The Reign of Greed | Page 7

from not consulting the old-timers

here. A project in fine words, and especially with a big appropriation,
with an appropriation in round numbers, dazzles, meets with
acceptance at once, for this!" Here, in further explanation, he rubbed
the tip of his thumb against his middle and forefinger. [4]
"There's something in that, there's something in that," Ben-Zayb
thought it his duty to remark, since in his capacity of journalist he had
to be informed about everything.
"Now look here, before the port works I presented a project, original,
simple, useful, economical, and practicable, for clearing away the bar
in the lake, and it hasn't been accepted because there wasn't any of that
in it." He repeated the movement of his fingers, shrugged his shoulders,
and gazed at the others as though to say, "Have you ever heard of such
a misfortune?"
"May we know what it was?" asked several, drawing nearer and giving
him their attention. The projects of Don Custodio were as renowned as
quacks' specifics.
Don Custodio was on the point of refusing to explain it from
resentment at not having found any supporters in his diatribe against
Simoun. "When there's no danger, you want me to talk, eh? And when
there is, you keep quiet!" he was going to say, but that would cause the
loss of a good opportunity, and his project, now that it could not be
carried out, might at least be known and admired.
After blowing out two or three puffs of smoke, coughing, and spitting
through a scupper, he slapped Ben-Zayb on the thigh and asked,
"You've seen ducks?"
"I rather think so--we've hunted them on the lake," answered the
surprised journalist.
"No, I'm not talking about wild ducks, I'm talking of the domestic ones,
of those that are raised in Pateros and Pasig. Do you know what they
feed on?"

Ben-Zayb, the only thinking head, did not know--he was not engaged
in that business.
"On snails, man, on snails!" exclaimed Padre Camorra. "One doesn't
have to be an Indian to know that; it's sufficient to have eyes!"
"Exactly so, on snails!" repeated Don Custodio, flourishing his
forefinger. "And do you know where they get them?"
Again the thinking head did not know.
"Well, if you had been in the country as many years as I have, you
would know that they fish them out of the bar itself, where they abound,
mixed with the sand."
"Then your project?"
"Well, I'm coming to that. My idea was to compel all the towns round
about, near the bar, to raise ducks, and you'll see how they, all by
themselves, will deepen the channel by fishing for the snails--no more
and no less, no more and no less!"
Here Don Custodio extended his arms and gazed triumphantly at the
stupefaction of his hearers--to none of them had occurred such an
original idea.
"Will you allow me to write an article about that?" asked Ben-Zayb. "In
this country there is so little thinking done--"
"But, Don Custodio," exclaimed Doña Victorina with smirks and
grimaces, "if everybody takes to raising ducks the balot [5] eggs will
become abundant. Ugh, how nasty! Rather, let the bar close up
entirely!"

CHAPTER II
On the Lower Deck

There, below, other scenes were being enacted. Seated on benches or
small wooden stools among valises, boxes, and baskets, a few feet from
the engines, in the heat of the boilers, amid the human smells and the
pestilential odor of oil, were to be seen the great majority of the
passengers. Some were silently gazing at the changing scenes along the
banks, others were playing cards or conversing in the midst of the
scraping of shovels, the roar of the engine, the hiss of escaping steam,
the swash of disturbed waters, and the shrieks of the whistle. In one
corner, heaped up like corpses, slept, or tried to sleep, a number of
Chinese pedlers, seasick, pale, frothing through half-opened lips, and
bathed in their copious perspiration. Only a few youths, students for the
most part, easily recognizable from their white garments and their
confident bearing, made bold to move about from stern to bow, leaping
over baskets and boxes, happy in the prospect of the approaching
vacation. Now they commented on the movements of the engines,
endeavoring to recall forgotten notions of physics, now they
surrounded the young schoolgirl or the red-lipped buyera with her
collar of sampaguitas, whispering into their ears words that made them
smile and cover their faces with their fans.
Nevertheless, two of them, instead of engaging in these fleeting
gallantries, stood in the bow talking with a man, advanced in years, but
still vigorous and erect. Both these youths seemed to be well known
and respected, to judge from the deference shown them by their fellow
passengers. The elder,