Carmen Ariza Part 78

"No, Padre, for we can prove it. And, look here," she continued, referring to her list. "If the kingdom of heaven is within us, then everything that comes to us in life comes from within, and not from without. And so, things never happen, do they? Don't you see?"

"I see," he replied seriously, "that from the mouths of babes and sucklings comes infinite wisdom."

"Well, Padre dear, wisdom is G.o.d's light, and it comes through any one who is clean. It doesn't make any difference how old or young that person is. Years mean nothing but--but zero."

"How can you say that, _chiquita_?"

"Why, Padre, is G.o.d old?"

"No. He is always the same."

"And we are really like Him?"

"The real 'we'--yes."

"Well, the unreal 'we' is already zero. Didn't you yourself say that the human, mortal man was a product of false thought, thought that was the opposite of G.o.d's thought, and so no thought at all? Didn't you say that such thought was illusion--the lie about G.o.d and what He has made? Then isn't the human 'we' zero?"

"Well--but--_chiquita_, it is often hard for me to see anything but this sort of 'we,'" returned the man dejectedly.

"Oh, Padre!" she entreated, "why will you not try to look at something else than the human man? Look at G.o.d's man, the image of infinite mind. You have _got_ to do it, you know, some time. Jesus said so. He said that every man would have to overcome. That means turning away from the thoughts that are externalized as sin and sickness and evil, and looking only at G.o.d's thoughts--and, what is more, _sticking to them_!"

"Yes," dubiously, "I suppose we must some time overcome every belief in anything opposed to G.o.d."

"Well, but need that make you unhappy? It is just because you still cling to the belief that there is other power than G.o.d that you get so discouraged and mixed up. Can't you let go? Try it! Why, I would try it even if a whole mountain fell on me!"

And Jose could but clasp the earnest girl in his arms and vow that he would try again as never before.

Meantime, while Jose and his little student-teacher were delving into the inexhaustible treasury of the Word; while the peaceful days came into their lives and went out again almost unperceived, the priest Diego left the bed upon which he had been stretched for many weeks, and hobbled painfully about upon his scarcely mended ankle. While a prisoner upon his couch his days had been filled with torture. Try as he might, he could not beat down the vision which constantly rose before him, that of the beautiful girl who had been all but his. He cursed; he raved; he vowed the foulest vengeance. And then he cried piteously, as he lay chained to his bed--cried for something that seemed to take human shape in her. He protested that he loved her; that he adored her; that without her he was but a blasted cedar. His nurses fled his bedside. His physician stopped his ears. Only Don Antonio was found low enough in thought to withstand the flow of foul language which issued from the baffled Diego's thick lips while he moved about in attendance upon the unhappy priest's needs.

Then came from the acting-Bishop, Wenceslas, a mandate commissioning Diego upon a religio-political mission to the interior city of Medellin. The now recovered priest smiled grimly when he read it. Then he summoned Ricardo.

"Prepare yourself, _amigo_," he said, "for a work of the Lord. I go into the interior. You accompany me as far as Badillo, where we disembark for stinking Simiti. And, _amigo_, do you secure a trustworthy companion. The work may be heavy. Meantime, my blessing and absolution."

Then he sat down and despatched a long letter to Don Mario.

CHAPTER 28

"Rosendo," said Jose one morning shortly thereafter, as the old man entered the parish house for a little chat, "a Decree has been issued recently by the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office whereby, instead of the cloth scapulary which you are wearing, a medal may be subst.i.tuted. I have received several from Cartagena. Will you exchange yours?"

"_Cierto_, Padre--but," he hesitated, "is the new one just as--"

"To be sure, _amigo_. It carries the same indulgences. See,"

exhibiting the medal. "The Sacred Heart and the blessed Virgin. But I have arranged it to wear about the neck."

Rosendo knelt reverently and crossed himself while Jose hung the new scapulary over his head. The old man beamed his joy. "_Caramba!_" he exclaimed, rising, "but I believe this one will keep off more devils than that old cloth thing you made for me!"

"Why, Rosendo!" admonished Jose, repressing a smile, "did I not bless that one before the altar?"

"_Cierto_, Padre, and I beg a thousand pardons. It was the blessing, wasn't it? Not the cloth. But this one," regarding it reverently, "this one--"

"Oh, yes, this one," put in Jose, "carries the blessing of His Grace, acting-Bishop Wenceslas."

"And a Bishop is always very holy, is he not, Padre?" queried Rosendo.

"It makes no difference who he is, for the office makes him holy, is it not so, Padre?"

"Oh, without doubt," returned Jose, his thought reverting to the little Maria and the babe which for four years he had been supporting in distant Cartagena.

"_Na_, Padre," remonstrated Rosendo, catching the insinuation, "we must not speak ill of the Bishop, lest he be a Saint to-morrow! But, Padre," he went on, changing the topic, "I came to tell you that Don Luis has given me a contract to cut wood for him on the island. A quant.i.ty, too. _Hombre!_ I shall earn much money by its terms. I set out to-morrow morning before daybreak."

Jose reflected. The man's words aroused within him a faint suspicion.

Don Luis and the Alcalde were boon companions. Jose wondered if in this commission he could see the gloved hand of Don Mario. But he gave no hint of his thought to Rosendo.

The next morning, long before sun-up, a mist lay thick over the valley, so thick that Rosendo, as he made his way down to the lake, scarce could distinguish the road ahead of him. The dry season had pa.s.sed, and the rains were now setting in. As he hurried along, the old man mused dubiously on the contract which Don Luis had made with him. To cut wood in the rainy season!--but, after all, that was no concern of his. And yet--why had Padre Jose grown suddenly quiet when he learned of the contract yesterday? His bare feet fell softly upon the shales, and he proceeded more cautiously as he neared the water's edge.

"_Hombre!_" he muttered, striving to penetrate the mist; "only a _loco_ ventures out on the lake in such weather!"

He reached the boat, and placed in it the rope and axe which he had brought. Then, still troubled in thought, he sat down on the edge of the canoe and dropped into a puzzled meditation.

Suddenly through the fog he heard a sound. Somebody was approaching. A fisherman, perhaps. But fishermen do not go out on the lake in dense fogs, he remembered. The tread sounded nearer. He waited, speculating.

Then through the mist loomed the thick body of a man. Straining his eyes, Rosendo recognized Padre Diego.

With a bound the old man was upon his feet. His thick arm shot out like a catapult; and his great fist, meeting Diego squarely upon the temple, felled him like an ox.

For a moment Rosendo stood over the prostrate priest, like a lion above its prey. Then he reached into the canoe and drew out the axe.

Holding it aloft, he stood an instant poised above the senseless man; then with a mighty swing he whirled about and hurled it far out into the lake. He seemed suddenly bereft of his senses. Incoherent muttering issued from his trembling lips. He looked about in bewilderment. A thought seemed to impress him. He took the rope from the boat and quickly bound Diego hand and foot. This done, he picked up the unconscious priest and tossed him into the canoe as if he had been a billet of wood. Jumping in after him, he hastily pushed off from the sh.o.r.e and paddled vigorously in the direction of the island.

Why he was doing this he had not the faintest idea.

It was all the work of a few seconds; yet when his reason came again Rosendo found himself far out in the thick fog, and his prisoner moaning softly as consciousness slowly returned. The sense of direction which these sons of the jungle possess is almost infallible, and despite the watery cloud which enveloped him, the old man held his course undeviatingly toward the distant isle, into the low, muddy sh.o.r.e of which his boat at length forced its way under the impulse of his great arms.

The island, a low patch a few acres in extent, lay far out in the lake like a splotch of green paint on a plate of gla.s.s. Its densely wooded surface, rising soft and oozy only a few feet above the water, was dest.i.tute of human habitation, but afforded a paradise for swarms of crawling and flying creatures, which now scattered in alarm at the approach of these early visitors coming so unexpectedly out of the heavy fog.

When the canoe grounded, Rosendo sprang out and pulled it well up into the mud. Then he lifted the priest out and staggered into the thick brush, where he threw his burden heavily upon the ground. Leaving his prisoner for a moment, he seized his _machete_ and began to cut back into the brush. A grunt of satisfaction came from his lips. Returning to the now conscious Diego, he grasped the rope which bound him and dragged him along the newly opened trail into a little clearing which lay beyond. There he propped him up against a huge cedar. As he did this, Diego's mouth opened wide and a piercing scream issued.

"Ricardo--help!" he called.

The cry echoed dismally across the desolate island. In an instant Rosendo was upon him, with his knife clutched in his fist. "Repeat that, _cayman_," he cried furiously, "and this finds your wicked heart!"

The craven Diego shook with fear; but he fell silent before the threat of the desperate man into whose hands he had so unwittingly fallen.

Rosendo stepped back and stood before his captive, regarding him uncertainly. Diego's quick intuition did not fail to read the old man's perplexity; and his own hope revived accordingly. It was a pretty trick, this of Rosendo's--but, after all, he would not dare too much. Diego gradually became easier in mind. He even smiled unctuously at his captor.

"_Bien, amigo_," he said at length, "is this your customary reception to visitors in your village? _Caramba!_ but what will the good Bishop say when he learns that you have thus mistreated his trusted agent?"

Rosendo stood before him like a statue. His thought was confused, and it moved slowly. In the cries of the disturbed birds he seemed now to hear the warning voice of Carmen. In the watery vapor that rolled over him he seemed to feel the touch of her soft, restraining hand.