What could the man do or say, limited, hounded, and without resources? Could he force these simple people to buy Masses? Could he take their money on a pretext which he felt to be utterly false? Yet Cartagena must be kept quiet at any hazard!
“Rosendo,” he asked earnestly, “when you had a priest in Simití, did the people have Masses offered for their dead?”
“Na, Padre, we have little money for Masses,” replied Rosendo sadly.
“But you have bought them?”
“At times––long ago––for my first wife, when she died without a priest, up in the Tiguí country. But not when Padre Diego was here. I couldn’t see how Masses said by that drunken priest could please God, or make Him release souls from purgatory––and Padre Diego was drunk most of the time.”
Josè became desperate. “Rosendo, we must send money to the Bishop in Cartagena. I must stay here––I must! And I can stay only by satisfying Wenceslas! If I can send him money he will think me too valuable to remove. It is not the Church, Rosendo, but Wenceslas who is persecuting me. It is he who has placed me here. He is using the Church for his own evil ends. It is he who must be placated. But I––I can’t make these poor people buy Masses! And––but here, read his letter,” thrusting it into Rosendo’s hand.
Rosendo shook his head thoughtfully, and a cloud had gathered over his strong face when he returned the Bishop’s letter to Josè.
“Padre, we will be hard pressed to support the church and you, without buying Masses. There are about two hundred people here, perhaps fifty families. But they are very, very poor. Only a few can afford to pay even a peso oro a month to the schoolmaster to have their children taught. They may be able to give twenty pesos a month to support you and the church. But hardly more.”
It seemed to Josè that his soul must burst under its limitations.
“Rosendo, let us take Carmen and flee!” he cried wildly.