosendo’s primitive ideas were in a hopeless tangle.
“Good friend, forget the Virgin Mary,” said Josè gently, laying his hand on Rosendo’s arm.
“Forget her!Hombre!Why––she has all power––she works miracles every hour––she directs the angels––gives commands to God himself! Padre Simón said she was the absolute mistress of heaven and earth, and that men and animals, the plants, the winds, all health, sickness, life and death, depended upon her will! He said she did not die as we must, but that she was taken up into heaven, and that her body was not allowed to decay and return to dust, as ours will.Hombre!She is in heaven now, praying for us. What would become of us but for her?––for she prays to God for us––she––!”
“No, Rosendo, she does nothing of the kind. God is infinite, unchanging. He could not be moved or influenced by62the Virgin Mary or any one else. He is unlimitedgood. He is not angry with us––He couldn’t be, for He could not know anger. Did not Jesus say that God was Love? Love does not afflict––Love does not need to be importuned or prayed to. I see it now. I see something of what Carmen sees. We suffer when we sin, because we ‘miss the mark.’ But the punishment lasts only as long as the sin continues. And we suffer only until we know that God is infinite good, and that there is no evil. That is the truth, I feel sure, which Jesus came to teach, and which he said would make us free. Free from what? From the awful beliefs that use us, and to which we are now subject, until we learn the facts about God and His creation. Don’t you see that infinite good could never create evil, nor ever permit evil to be created, nor allow it to really exist?”
“Well, then, what is evil? And where did it come from?”
“That we must wait to learn, Rosendo, little by little. You know, the Spanish proverb says, ‘Step by step goes a great way.’ But meantime, let us go forward, clinging to this great truth: God is infinite good––He is love––we are His dear children––and evil wasnotmade by Him, and does not have His sanction. It therefore cannot be real. It must be illusion. And, being such, it can be overcome, as Jesus said it could.”
“Na, Padre––”
“Wait, Rosendo!” Josè held up his hand. “Carmen is doing just what I am advising you to do––is she not?”
“Yes, Padre.”
“Do you think she is mistaken?”
“Padre, she knows God better than she knows me,” the man whispered.
“It was you who first told her that God was everywhere, was it not?”
“Yes, Padre.”
And the mind of the child, keenly sensitive and receptive to truth, had eagerly grasped this dictum and made it the motif of her life. She knew nothing of Jesus, nothing of current theology. Divine Wisdom had used Rosendo, credulous and superstitious though he himself was, to guard this girl’s mind against the entrance of errors which were taught him as a child, and which in manhood held him shackled in chains which he might not break.
“Rosendo,” Josè spoke low and reverently, “I believe now that you and I have both been guided by that great mind which I am calling God. I believe we are being used for some beneficent purpose, and that it has to do with Carmen. That purpose will be unfolded to us as we bow to His will. Every way closed against me, excepting the one that led to Simití. Here I63found her. And now there seems to be but one way open to you––to go back to Guamocó. And you go, forgetful of self, thinking only that you serve her. Ah, friend, you are serving Him whom you reflect in love to His beautiful child.”
“Yes, Padre.”
“But, while we accept our tasks gratefully, I feel that we shall be tried––and we may not live to see the results of our labors. There are influences abroad which threaten danger to Carmen and to us. Perhaps we shall not avert them. But we have given ourselves to her, and through her to the great purpose with which I feel she is concerned.”
Rosendo slowly rose, and his great height and magnificent physique cast the shadow of a Brobdignan in the light as he stood in the doorway.
“Padre,” he replied, “I am an old man, and I have but few years left. But however many they be, they are hers. And had I a thousand, I would drag them all through the fires of hell for the child! I cannot follow you when you talk about God. My mind gets weary. But this I know, the One who brought me here and then went away will some day call for me––and I am always ready.”
He turned into the house and sought his hard bed. The great soul knew not that he reflected the light of divine Love with a radiance unknown to many a boasting “vicar of Christ.”
CHAPTER 9
At the first faint flush of morn Rosendo departed for the hills. The emerald coronels of the giantceibason the far lake verge burned softly with a ruddy glow. From the water’s dimpling surface downy vapors rose languidly in delicate tints and drew slowly out in nebulous bands across the dawn sky. The smiling softness of the velvety hills beckoned him, and the pungent odor of moist earth dilated his nostrils. He laughed aloud as the joyousness of youth surged again through his veins. The village still slumbered, and no one saw him as he smote his great chest and strode to the boat, where Juan had disposed his outfit and was waiting to pole him across. Only the faithful Doña Maria had softly called a final “adioscito” to him when he left his house. A half hour later, when the dugout poked its blunt nose into the ooze of the opposite shore, he leaped out and hurriedly divested himself of his clothing. Then he lifted his chair with its supplies to his shoulders, and Juan strapped it securely to his back, drawing64the heavy band tightly across his forehead. With a farewell wave of his hand to the lad, the man turned and plunged into the Guamocó trail, and was quickly lost in the dense thicket. Six days later, if no accident befell, he would reach his destination, the singing waters of the crystal Tiguí.
His heart leaped as he strode, though none knew better than he what hardships those six days held for him––days of plunging through fever-laden bogs; staggering in withering heat across open savannas; now scaling the slippery slopes of great mountains; now swimming the chill waters of rushing streams; making his bed where night overtook him, among the softly pattering forest denizens and the swarming insect life of the dripping woods. His black skin glistened with perspiration and the heavy dew wiped from the close-growing bush. With one hand he leaned upon a young sapling cut for a staff. With the other he incessantly swung hismacheteto clear the dim trail. His eyes were held fixed to the ground, to escape tripping over low vines, and to avoid contact with crawling creatures of the jungle, whose sting, inflicted without provocation, might so easily prove fatal. His active mind sported the while among the fresh thoughts stimulated by. his journey, though back of all, as through a veil, the vision of Carmen rose like the pillar of cloud which guided the wandering Israel. Toil and danger fled its presence; and from it radiated a warm glow which suffused his soul with light.
When Josè arose that morning he was still puzzling over the logical conclusions drawn from his premise of the evening before, and trying to reconcile them with common sense and prevalent belief. In a way, he seemed to be an explorer, carving a path to hidden wonders. Doña Maria greeted him at the breakfast table with the simple announcement of Rosendo’s early departure. No sign of sorrow ruffled her quiet and dignified demeanor. Nor did Carmen, who bounded into his arms, fresh as a new-blown rose, manifest the slightest indication of anxiety regarding Rosendo’s welfare. Josè might not divine the thoughts which the woman’s placid exterior concealed. But for the child, he well knew that her problem had been met and solved, and that she had laid it aside with a trust in immanent good which he did not believe all the worldly argument of pedant or philosopher could shake.
“Now to business once more!” cried Josè joyously, the meal finished. “Just a look-in at the church, to get the boys started; and then to devote the day to you, señorita!” The child laughed at the appellation.
Returning from the church some moments later, Josè found Carmen bending over the fireplace, struggling to remove a heavy kettle from the hot stones.
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“Careful, child!” he cried in apprehension, hurrying to her assistance. “You will burn your fingers, or hurt yourself!”
“Not unless you make me, Padre,” Carmen quickly replied, rising and confronting the priest with a demeanor whose every element spelled rebuke.
“Well, I certainly shall notmakeyou!” the man exclaimed in surprise.
“No, Padre. God will not let you. He does not burn or hurt people.”
“Certainly not! But––”
“And nothing else can, for He is everywhere––isn’t He?”
“Well––perhaps so,” the priest retorted impatiently. “But somehow people get burnt and hurt just the same, and it is well to be careful.”
The child studied him for a moment. Then she said quietly––
“I guess people burn and hurt themselves because they are afraid––don’t they? And I am not afraid.”
She tossed her brown curls as if in defiance of the thought of fear. Yet Josè somehow felt that she never really defied evil, but rather met its suggestions with a firm conviction of its impotence in the presence of immanent good. He checked the impulse to further conversation. Bidding the child come to him as soon as possible to begin the day’s work, he went back to his own abode to reflect.
He had previously said that this child should be brought up to know no evil. And yet, was he not suggesting evil to her at every turn? Did not his insistence upon the likelihood of hurting or burning herself emphasize his own stalwart belief in evil as an immanent power and contingency? Was he thus always to maintain a house divided against itself? But some day shemustknow, whether by instruction or dire experience, that evil is a fact to be reckoned with! And as her protector, it was his duty to––But he had not the heart to shatter such beautiful confidence!
Then he fell to wondering how long that pure faith could endure. Certainly not long if she were subjected to the sort of instruction which the children of this world receive. But was it not his duty with proper tutelage to make it last as long as possible? Was it not even now so firmly grounded that it never could be shaken?
He dwelt on the fact that nearly all children at some period early in life commune with their concept of God. He had, himself. As a very young child he had even felt himself on such terms of familiarity with God that he could not sleep without first bidding Him good night. As a young child, too,66he had known no evil. Nor do any children, until their perfect confidence in good is chilled by the false instruction of parents and teachers, who parade evil before them in all its hideous garb.
Alas! for the baneful belief that years bring wisdom. How pitiable, and how cruelly detrimental to the child are an ignorant parent’s assumptions of superiority! How tremendous the responsibility that now lay at his own door! Yet no greater than that which lies at the door of every parent throughout the world.
It is sadly true, he reflected, that children are educated almost entirely along material lines. Even in the imparting of religious instruction, the spiritual is so tainted with materialism, and its concomitants of fear and limitation, that the preponderance of faith is always on the material side. Josè had believed that as he had grown older in years he had lost faith. Far from it! The quantity of his faith remained fixed; but the quality had changed, through education, from faith in good to faith in evil. And though trained as a priest of God, in reality he had been taught wholly to distrust spiritual power.
But how could a parent rely on spiritual power to save a child about to fall into the fire? Must not children be warned, and taught to protect themselves from accident and disaster, as far as may be? True––yet, what causes accident and disaster? Has the parent’s thought aught to do with it? Has the world’s thought? Can it be traced to the universal acceptance of evil as a power, real and operative? Does mankind’s woeful lack of faith in good manifest itself in accident, sickness, and death?
A cry roused Josè from his revery. It came from back of the house. Hastening to the rear door he saw Doña Maria standing petrified, looking in wide-eyed horror toward the lake. Josè followed her gaze, and his blood froze. Carmen had been sent to meet the canoe that daily supplied fresh water to the village from the Juncal river, which flowed into the lake at the far north end. It had not yet arrived, and she had sat down beside her jar at the water’s edge, and was lost in dreams as she looked out over the shimmering expanse. A huge crocodile which had been lying in the shadow of a shale ledge had marked the child, and was steadily creeping up behind her. The reptile was but a few feet from her when Doña Maria, wondering at her delay, had gone to the rear door and witnessed her peril.
In a flash Josè recalled the tale related to him but a few days before by Fidel Avila, who was working in the church.
“Padre,” Fidel had said, “as soon as the church is ready I67shall offer a candle to goodSanta Catalinafor protecting my sister.”
“How was that, my son?” inquired Josè.
“She protected her from a crocodile a year ago, Padre. The girl had gone to the lake to get water to wash our clothes, and as she sat in the stern of the boat dipping the water, a great crocodile rose and seized her arm. I heard her scream, and I was saying the rosary at the time. And so I prayed toSanta Catalinanot to let the crocodile eat her, and she didn’t.”
“Then your sister was saved?”
“The crocodile pulled her under the water, Padre, and she was drowned. But he did not eat her; and we got her body and buried her here in the cemetery. We were very grateful.”
Sancta simplicitas!That such childish credulity might be turned into proper channels!
But there were times when fish were scarce in the lake. Then the crocodiles became bold; and many babes had been seized and dragged off by them, never to return. The fishing this season had been very poor. And more than one fisherman had asked Josè to invoke the Virgin in his behalf.
Nearer crept the monster toward the unsuspecting girl. Suddenly she turned and looked squarely at it. She might almost have touched it with her hand. For Josè it was one of those crises that “crowd eternity into an hour.” The child and the reptile might have been painted against that wondrous tropic background. The great brute stood bolt upright on its squat legs, its hideous jaws partly open. The girl made no motion, but seemed to hold it with her steady gaze. Then––the creature dropped; its jaws snapped shut; and it scampered into the water.
“God above!” cried Josè, as he rushed to the girl and clasped her in his arms. “Forgive me if I ever doubted the miracles of Jesus!”
Doña Maria turned and quietly resumed her work; but the man was completely unstrung.
“What is it, Padre?” Carmen asked in unfeigned surprise. “I am not afraid of crocodiles––are you? You couldn’t be, if you knew that God is everywhere.”
“But don’t you know, child, that crocodiles have carried off––”
He checked himself. No––he would not say it. He had had his lesson.
“What, Padre?”
“Nothing––nothing––I forgot––that’s all. A––a––come, let us begin our lessons now.”
But his mind refused to be held to the work. Finally he had to ask––he could not help it.
68
“Carmen, what did you do? Did you talk to the crocodile?”
“Why, no, Padre––crocodiles don’t talk!” And throwing her little head back she laughed heartily at the absurd idea.
“But––you did something! What was it? Tell me.”
“No, Padre, I did nothing,” the child persisted.
He saw he must reach her thought in another way. “Why did the crocodile come up to you, Carmen?” he asked.
“Why––I guess because it loved me––I don’t know.”
“And did you love it as you sat looking at it?”
“Of course, Padre. We have just got to loveeverything. Don’t you know that?”
“Y––yes––that is so,chiquita. I––I just thought I would ask you. Now let us begin the arithmetic lesson.”
The child loved the hideous saurian! And “perfect love casteth out fear.” What turned the monster from the girl and drove it into the lake? Love, again, before which evil falls in sheer impotence? Had she worked a miracle? Certainly not! Had God interposed in her behalf? Again, no. “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” And would divine Love always protect her? There could be no question about it,as long as she knew no evil.
The morning hours sped past. From arithmetic, they turned to the English lesson. Next to perfection in her own Castilian, Josè felt that this language was most important for her. And she delighted in it, although her odd little pronunciations, and her vain attempts to manipulate words to conform to her own ideas of enunciation brought many a hearty laugh, in which she joined with enthusiasm. The afternoon, as was his plan for future work, was devoted to narratives of men and events, and to descriptions of places. It was a ceaseless wonder to Josè how her mind absorbed his instruction.
“How readily you see these things, Carmen,” he said, as he concluded the work for the day.
“See them, Padre? But not with my outside eyes.”
The remark seemed to start a train of thought within her mentality. “Padre,” she at length asked, “how do we see with our eyes?”
“It is very simple,chiquita,” Josè replied. “Here, let me draw a picture of an eye.”
He quickly sketched a rough outline of the human organ of sight. “Now,” he began, “you know you cannot see in the dark, don’t you?”
“Yes, Padre?”
“In order to see, we must have light.”
69
“What is light, Padre dear?”
“Well––light is––is vibrations. That is, rapid movement.”
“What moves?”
“A––a––a––well, nothing––that is, light is just vibrations. The pendulum of the old clock in Don Mario’s store vibrates, you know––moves back and forth.”
“And light does that?”
“Yes; lightisthat. Now that chair there, for example, reflects light, just as a mirror does. It reflects vibrations. And these are all of just a certain length, for vibrations of just that length and moving up and down just so fast make light. The light enters the eye, like this,” tracing the rays on his sketch. “It makes a little picture of the chair on the back of the eye, where the optic nerve is fastened. Now the light makes the little ends of this nerve vibrate, too––move very rapidly. And that movement is carried along the nerve to some place in the brain––to what we call the center of sight. And there we see the chair.”
The child studied the sketch long and seriously.
“But, Padre, is the picture of the chair carried on the nerve to the brain?”
“Oh, no,chiquita, only vibrations. It is as if the nerve moved just a little distance, but very, very fast, back and forth, or up and down.”
“And no picture is carried to the brain?”
“No, there is just a vibration in the brain.”
“And that vibration makes us see the chair?”
“Yes, little one.”
A moment of silence. Then––
“Padre dear, I don’t believe it.”
“Why,chiquita!”
“Well, Padre, what is it that sees the chair, anyway?”
“The mind, dear.”
“Is the mind up there in the brain?”
“Well––no, we can’t say that it is.”
“Where is it, then?”
“A––a––well, no place in particular––that is, it is right here all the time.”
“Well, then, when the mind wants to see the chair does it have to climb up into the brain and watch that little nerve wiggle?”
The man was at a loss for an answer. Carmen suddenly crumpled the sketch in her small hand and smiled up at him.
“Padre dear, I don’t believe our outside eyes see anything. We just think they do, don’t we?”
Josè looked out through the open door. Carmen’s weird heron was stalking in immense dignity past the house.