An Eagle Flight
Copyright© 2024 by José Rizal
Basilio.
Life is a Dream.
Basilio had scarcely strength to enter and fall into his mother’s arms. A strange cold enveloped Sisa when she saw him come alone. She wished to speak, but found no words; to caress her son, but found no force. Yet at the sight of blood on his forehead, her voice came, and she cried in a tone which seemed to tell of a breaking heartstring:
“My children!”
“Don’t be frightened, mama; Crispin stayed at the convent.”
“At the convent? He stayed at the convent? Living?”
The child raised his eyes to hers.
“Ah!” she cried, passing from the greatest anguish to the utmost joy. She wept, embraced her child, covered with kisses his wounded forehead.
“And why are you hurt, my son? Did you fall?”
Basilio told her he had been challenged by the guard, ran, was shot at, and a ball had grazed his forehead.
“O God! I thank Thee that Thou didst save him!” murmured the mother.
She went for lint and vinegar water, and while she bandaged his wound:
“Why,” she asked, “did Crispin stay at the convent?”
Basilio looked at her, kissed her, then little by little told the story of the lost money; he said nothing of the torture of his little brother. Mother and child mingled their tears.
“Accuse my good Crispin! It’s because we are poor, and the poor must bear everything,” murmured Sisa. Both were silent a moment.
“But you have not eaten,” said the mother. “Here are sardines and rice.”
“I’m not hungry, mama; I only want some water.”
“Yes, eat,” said the mother. “I know you don’t like dry sardines, and I had something else for you; but your father came, my poor child.”
“My father came?” and Basilio instinctively examined his mother’s face and hands.
The question pained the mother; she sighed.
“You won’t eat? Then we must go to bed; it is late.”
Sisa barred the door and covered the fire. Basilio murmured his prayers, and crept on the mat near his mother, who was still on her knees. She was warm, he was cold. He thought of his little brother, who had hoped to sleep this night close to his mother’s side, trembling with fear in some dark corner of the convent. He heard his cries as he had heard them in the tower; but Nature soon confused his ideas and he slept.
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