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It's a sin to take pity on the enemies of God, the curates say. Don't you remember? In the cemetery he walked about as if he was in a corral." "But a corral and the cemetery are alike," replied the old man, "only that into the former only one kind of animal enters." "Shut up!" cried Sister Puté. "You'll still defend those whom God has clearly punished. You'll see how they'll arrest you, too.
Happily for Sister Puté, the arrival of a servant, who rushed in confused and pale, cut off the discussion. "A man hanged in a neighboring orchard!" she exclaimed breathless. "A man hanged!" exclaimed all, full of amazement. The women crossed themselves. No one could stir. "Yes, Señor," continued the servant, trembling.
The sudden transition from noise to silence awoke our aged Sister Puté, who was already snoring under cover of the music. Like Segismundo, or like the cook in the story of the Sleeping Beauty, the first thing that she did upon awaking was to whack her granddaughter on the neck, as the child had also fallen asleep.
"Since the town was sacked by Balat, I've never seen another night equal to it," responded Sister Puté. "What a lot of shots! They say that it was old Pablo's band." "Tulisanes? That can't be! They say that it was the cuadrilleros against the civil-guards. That's why Don Filipo has been arrested." "Sanctus Deus! They say that at least fourteen were killed."
An old woman in a guingón habit, Sister Puté, chid her granddaughter, a child of six years, who was kneeling at her side, "O lost one, give heed, for you're going to hear a sermon like that of Good Friday!" Here the old lady gave her a pinch to awaken the piety of the child, who made a grimace, stuck out her nose, and wrinkled up her eyebrows.
By half-past seven, when other Civil Guards arrived from neighboring towns, the current version of the affair was already clear and detailed. "I have just come from the tribunal, where I have seen Don Filipo and Don Crisostomo prisoners," said a man to Sister Puté. "I talked with one of the cuaderilleros on guard.
If any one tripped when repeating it he had to pay a forfeit. Another might be in rhyme and run as follows: "Na au sau mai Safata, Ou afe i le ngatai ala, E fafanga i si au tiaa, Fafanga, fafanga, pa le manava. Fafanga, fafanga, pa le manava." Another as his puzzle to repeat correctly would give: "Na au sau mai Mali'oli'o, Lou ala i umu, Lou ala i paito, Lou ala i puto pute, Lou ala i pute puto."
"Don't you go!" cried Sister Puté, catching hold of his camisa. "Something will happen to you! Is he hanged? Then the worse for him!" "Let me see him, woman. You, Juan, go to the barracks and report it. Perhaps he's not dead yet." So he proceeded to the garden with the servant, who kept behind him. The women, including even Sister Puté herself, followed after, filled with fear and curiosity.
That opening and shutting of the window had no doubt been heard on all sides, for soon another window opened slowly and there appeared cautiously the head of a wrinkled and toothless old woman: it was the same Sister Puté who had raised such a disturbance while Padre Damaso was preaching.
All those that go to Spain become heretics, as the curates have said." "Oho!" exclaimed her husband, seeing his chance for a retort, "and the curate, and all the curates, and the Archbishop, and the Pope, and the Virgin aren't they from Spain? Are they also heretics? Abá!" Happily for Sister Puté the arrival of a maidservant running, all pale and terrified, cut short this discussion.
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