Carmen Ariza Part 25

He leaned over and laid a hand upon the priest's knee. His dark eyes seemed to burn like glowing coals. His whispered words were fraught with a meaning which Jose would some day learn.

"Padre, _that_ must be left alone!"

A long silence fell upon the two men, the one ma.s.sive of frame and black of face, but with a mind as simple as a child's and a heart as white as the snow that sprinkled his raven locks--the other a youth in years, but bowed with disappointment and suffering; yet now listening with hushed breath to the words that rolled with a mighty reverberation through the chambers of his soul:

"I am G.o.d, and there is none else! Behold, I come quickly! Arise, s.h.i.+ne, for thy light is come!"

The sweet face of the child rose out of the gloom before the priest.

The years rolled back like a curtain, and he saw himself at her tender age, a white, unformed soul, awaiting the sculptor's hand. G.o.d forbid that the hand which shaped his career should form the plastic mind of this girl!

Of a sudden a great thought flashed out of the depths of eternity and into his brain, a thought which seemed to illumine his whole past life. In the clear light thereof he seemed instantly to read meanings in numberless events which to that hour had remained hidden. His complex, misshapen career--could it have been a preparation?--and for this? He had yearned to serve his fellow-men, but had miserably failed. For, while to will was always present with him, even as with Paul, yet how to perform that which was good he found not. But now--what an opportunity opened before him! What a beautiful offering of self was here made possible? G.o.d, what a privilege!

Rosendo sat stolid, buried in thought. Jose reached out through the dim light and grasped his black hand. His eyes were lucent, his heart burned with the fire of an unknown enthusiasm, and speech stumbled across his lips.

"Rosendo, I came to Simiti to die. And now I know that I _shall_ die--to myself. But thereby shall I live. Yes, I shall live! And here before this altar, in the sight of that G.o.d whom she knows so well, I pledge my new-found life to Carmen. My mind, my thought, my strength, are henceforth hers. May her G.o.d direct me in their right use for His beautiful child!"

Jose and Rosendo rose from the bench with hands still clasped. In that hour the priest was born again.

CHAPTER 4

"He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it."

The reporters of the unique Man of Galilee, upon whose straining ears these words fell, noted them for future generations of footsore pilgrims on life's wandering highway--for the rich, satiated with their gorgeous gluttonies; for the proud Levite, with his feet enmeshed in the lifeless letter of the Law; for the loathsome and outcast beggar at the gates of Dives. And for Jose de Rincon, priest of the Holy Catholic Church and vicar of Christ, scion of aristocracy and worldly learning, now humbled and blinded, like Paul on the road to Damascus, begging that his spiritual sight might be opened to the glory of the One with whom he had not known how to walk.

Returning in silence from the church to Rosendo's humble cottage, Jose had asked leave to retire. He would be alone with the great Presence which had come to him across the desert of his life, and now stood before him in the brightness of the undimmed sun. He no longer felt ill nor exhausted. Indeed, quite the contrary; a quickened sense of life, an eagerness to embrace the opportunity opening before him, caused his chest to heave and his shrunken veins to throb.

On his bed in the darkened room he lay in a deep silence, broken only at intervals by the hurried scampering of lizards darting through the interstices of the dry walls. His uncomprehending eyes were fixed upon the dust-laden thatch of the roof overhead, where droning wasps toiled upon their frail abodes. He lay with the portals of his mind opened wide. Through them, in ceaseless flow, pa.s.sed two streams which did not mingle. The one, outward bound, turbid with its burden of egoism, fear, perplexity, and hopelessness, which, like barnacles, had fastened to his soul on its chartless voyage; the other, a stream of hope and confidence and definite purpose, a stream which leaped and sang in the warm sunlight of Love as it poured into his receptive brain.

The fresh thought which flowed into his mental chambers rapidly formed into orderly plans, all centering upon the child, Carmen. What could he teach her? The relative truths and worldly knowledge--purified, as far as in him lay, from the dross of speculation and human opinion--which lay stored in the archives of his mind? Yes; but that was all. History, and its interpretation of human progress; the languages; mathematics, and the elements of the physical sciences; literature; and a knowledge of people and places. With these his retentive mind was replete. But beyond this he must learn of her.

And her tutor, he now knew, was the Master Mind, omniscient G.o.d.

And he knew, more, that she possessed secrets whose potency he might as yet scarcely imagine. For, in an environment which for dearth of mental stimulus and incentive could scarcely be matched; amid poverty but slightly raised above actual want; untouched by the temperamental hopelessness which lies just beneath the surface of these dull, simple folk, this child lived a life of such ecstasy as might well excite the envy of the world's potentates.

But meantime, what should be his att.i.tude toward the parish? He fully realized that he and the Church were now as far apart as the poles.

Yet this was become his parish, the first he had ever held; and these were his people. And he must face them and preach--what? If not the Catholic faith, then would he be speedily removed. And that meant complete disruption of his rapidly formulating plans. But might he not in that event flee with Carmen, renounce the Church, and--

Impossible! Excommunication alone could sever the oath by which the Church held him. And for that he could not say that he was ready. For excommunication meant disgrace to his mother--perhaps the snapping of a heart already sorely strained. To renounce his oath was dishonor. To preach the Catholic faith without sincerity was scarcely less. Yet amid present circ.u.mstances this seemed the only course open to him.

But what must he teach Carmen in regard to the Church? Could he maintain his position in it, yet not of it; and at the same time rear her without its pale, yet so as not to conflict with the people of Simiti, nor cause such comment as might reach the ears of the Bishop of Cartagena? G.o.d alone knew. It must be attempted, at any rate. There was no other way. And if it was G.o.d's plan, he might safely trust Him for the requisite strength and wisdom. For this course the isolation of Simiti and the childish simplicity of its people afforded a tremendous advantage. On the other hand, he knew that both he and Carmen had powerful enemies. Yet, one with G.o.d might rout a host. And Carmen walked with G.o.d.

Thus throughout the afternoon the priest weighed and pondered the thoughts that sought admission to his reawakened mind. He was not interrupted until sundown; and then Carmen entered the room with a bowl of chocolate and some small wheaten loaves. Behind her, with an amusing show of dignity, stalked a large heron, an elegant bird, with long, scarlet legs, gray plumage, and a gracefully curved neck. When the bird reached the threshold it stopped, and without warning gave vent to a prolonged series of shrill, unmusical sounds. The startled priest sat up in his bed and exclaimed in amazement.

"It is only Cantar-las-horas, Padre," laughed the little maid. "He follows me wherever I go, unless he is off fis.h.i.+ng. Sometimes when I go out in the boat with padre Rosendo he flies clear across the lake to meet us. He is lots older than I, and years ago, when there were _Curas_ here, he learned his song. Whenever the _Angelas_ rang he would try to sing just like it; and now he has the habit and can't help it. But he is such a dear, wise old fellow," twining a chubby arm lovingly about the bird's slender neck; "and he always sings just at six o'clock, the time the _Angelas_ used to ring."

The heron manifested the deepest affection for the child as she gently stroked its plumage and caressed its long, pointed bill.

"But how do you suppose he knows when it is just six o'clock, _chiquita_?" asked Jose, deeply interested in the strange phenomenon.

"G.o.d tells him, Padre," was the direct and simple reply.

a.s.suredly, he should have known that! But he was fast learning of this unusual child, whose every movement was a demonstration of Immanuel.

"Does G.o.d tell you what to do, Carmen?" he asked, seeking to draw out the girl's strange thought, that he might probe deeper into her religious convictions.

"Why, yes, Padre." Her tone expressed surprise. "Doesn't He tell you, too?" Her great eyes searched him. He was a _Cura_; he should be very close to G.o.d.

"Yes, _chiquita_--that is, He has told me to-day what to do."

There was a shade of disappointment in her voice when she replied: "I guess you mean you listened to Him to-day, don't you, Padre? I think sometimes you don't want to hear Him. But," she finished with a little sigh, "there are lots of people here who don't; and that is why they are sick and unhappy."

Jose was learning another lesson, that of guarding his speech to this ingenuous girl. He discreetly changed the subject.

"What have you been doing this afternoon, little one?"

Her eyes instantly brightened, and the dark shade that had crossed her face disappeared.

"Well, after the _siesta_ I helped madre Maria clean the yuccas for supper; and then I did my writing lesson. Padre Rosendo told me to-day that I could write better than he. But, Padre, will you teach madre Maria to read and write? And there are just lots of poor people here who can't, too. There is a school teacher in Simiti, but he charges a whole _peso oro_ a month for teaching; and the people haven't the money, and so they can't learn."

Always the child s.h.i.+fted his thought from herself to others. Again she showed him that the road to happiness wound among the needs of his fellow-men. The priest mentally recorded the instruction; and the girl continued:

"Padre Rosendo told madre Maria that you said you had come to Simiti to die. You were not thinking of us then, were you, Padre? People who think only of themselves always want to die. That was why Don Luis died last year. He had lots of gold, and he always wanted more, and he was cruel and selfish, and he couldn't talk about anything but himself and how rich he was--and so he died. He didn't really die; but he thought about himself until he thought he died. And so they buried him. That's what always happens to people who think about themselves all the time--they get buried."

Jose was glad of the silence that fell upon them. Wrapped so long in his own egoism, he had now no worldly wisdom with which to match this girl's sapient words. He waited. He felt that Carmen was but the channel through which a great Voice was speaking.

"Padre," the tones were tender and soft, "you don't always think of good things, do you?"

"I? Why, no, little girl. I guess I haven't done so. That is, not always. But--"

"Because if you had you wouldn't have been driven into the lake that day. And you wouldn't be here now in Simiti."

"But, child, even a _Cura_ cannot always think of good things, when he sees so much wickedness in the world!"

"But, Padre, G.o.d is good, isn't He?"

"Yes, child." The necessity to answer could not be avoided.

"And He is everywhere?"

"Yes." He had to say it.

"Then where is the wickedness, Padre?"

"Why--but, _chiquita_, you don't understand; you are too young to reason about such things; and--"

In his heart Jose knew he spoke not the truth. He felt the great brown eyes of the girl penetrate his naked soul; and he knew that in the dark recesses of the inner man they fell upon the grinning skeleton of hypocrisy. Carmen might be, doubtless was, incapable of reasoning. Of logical processes she knew nothing. But by what cra.s.s a.s.sumption might he, admittedly woefully defeated in his combat with Fate, oppose his feeble shafts of worldly logic to this child's instinct, an instinct of whose inerrancy her daily walk was a living demonstration? In quick penitence and humility he stretched out his arm and drew her unresisting to him.