Sotileza de José María de Pereda 🌊📚
Sotileza is a novel that reflects rural life on the Cantabrian coast of the 19th century, exploring the complexities of love, social struggle , and the traditions of a deeply rooted community. Through his characters, José María de Pereda presents a story of passions and conflicts, in which destiny seems to be marked by the natural environment and local customs. Join us as we discover this fascinating work that takes us to the heart of Cantabria and the essence of the struggle for identity and survival. Chapter 1. CHRYSALIDS. The room was narrow, low-ceilinged, and gloomy; the walls, which had once been white, were blackened in parts, and a thick , almost stubborn tapestry of filth covered the worm-eaten floorboards. It contained a pine table, a battered calfskin armchair, and three rickety chairs; a crucifix with a sprig of dried laurel, two prints of the Passion, and a rosary from Jerusalem hung on the walls; A horn inkwell with a bird’s quill pen, a much-stitched old breviary, a black suede folder, a calendar, and a tin candlestick on the table; and, finally, a blue denim umbrella with a curved horn handle in one of the darkest corners. The room also had an alcove, at the back of which, through the gaps left open by a small Indian curtain that didn’t quite cover the rickety door, a poor bed could be seen, and on it a cloak and a tiled hat. Between the table, chairs, and umbrella, which filled the best part of the room, and half a dozen ragged children, who, leaning against the wall or pressing their noses against the window, or lying dislocated between two chairs and the table, occupied almost the rest, a priest in a patched cassock, slippers with black straps, and a threadbare velvet cap, was trying to move about with great difficulty. He was tall, somewhat stooped, with eyes that were too soft, which, through his horror of light, was the cause of the curvature of his neck; his nose was slightly bulging and red, his lips thick, his complexion rough and dark, and his teeth black. Among all these scoundrels, there was not a trace of a shoe or a full shirt ; all six were barefoot, and half of them were shirtless. One wrapped his entire skin in his father’s heavy, patched coat. Few of them had their legs straight: the one who had breeches didn’t have a jacket, and the only thing they all agreed on was their dirty faces, their hair in a mess, and their mangy, gory calves. The oldest of them was probably ten years old. They stank of a kennel. “Let’s see,” said the priest, flirtatiously nudging the one in the jacket, who was busy rubbing his nose against the balcony window. The boy was stocky, copper-skinned, cross-eyed, and had an enormous head, “who said the Creed?” The boy turned around, after squirting a thin thread of saliva at the window between two of his incisors, and shrugged his shoulders. “What do I know? ” “And why don’t you know, you little beast? Why do you come here? How many times have I told you that the apostles?” But _ab asino, lanam_… How many Gods are there?… “Gods?” repeated the person addressed, crossing his arms behind his back, so that he was left naked in the front; for the jacket had no buttons, nor buttonholes in which to fasten them even if it had. The priest noticed this and said, taking hold of the lapels and crossing one over the other: “Cover up that filth, swine!… And the buttons? ” “I don’t have them. ” “You must have been playing boat with them. ” “I had a sheet and I lost it this morning.” The priest went to the table and took a piece of twine from a drawer, with which he managed with great difficulty to fasten the two patched fronts of the jacket so that they covered the boy’s flesh. Then he repeated the question: “How many Gods are there?” “Well, there must be,” replied the person addressed, crossing his arms behind his back again, “eight or nine at full speed. ” “It rises from the depths!”… “Holy souls, what a beast!”… And how many people? The cross-eyed man stared, in his own way, fixedly at the priest, who also He looked at him as best he could, and answered, with every sign of being possessed by the greatest curiosity: “People!… What are people, you? ” “Blessed Saint Apollinaris!” exclaimed the simple priest , crossing himself, “so you don’t know what people are… what a person is!… Well, what are you? ” “Me?… I am Muergo. ” “Not even that much, because there are those on the beach with more understanding than you… What are people?” repeated the priest, facing the boy who followed Muergo on the right, also shirtless, but in breeches, although few and poor ones, less ugly than Muergo and not so hoarse of voice. This boy, not knowing what to reply, looked at the nearest one, who looked at the one following him; and they all looked at each other, with the same doubts painted on their faces. “So,” exclaimed the priest, turning to confront the man following Muergo, “you don’t know what you are either? ” “Yes, you are, Corflis!” replied the boy, believing he saw a clear way out of his predicament. “Then what are you? ” “Surbia. ” “That’s what I’d give you to burst, you beast! ” “And what are you?” added the priest, addressing another man, half -shirted, but without a jacket and very few trousers. “I am Sula,” replied the man addressed, who was blond and thin, which made his filth stand out more than his comrades’ tanned complexion. In this way, and trying to answer the same question, the other three boys in the room, namely Cole, Guarin, and Toletes, began to give their nicknames. Perhaps none of them knew their own given names. The priest, who had them well studied, didn’t lose his patience over that. He unleashed four insults and half a dozen Latin words on them, and then said calmly: “But it’s my fault, because I insist on beating the tree, knowing that it can only yield acorns. The least of you has been attending this house for two months… For what, holy name of God!… And why, Virgin Mary of Mercy!… Because Father Apolinar is a real coward. Father Polinar, this son is, beside himself, a beast; Father Polinar, this other one is a mountain goat… Father Polinar, this damned creature is draining my life with every ounce of trouble; I can’t take care of him; at school they don’t pay him a damn attention for nothing… this one, that one, up above, down below; that you who understand and for that you were born… that you teach him, that you tame him, that you unlearn him… And three that are offered to me and four that I seek, taste the house full of boys; and bear their stench, and explain and pound… and bait them so that they return the next day, because I know what would happen otherwise… and do it all willingly, because that is your obligation, since you are what you are, _sacerdos Domini nostri Jesuchristi_, for which reason I say with Him: _sinite pueros venire ad me_; Let the children come to me… and laugh at the neighbor downstairs, and at this one’s father, and at the mother of the one over there, who murmur and run around and say that if you leave my hands more like donkeys than you came to them, like many others who came to me before you… _Linguae corruptae_, miserable and concupiscent flesh!… Laugh at that, as I laugh, because I must laugh… But you, cork oaks, more than cork oaks, what are you doing to correspond to Father Apolinar’s efforts? How are we doing with our primer after two months?… Neither the O, horn, nor the O is recognized in these classrooms if I paint it on the wall! Well, as for Christian doctrine, it’s clear… And since I don’t want to get angry, although there were reasons to throw you one by one out of the balcony… let’s move on to something else, and praise God _per omnia sæcula sæculorum_, for the rest is nonsense. After this outburst, Friar Apolinar went on, without ceasing to walk, almost in a circle, with his hands crossed behind his back, to what he called the plain and everyday: to ask the scoundrels the most usual and simple prayers, so that they wouldn’t forget them; the only thing that He had managed to get them into their heads, though not well or completely. Muergo only needed to be tugged on three times in the Ave Maria; Cole said the Our Father exactly, and the one who knew the Creed best, among them all, didn’t go beyond “his only Son” without a prompter. In view of which, Friar Apolinar gave Sula only half a sweet biscuit; a button from the provincial of Laredo to Toletes, and a fig to Guarín. “A hair’s breadth from the wolf, children,” the poor exclaustrated man told them immediately ; “another time it will be less… and worse. And now… hospa, scoundrel!… But wait a bit, Muergo.” The boys, who were already preparing to leave, stopped. And the friar said to Muergo, lifting up the lintel of his jacket: “This can’t go on like this. Without a shirt, when there’s a jacket, go with God.” but without pants… Where have yours gone? “My mother put them out to dry in the Fig Trees the day before yesterday,” Muergo stumbled. “And they haven’t dried yet, man of God? ” “A cow gnawed them while my mother was gutting a hake that was killing her. ” “Punishment from God, Muergo; punishment from God!” said Friar Apolinar, scratching his neck. “Hake that smells bad because it’s rotten is thrown into the sea, and it’s not cleaned far from the people to be sold later, at half price, to poor people like me, who have good gullets. But nothing remains of the pants, man? ” “The ass,” Muergo responded, “and that one, _in a gang_.” “It’s not much,” replied the ex-cloistered man, turning inside his clothes, a movement that was very habitual with him. “And there are no others in the house? ” “No, sir. ” “Nor a hint of where they might come from? ” “No, sir. ” “Horn with the fennel!… Well, you can’t go on like this, because even if you have plenty of cloth to wrap yourself up, the halyard might break; you don’t notice it, and if you do, it’s all the same to you… So it’s the same old thing, son, the same old thing: you, who can’t, carry me on your back, Father Apolinar. Isn’t that it? Isn’t it the purest truth? Horn it is!” Muergo shrugged his shoulders, and Brother Apolinar went into the bedroom. He could be heard pushing inside and muttering some Latin phrases under his breath; and he was not long in appearing, raising the curtain, with a black bundle in his hands, which he immediately placed in Muergo’s. “They’re nothing much,” he said to him; “but, after all, they’re breeches. Tell your mother to mend them as best she can, and not to let them dry in the Higueras when she has to wash them; and if they still seem too few to her, let her console herself with the knowledge that at the present time he has no better ones, nor as many as you, Father Apolinar… So, turn, you scoundrel, forward!” Once again the crowd was in turmoil, grunting and snorting like a herd of pigs sniffing the kitchen as they leave the pigsty. Every grungy countenance showed a desire to reach the stairs to examine Brother Apolinar’s gift, which still retained the warmth that had struck Muergo when the poor ex-cloistered man had handed it to him. When the door opened, two new figures appeared in the room. One was a fresh-faced, plump youth with black eyes, abundant, lustrous, and unruly hair, a smiling mouth, a round chin, and teeth the color of bronze health. He looked about twelve years old and was dressed like the children of “the lords.” He was holding by the hand a poor girl, much shorter than he, thin, pale, somewhat aquiline, with hair bordering on blond, with a firm brow and a bold gaze. She was barefoot, and wore nothing over her white, clean flesh, as far as it was exposed, but a short, old serge petticoat, tied around her supple waist over a shift worn thin by use, but neither torn nor greasy, qualities that were also evident in the petticoat. There are creatures who are necessarily clean without realizing it, just as cats are. And the comparison should not be considered inappropriate, for there was something of this little animal in the graceful lines, in the soft, sure footing, and in the suspicious and unfriendly demeanor of the young girl. As soon as Muergo saw her, he burst out laughing like a fool; Cole let out a big curse, and Sula a medium one. The newcomer imitated Muergo with a fake laugh, putting on a very ugly face, paying no attention to the other two scoundrels, nor to Father Apolinar himself, who lit a flirtatious blow at each of the three. “What’s with all this laughter, beast, and these filthy swear words, you swine?” said the friar as he slapped the head. “It’s the altera… ha, ha, ha!” replied Muergo, scratching the back of his neck, which had been bruised by Brother Apolinar’s knuckles. “We know it,” explained Cole, feeling his hairy hair. “There’s not much at stake, if it weren’t for Muergo,” added Sula. Muergo laughed stupidly again, and the girl mocked him again . “And that’s why you’re laughing, goose?” said the friar, throwing another flirtatious jab at her. “Well, the whole deal is laughable! ” “It’s a dirty street,” repeated Cole, “and she was making a barquín barcón on a perch that was floating in the Maruca… Sula and I were there throwing stones at her from the shore. Then Muergo came along… hit her with a log, and she went headfirst into the water. ” “Who?” asked the friar. “She,” replied Cole. “I thought she was playing for it, because she was sinking…” And Muergo was laughing. “And I,” Sula jumped up, “said to him: ‘Chapla, Muergo, you who swim well, and pull her out, because she’s taking a risk!'” And then he jumped into the water and pulled her out. Afterwards, we put her keel up; and with blows on her back, she spewed out the water she had taken in. ” “Is that true, girl?” the ex-cloistered man asked her. “Yes, sir,” replied the one she had addressed, still imitating Muergo, who laughed like an idiot again. “Common,” said the ex-cloistered man. “But why have you come here, and why have you come, Andresillo, and why are you holding her by the hand? In what tavern did you eat together, and what kind of whistle am I going to play in these adventures? ” “It’s a back street,” replied the one called Andresillo very seriously. “I’m starting to find out, damn it!” “I’ve been told this three times already. And what’s the point? ” “I know her from Muelle Anaos,” continued Andrés. “She goes down there almost every day.” “I didn’t know about La Maruca… but I do!” he gave Muergo a sour little gesture, because I know these guys too. “From Muelle Anaos?” asked Friar Apolinar, without a hint of surprise. “Yes, sir,” replied Andrés. “They go there quite often. ” “And he goes to La Maruca,” added Guarín. “Fuck the boy, and what a fortune he gets! But let’s get to the point. It turns out, so far, that this girl is a street urchin, and that you and this rascal, despite your respective names, are… made for each other … And what else?” –That this morning the _talayero_ told my mother that the _Montañesa_ was in sight… and I left home to go to San Martín to see her come in… and I arrived at the Anaos Dock. –To the Anaos Dock!… Don’t you live on San Francisco Street now? –Yes, sir. –Well, you were on the right path to go to San Martín! –I was going to see if _Cuco_ was there and he wanted to accompany me. –Cuco! Are you also a friend of Cuco, that rude, impolite coarse fellow , who sings me indecent songs as soon as he sees me from afar?… The hell with the kid! –I never hear him say such things… He’s bad, he is a bit bad; but he doesn’t hurt anyone. He goes in Castrejo’s boat, and teaches me to row, and to throw cabbages and tapas, and to rest on my back and standing up… “Yes, and to steal your father’s cigars to give them to him; and to run school, and to go to war… and many other things that I’m not going to mention… Well, your father would be in a good mood if, when he came in today with the corvette, he saw you on the San Martín rocks in the company of such an illustrious comrade! Horn, I remember the fennel!” Andrés turned very red, and said, with his head slightly bowed: “No, sir… I don’t do any of that, Pae Polinar. ” “What do you mean by that, you’re going to confess to me now?” replied the friar with great sarcasm. “But what do I care about those things, Andresillo?… Anyway, we’ll talk about this on a better occasion.” Now, get on with the story. What “Did Cuco tell you at the Anaos Dock ?” “I didn’t see Cuco because he was working as a freighter with some gentlemen. But she was eating a piece of bread that some calafates had given her, out of pure pity, and she told me that she had slept last night in a boat because she had been thrown out of the house. ” “And why? ” “Because she really likes to be a rascal, and they beat her. ” “Beautifully, damn! That’s what you call a hell of a school for a woman! What’s your name, daughter? ” “My name is Silda,” the one addressed responded dryly. “She’s from the backstreet,” added Andrés. “Go on, and that makes four!” exclaimed the priest. “I don’t have a father… ha, ha, ha!” croaked the wild Muergo. The girl imitated him, as usual. “She gambled away her life in San Pedro del Mar during the last sea bream season,” Cole said. “She doesn’t even have a mother,” Sula added. “A street vendor named Uncle Mocejón took her in out of pity,” Andrés explained. “Ta, ta, ta, ta!…” Father Apolinar exclaimed upon hearing this. “So this girl is the daughter of the late Mules, a widower for two years when he died this winter, with those other unfortunates… Well, I took only a few steps, by the grace of the Virgin, for them to take you in at that house!… My child, I didn’t know you before. It’s true that I don’t remember having seen you more than twice, and those times badly, as I see everything with these mischievous eyes that don’t want to be good… Common; but what’s it about now, Sir Andrés?” “Well,” he replied, turning the cap over in his hands, “I told her, when I heard what she told me, ‘go back home.’ And she said to me, ‘If I go back they’ll break my back; and that’s why I don’t want to go back. ‘ And I said, ‘What are you going to do here alone?’ And she said, ‘What others do.’ And I said, ‘Perhaps they won’t hit you.’ And she said, ‘They’ve hit me many times… everyone is bad there, and that’s why I ran away never to return.’ And then I remembered you, and I said to her, ‘I’ll take you to a man who will arrange everything, if you want to come with me.’ And she said, ‘Well, let’s go.’ And that’s why I brought her here. All this while the girl, when she wasn’t making gestures to Muergo, was scanning the floor, the furniture, and the walls with her eyes, as serene and calm as if she had nothing to do with what was being discussed there between Father Apolinar and the son of the captain of the _Montañesa_. “That is to say,” exclaimed the blessed friar, crossing his arms in front of his protector and his ward, “that there were only a few of us, and my grandmother gave birth. Damn the bargains Father Apolinar gets! Let families be untied; let marriages be untied; let children escape from their homes; let the two Town Councils be torn to pieces; Let Juan fall in love with Petra without panties with a lot of cherry… let Cabarga’s beak sink and the mouth of the port close… here’s Father Apolinar who fixes everything, as if Father Apolinar had nothing else to do but straighten what others twist, and untangle beasts like those who listen to me. And who told you, Andresillo, that it’s enough for me to want this girl to be taken in by a respectable house, to consider her taken in already? And how do you know if, even if that were possible, I would want to do it? Didn’t I do it once already? Has it served any purpose? Have they even thanked me? Well, you know that other people’s business kills the soul; and I am occupied with other people’s affairs up to the crown, up to the crown, son… and higher too!… A horn with the fennel of my sins!… Here the friar turned twice around the room, while the eight children looked at one another, or some of them stretched, or most of them grew bored; and after writhing twice in succession inside his garment, he stopped before Silda and Andresillo, and said to them: “So what you want is for me to accompany you right now to Mocejón’s house, and speak to his soul and tell him: here is the prodigal son who returns repentant to his paternal home… ” “Not me,” Andrés interrupted briskly; “this is the one you must accompany. I am going right now to San Martín to see my father come in, for he must be here by now if he knocks or arrives.” “And I’m going with you,” said Silda with the greatest freshness. “I like it.” “It’s a great trouble to see those big ships come in…” “Then, you devil of a goat,” retorted Friar Apolinar, standing to attention before her, “who am I going to work for? What am I going to pocket with this bad luck? If you don’t care what comes of the step you’re forcing me to take, what the hell should it matter to me? Well, I’m not going, come on! ” “Yes, Pa Polinar,” said Andrés, looking at him very smilingly. “No, no!” replied the friar, wanting to be inexorable. “Yes, yes,” insisted Andrés. “Horn!” replied the other, almost enraged, “I’ll bet both ears that it won’t, and I’ll bet it won’t!” Then, as if the eight figures surrounding him had instantly agreed , they shouted in unison, at the top of their voices: “Yes indeed!” And when they saw the friar nervously scratch his head and butt his head at Muergo, they all rushed en masse to the stairs, which, narrow and worm-eaten, trembled and creaked, and they didn’t stop until they reached the doorway, where Father Apolinar’s gift was examined. After everyone had agreed that it was nothing special, Andrés said to Silda: “By the time we return from San Martín, Polinar will have been to Uncle Mocejón’s house, or somewhere else… I’ll jump up and ask him what’s happened. You wait for me here, and I’ll come down and tell you. Don’t worry, we’ll all sort it out together. Now, let’s go.” The girl shrugged, and Muergo, tightening the knot of his coat’s halyard, said through bared teeth and rolling his eyes, “I’m going too, as soon as I drop these pants off for my mother. ” “And me too,” added Sula. Silda called Muergo a donkey; Guarín, Cole, and the others said they were going, some to the Anaos Dock, some to the boats, some to other chores, and Muergo to drop off his pants at home, and they set off briskly. All this happened on a beautiful June morning, many years… many years ago, in a house on Calle de la Mar in Santander; in that Santander without breakwaters or extensions; without railroads or urban trams; without the Plaza de Velarde and without stained-glass windows in the cathedral cloisters; without hotels in Sardinero and without fairs or barracks in the Second Alameda; in Santander with a dock and with boats up to the Fish Market; the Santander of the Anaos Pier and the Maruca; that of the Holy Fountain and the Cave of Uncle Cirilo; that of the Huerta de los Frailes in the open valley, and of the provincial of Burgos growing old in the San Francisco barracks ; that of the Botín house, inaccessible, alone, and uninhabited; that of the Martyrs in La Puntida, and of Tumbatres Street ; that of the giant girls on November 3rd, the anniversary of the Battle of Vargas, with luminaries and fireworks at night, and of the bullfights in which Chabiri killed, Zapaterillo gored, Rechina placed banderillas, and Pitorro fought cape-fights, in the Botín square, with music from the Nationalists; the Santander of the Inns of Santa Clara, of the Public Peso and of Mingo, the Zulema and Tumbanavíos; of the Chacolí of the Atalaya, and of the Reganche barracks on Burgos Street; of the Hormaeche inn, and of the Casa del Navío; the Santander of those decent but poorly dressed boys who, still with down on their faces, used to play skip in the Plaza Vieja, and today are beginning to bow their heads to the weight of gray hair, the work, as much as of the years, of nostalgia for venerable things that are gone, never to return; of the Santander that I have here inside, deep inside, in the depths of my heart, and carved in my memory in such a way that, with my eyes closed, I would dare to trace it with its entire perimeter, and its streets, and the color of its stones, and the number, and the names, and even the faces of its inhabitants; of that Santander, in short, which at the same time is a source of terror and mockery for the scattered and versatile youth of today, who know him by hearsay, is the only refuge left to art when with its resources it is intended to offer to the consideration of other generations something picturesque, without ceasing to to be pure-blooded, in this _pejina_ race that is disappearing amidst the motley and insipid confusion of modern customs. Chapter 2. FROM LA MARUCA TO SAN MARTÍN. La Maruca was tempting when the four boys on their way to San Martín passed by her . Water was gushing out of the gap at the back of the pier, and streams of foam marked the rising tide on the wall of the Cañadío causeway and on the beach on the opposite side, closed by the facade of a warehouse that still exists, and a high, thick wall that joined it to the east, a space occupied today by the Casa de los Jardines and the Plaza del Cuadro, with all the buildings and streets that follow them to the north, as far as the wall of the Rábago orchard. This was the Maruca in those days, connected to the bay by the culvert that emptied into the point of the Muelle, a fearful cave that very few brave souls had dared to explore, riding on a floating log. Cuco claimed to have undertaken this enterprise; that is, entering through the Maruca gap and exiting through the Muelle gap, at mid-tide; but he told such stories of thick darkness, frightful noises, rats like goats, and pitiful wails, like those of souls in distress, that they have made me doubt later that the feat was true. Many people stuck their heads into the dark mystery, but without opening their eyes so as not to see horrors, and I was one of them; but as for Cuco… bah! Why didn’t he cite witnesses when he affirmed it? And it was well worth the effort to take credit for such an undertaking, for it was the only one that could, if not be compared, come close to another, so terrifying in itself that not even a single boy dared to say he had attempted it in jest: to take no more than four steps into the mysterious cavern that led to the abyss at the bottom of which floated the stone ship in which the heads of their patron saints, the martyrs of Calahorra, Saint Emeterio and Saint Celedonio, had come to Santander; a cavern whose low, narrow entrance , stained with all kinds of filth and always closed, was contemplated with grave suspicion by both children and adults on the wall of Cristo, near San Felipe, as they passed through the vaulted Calle de los Azogues. According to popular belief, for a person to enter there was the same as to be beaten to pieces and disappear from the world forever. There had been cases, and no one questioned them, although there wasn’t all the clarity one might have desired regarding the “who” and “when.” I repeat, the Maruca was tempting for the four boys walking toward San Martín. The tide was more than two-thirds full and “live” at the time, and all the timbers were floating; and besides the usual perches, because there were always some there, two beams that hadn’t been there the day before: two beams tied together, tied one to the other and anchored with a harpoon, near the edge of the cliff. “No big deal!” as Andrés said, snorting with pleasure as soon as he saw them; “take off my shoes, roll up my trouser legs to my thighs, and with a word of “Jesus,” pull the beams a little closer, hauling on the harpoon’s end.” jump on top of them, and with the pole I have hidden somewhere close by… Damn, what a beautiful ship!… and
what a tide! Sula and Muergo thought the same, and they tempted him hard not to go any further; but the force moving him toward San Martín was more powerful than the one trying to stop him at Maruca; and for that reason, and because Silda, perhaps remembering the usual splash upon seeing the perch, which Muergo had already pointed out to him with her crossed eyes and stupid laugh , supported him vehemently, he was deaf to the seductions of his shabby companions, and blind to the attractions before him. So his detention there was short-lived, and very soon they were seen climbing the meadows in search of the path to the Holy Fountain. Although Andrés had seen, when he looked out at the Dock in a convenient place, that the yellow pennant had not yet been placed over the blue flag on the Captaincy’s signal mast, proof that the corvette sighted, he had not yet entered the harbor; he was in a great hurry; for, determined to see his father’s entry from San Martín, he believed the ship was moving faster than his thoughts, and he feared being late. As he walked, always ahead of the others, they peppered him with questions, or one of them stopped him to see how Muergo was rolling on the meadows, or some boy was bathing among the rocks near Uncle Cirilo’s Cave, or a patache was tacking while seeking an exit with a headwind, or Silda imitated Muergo’s crooked look and stupid laugh. “Your father will bring good things!” the girl said to Andrés. “Sometimes he brings them just like that,” Andrés responded without turning his face. “For you too? ” “And for everyone. Once he brought me a parrot. ” “They were better in small packets,” Sula explained. “Or jelly,” Muergo added. “He brings them for him by the hundreds, like the Three Crowns,” said Andrés, answering Sula. “I know very well what jelly is, my God!” insisted Muergo , licking his lips. “I tried it once… ha, ha, ha! A lady at the Pier gave it to my mother … I think she stole it, ha, ha, ha! I stole it from her too one night, and I gobbled up half a box… Oh my God, what a mess right after she found out! ” “Maybe she’s bringing silk shawls too,” said Silda, tightening the drawstring of her skirt around her waist. “If she’s bringing a lot, save one for me, okay, Andrés?” He turned to Silda, astonished at the request he had just given her, and saw Sula upside down, clutching the grass with his hands and throwing one leg, now the other, in the air, but never both at the same time. Indeed, doing handstands quickly and well was one of Andrés’s greatest skills. He was stung by pride when he saw Sula’s clumsiness, and, shining a kick on her rear, he said, so that everyone present would know: “It’s done like this.” And in no time he did the perfect handstand, with a tap dance and a perneo, and the Y, and almost the T, and everything else that could be done without being dislocated in that awkward position. And he shook so much, encouraged by the applause of Silda and Muergo, that he dropped everything he had in his pockets into the meadow, which wasn’t much: three quarters in two pieces, a cigarette, a penknife with half the handle missing, and some papers. As soon as Muergo saw the cigarette, he grabbed it with his paw and moved a good way away; and before Andrés had even broken up the matchstick and picked up the money, papers, and knife from the floor, he had already taken a cardboard match that he kept in the bottomless pit of a pocket in his coat, and tapped it against a barrel, and lit the cigar, and taken three such enormous drags, without letting go of his mouth, and so well covered, that when the son of the captain of the Montañesa came at him demanding from the dried pineapple what was his, Muergo, his monstrous head enveloped in smoke, because it was spewing out of every nostril in it and even seemed to be through the very mane of his hair, was only able to give up half a cigarette, and that filthy one and stinking. Even so, Andrés consumed it in a few drags, for if he beat Sula at making matches, Muergo could not beat him at covering them. It was as if Cuco had taught him to smoke, for he was the most formidable smoker at Muelle Anaos, which is the same as saying the bravest smoker in the world! For Sula still lit a couple of good slaps on the imperceptible butt that Andrés threw away. At the Holy Fountain, they climbed up the basin and drank water, most of them not thirsty, and Silda washed her hands and smoothed her hair. Then they walked down the steep alleyway of the “sardine factory” and came out to the Molnedo meadows. There, Muergo tried to do his little handstand, staying behind so that they wouldn’t see the proof if he failed. In the struggle to straighten his torso no more than his head—for as for his feet, there was no need to think about getting them off the meadow—the skirts of his jacket turned up to cover his eyes. His comrades found him in such a picturesque situation, warned by Silda, who was the first to notice the absence of the wild boy. They all approached him very quietly; and one with nettles and another with a stick, and Silda with the studded sole of an old shoe she had found in the meadow, they gave him those coppery buttocks, which glowed. “Pay me for the blow, animal!” Silda shouted at him while she stamped the nails into his hide, when Andrés’s stick and Sula’s nettles left her the opportunity. Muergo bellowed with rage, and even blasphemed, feeling himself flogged so barbarously; but only when he begged for mercy did he manage to get his executioners to leave him in peace so he could scratch his blisters at ease, which were burning. Sula, since she was there, wanted to approach the Muelluco. Andrés told her that there were already enough arrests for the hurry he was in; But Sula ignored the objection and got off at the Muelluco. He immediately began to shout: “Conger eel, how beautiful!… Christ, what a tide! Mother of God, what cámbaros!… Dock, conger eel!” And there was no choice but to dock at the Muelluco. The tide was good, indeed, but not so praiseworthy; and as for the cámbaros, the few that could be seen were no more than average. But Sula was minding her own business and could not help it. The sun was quite hot; the water, greenish and transparent, covered the sea floor more than twice as much in that spot, and the pebbles on the bottom could be counted one by one . “Give me two cents, Andrés,” said the fisherman, pawing impatiently at the Muelluco. “I’ll get them out of a bag!” “I don’t have them,” replied Andrés, who wished to continue on his way without losing a minute. “You don’t have them?” exclaimed Sula in admiration. “And I took them myself from the meadow when they fell out of your pouch!” Andrés resisted. Sula pressed. “Conger eel!… Give me at least the quarter! Come on, just the quarter, you’ve got too!… Come on, man!… Look, wrap it up in one of those crumpled pieces of paper that I myself put in your pouch… And Andrés, no way.” But Silda intervened in the supplicant’s favor, and finally the shabby coin, wrapped in white paper, was thrown into the water. The four figures in the scene watched with great attention as it descended in rapid zigzags to the ground, and how it sank under a thick, shifting rock, but without being entirely hidden from view. “Stop them!” said Sula, scratching his head and suspending the task he had begun of removing his half-shirt without completely tearing it to pieces. “There might be octopus in there!” A fact that Muergo didn’t care, since in the twinkling of an eye he had untied the string at his waist; let go of the jacket that wrapped him near his ankles, and dove into the water headfirst , with his hands clasped in front of him. The water was so clear that the body barely made a sound when it fell; and only a few small bubbles and a slight ripple on the surface indicated that that huge, bronzed and shining animal had slipped in there, diving like a dolphin, rocking and going back and forth around the thick rock, its hair floating like a bunch of pot; He was immediately seen stirring the stone, while his legs continued to move gently upwards, picking up the white package, bringing it to his mouth; reversing his position with the agility of a bonito, and, with two legs and a stroke, appearing on the surface with the coin between his teeth, snorting like a baby hippopotamus . “Are you throwing in the speck?” he said to Andrés after removing the quarter from his mouth and holding himself upright in the water with only the help of his legs. “Not the speck nor a lightning bolt to strike you,” responded Andrés, consumed by impatience. “Nor will I wait for you any longer!” And as soon as he said it, he did it, heading for Las Higueras, without looking back . When he turned around, already near the meadows of San Martín, he noticed that none of his three comrades were following him. At once he suspected, not unfoundedly, that the room acquired by Muergo was the cause of the desertion. Sula and the girl would like him to be _polished_ in benefit of all. He didn’t mind being alone, for he didn’t much like being in public places with friends of that ilk. He felt even less sorry when, crossing the castle’s rotten deck and moat, he saw his battery full of people who had preceded him with the same purpose of attending the entrance of the Montañesa; people who were mostly familiar to him, for among them were sailors who were friends of his father, pilots off duty that day, whom he had seen a thousand times, not only at the dock, but in his own house; the owner and shipowner of the corvette himself , a wealthy merchant who inspired him with the utmost respect ; the wives of some of her sailors; Don Fernando Montalvo himself , a nautical professor, teacher of his father and of all the young captains and pilots of the time, a character of proverbial rigidity in his teachings, whom he feared much more than the owner of the Montañesa, because he knew he was destined to fall under his thumb one day soon; Caral, the caretaker of the Cantabrian Institute, who never missed a free, open-air spectacle; his friend the Count of Turnip, with his silver-embroidered jacket, a glorious remnant of some use made in his youth, and the everlasting complaint that his pension wasn’t enough to feed his ailing body, which was already breaking down from the choquezuelas; Don Lorenzo, the crazy priest from Calle Alta, uncle of a boy, a friend of Andrés, whose name was Colo and who was destined to enroll in Latin, at the request and with the protection of that madman; Ligo, a young man about to make his second voyage as a pilot, to whose generosity he owed a few handfuls of stingrays… and quite a few smacks on the head; Aniceto, the unforgettable tailor; Santoja, the famous shoemaker from the Marquis of Villatorre’s gate… and many more curious people of various kinds; some with their telescopes in their cases, and quite a few with their hunting hounds or their domesticated lamb… Because, at that time, the entry of a ship like the Montañesa, registered in Santander, owned by a Santander merchant, commanded and crewed by a captain, pilot , and sailors from Santander, was an event of great resonance in the capital of Montaña, where larger vessels were not common. Furthermore, the Montañesa was coming from Havana, and many things were expected of her: the letter from her absent son; the gift of vegueros; the box of assorted sweets; the straw hat; the 50-peso bill ; the magazine of that market; news of this or that person of dubious whereabouts or of rebellious fortune, and, at least, the memoirs of half the population, and some returning Indians. The same curiosity, and for the same reasons, aroused the Perla, the Santander, and very few other frigates of those times. No one in the city was unaware of when they left, what they carried, where they were going, or where they were wandering, however far it was possible to know. Their captains and pilots were extremely popular, and their words and deeds were engraved in everyone’s memory, like family glories. Who among those who were then of sound mind and are alive today will have forgotten that wintery, stormy afternoon when, barely having sighted a frigate in the port, the resounding, rhythmic, slow, and funereal ringing of the Martyrs’ bell was suddenly heard! “To the ship!” exclaimed hundreds and hundreds of people who knew the call. “The Unión!” those who had not yet left their homes added in dismay, rushing into the street. Because no one had been unaware, since morning, that the Unión was the frigate sighted, and that it was coming through a furious storm. I was at Rojí’s school when the bell rang, and no one there asked, “What frigate is that?” when we were told: “The Unión is heading for the Quebrantas!” We all knew it, and almost all of us were expecting it. To say that it was immediately released to us, I can fully appreciate the impression made on the public by the event. Half the town was walking along the street, and the other half was spreading out from the castle of San Martín to that of Hano, watching dismayed, first, by how the crew was saved, almost by a miracle of God, and then by how the beautiful ship came ashore and was smashed to pieces by the blows of the raging sea, and a cloud of those coastal predators fell upon its remains, of whom it was said, and still is said, that they set a sail to the Virgin of Latas whenever there was a storm, so that the ships that were going to port would sail that way. Books would not contain what was said in Santander about that sad event, which today would not draw two dozen curious onlookers to the Magdalena gunpowder magazine. And yet, years later, it was still a sympathetic topic of many frequent conversations; and even today, as can be seen from the sample, it comes up from time to time. And with this, I return to the people we left in San Martín awaiting the arrival of the Montañesa. Despite their number, very little was said among themselves; which always happens when an event is awaited that interests everyone present equally , or when people are standing out in the open, facing nature, which speaks volumes, not letting anyone chime in on the conversation… And how eloquent it was that day! The sea, greenish and phosphorescent, rippled by a breeze that I would call playful, if the term weren’t so discredited by chirpy copleros and corny impressionists, who perhaps have never left the inland wheat fields; the sun happily squandering its beams of light, which sparkled between the folds of the bay and on the treacherous red sands of the Quebrantas. There, in the background of the landscape, the blue peaks of Matienzo and Arredondo, and closer, the lofty curves and shadowy bosoms of the mountain range that outlined the view from Cape Quintres and the hills of Galizano, to the passes of Alisas and La Cavada, transparent in a subtle and luminous mist, like a veil woven by fairies with impalpable threads of dew; and there, within reach, the Puntal hills receiving the bitter kisses of the rising tide on their sandy foundations . The only noise was the incessant murmur of the waters as they lazily spread out on the adjacent beach, or as their air-tossed curls wet the rough rocks. One’s lungs were never filled enough by that salty atmosphere, nor was one’s sight ever sated by that reverberating, chatty, and unruly light that swayed in the mist, in the waters, and in the flowers. I don’t know if this was precisely the direction all those people’s thoughts were heading when they wandered back and forth across the castle esplanade, or climbed the small wall of the parapet, or lay on the grass of the braña outside, without speaking more than three words in a row and with their gaze wandering across the landscape. But it’s safe to say that if, by magic , the greatest prodigies of human industry or the marvels of Aladdin’s palaces had been placed before them instead of the miserable castle, they would have contemplated them without the slightest astonishment; a sign, although without realizing it, that , in their eyes, the marvels of nature were far more valuable. Andrés was the only one of the spectators who paid no attention to these marvels, nor would he have paid attention to those of Pari Banu herself, had she appeared there suddenly to transform the castle into a golden citadel with emerald gates. He thought of his father’s arrival, and of his father’s ship, and at most, that all those people were there to see the very thing that interested him so much, being the son of the man he was; that is, of the hero of the festivities. How empty and joyful and worried he must have been! Ligo had taken him on as his own; and after walking with him from one side to the other, making him laugh or blush with the questions he asked the Count of Turnip about the looseness of his straw hats, or Caral about his canoe hat, they had settled down together on the highest and most prominent point of the promontory. At last, many voices were heard exclaiming simultaneously: “There she is!” And there she was, indeed, the Montañesa, tacking ashore, Loaded to the brim with sails, the ensign flying from the gaff-bill, and with the pilot already on board, since he was bringing the launch alongside. Hardly had it arrived over the port point when it was seen to scrape past the Horadada to the south of the islet, and immediately, like a docile, well-ruled colt, it headed for the channel. The breeze pushed it gently, and its powerful bows seemed to sway on flakes of soft cotton. Every movement of the ship drew applause from the wise men of San Martín and produced a commotion in Andrés’s heart , who was the most interested of all in the corvette’s bravery and the arrival of its captain. Thus it drew near little by little, following its course unchanged, like someone already treading on familiar ground, which is, moreover, the road home. and with such skill did she dock the shore with spectators that any eye skilled in these maneuvers would have recognized that the pilot who steered her had decided to demonstrate to the boatswains of the wall that the work there was not done like an old shoemaker’s, but that they were spinning a lot and very carefully. And how well did Uncle Cudón, who was the pilot who had taken the corvette to the Sardinero, know, like the most handsome, how to pull in the most committed ship like a silk! And in this way she continued arriving, with a speed of seven miles; and the sound of the wake could be heard, and the creaking of the rigging as the canvas was refilled, and the clang of the chain as it was taken out of its boxes, and enough fathoms of it were folded forward to reach anchor at the opportune moment; some spectators thought they could make out familiar faces on the bridge; The pilot Sama could be clearly seen on the forecastle, with his rain boots, his dark jacket, and his gold-laced cap… and Andrés, exclaiming: “Look at him!” pointed, with his arm outstretched, at his father, standing on the aft quarterdeck, next to the wheel, and his right hand on the flag halyard, with which, moments later, when the corvette was almost below the line of sight of the spectators at San Martín, he responded to their acclamations and salutes, hoisting it three times in succession, while the starboard rail filled with crew and passengers waving their caps and straw hats in the air. Then every detail of the corvette could be enjoyed with the naked eye… The conceited one! How carefully, before entering the port, she had shaken off the dust of the journey and arranged all her finery! Her brass fittings looked like burnished gold; The yards were clean of slats, and without their rough canvas coverings and top edges; the feather weathervane, which is only displayed in port, swung from the rail, and the blue pennant with the ship’s name in white letters, the ship’s password, and the white and red flag of Santander’s registry fluttered from the gallops of the masthead. Once again the flag of the _Montañesa_ was saluted, and once again cheers, hurrahs, and shouts of haute couture were exchanged between the people on board and those on land; and as if the ship herself had shared in the sentiment that moved so many souls, suddenly making all her rigging creak, she sank her bows into the water until the anchors, already prepared on the scupper and painter, splashed, and she lay on her port side, leaving more than one course of shining copper exposed on the other side, above the water lights. In this gallant position, rocking playfully in the bed of boiling foam that she herself stirred and produced, she glided along the rock, in an instant passed the reef of the Three Sisters, her mainsails were immediately loaded and the topsails, jibs and topgallants were lowered; and very little farther on, at the resonant and manly voice of “Deepwater!” which was heard clearly and perceptibly on the bridge, an anchor fell into the water and the harsh sound of the links was heard as more than forty fathoms of chain were drawn through the hawse-pipe . With this, the graceful corvette, after a violent shudder, lay motionless on the calm waters of the anchorage of the Bear. like a spirited steed stopped in its tracks by its rider at the best of his speed. Chapter 3. WHERE THE ORPHAN OF MULES HAD FALLEN. Uncle Mocejón, the one from the upper street because there was another, younger, Mocejón in the Lower Council, was a short sailor, approaching sixty, the color of a chapped liver, with small, greenish eyes, a thick, almost white beard, very ill-grown and always worse shaved, and as coarse and wild as the hair on his head, into which a comb never entered, and rarely, very rarely, scissors. His gait, like all those in his trade, was clumsy and awkward; the same as his voice, his words, and his conversation. His gaze on land was dark and disdainful. On land, I say, because at sea, as he walked on it, or over it, or around it, whatever in the world could attract his attention, it was a different matter. His base interest and instinctive attachment to his miserable skin stirred his worries in his mind ; and nothing like the light of worries can make the dullest eyes sparkle. As for his temperament, he was much worse than his skin, his beard, his hair, his gait, and his gaze; not precisely because he was fierce, but because he was grumpy, dry, harsh, and unpleasant. A pair of brown breeches, which, having petrified with filth, sea water, and the tar from the boat, had taken the shape of his numb legs; breeches like that, tied around his waist with a strap; low shoes, without heels or a trace of polish, on his swollen feet; A stretchy blanket, or a Palencia blanket, over his tow shirt, and a Catalan cap draped haphazardly over his shaggy hair, like a dirty rag hanging over a fence, made up the everlasting covering of that body, a resigned fodder for filth, and quite capable even of making alliances with leprosy, but not of letting itself be touched by fresh water. For, despite being like that, Uncle Mocejón wasn’t the worst person in the house; for he was surpassed in every way by Sargüeta, his wife, whose sour temper, poisonous tongue, and lacerating voice were the terror of the street, given the number of first-class brawlers in her. She was taller than her husband, but very thin, pitarosa, with a hake-like snout, black, sparse, and pointed teeth; the color of her cheeks was a cured red; and the rest of her face was old parchment; her chest was hollow, her arms long; You could count the sinews and all the bones in her always-uncovered shins, and she stank of parrocha from half a league away. She was never known to wear any other attire than a dark handkerchief tied under her chin, prominent on her forehead , and falling over her eyes so that the light wouldn’t hurt them; a woolen shawl, also dark and dirty, even patched, crossed over her chest at the ends and tied above her waist; a brown serge petticoat; and on her feet, slippers flashing in all directions. However, some maintain that this intolerable woman was more bearable than her daughter Carpia, a girl already in her mid-nineties, as untidy and filthy as her mother, but shorter, darker, flatter, with a similarly deep voice and a similarly long tongue, and, to top it all, snide. She was a sardine seller by trade, and it was a common thing for people to cover their ears, eyes, and even their noses when she passed by with a full carpancho on her head, dripping the grease over her shoulders and back, sifting her short, dirty skirt in time with the joking sway of her hips, and shouting her wares at the top of her lungs. No sardine seller could strike a higher or more sustained note; one almost lost hope that the harsh, piercing cry would ever end. But if some passerby hinted at this suspicion with the slightest gesture, or showed their displeasure with the slightest word, that any inexperienced scullery maid, after asking her from the kitchen balcony “_How so?_” would not reply to her answer, or would reply rudely, or that after having replied, for example, “_three_,” and the sardine seller having said “_get down_,” the scullery maid would not come down, or would take a long time to come down… was how much You had to hear and see what Carpia was saying and doing then, with the carpancho on the ground in the middle of the street and her eyes sometimes on her _aggressor_, or on the spot he had occupied, if he prudently retreated into hiding fearing the hailstorm, and other times on the first passerby who crossed by her side, or on all the passersby, or on all the balconies in the street! Looking at her in that trance, one doubted which was more astonishing in her, between the word, the idea, the gesture, the voice and the mannerisms; and all of it together seemed impossible that it could be contained in a human creature, and of the same sex in which cleanliness and shame are linked. And yet, Carpia was not truly _angry_: it was nothing more than a slight relief that she allowed herself between mocking and spiteful; because when she got angry, that is to say, when she quarreled with all the usual formalities among the trade, which has even formed a school, and is currently enjoying prosperous fortune… God of goodness!… In short, she was almost as terrible as her mother, from whom she took her style, sometimes listening to her in the neighborhood, sometimes learning from her to run the sardine, carrying the carpancho by the handles between the two of them. Carpia had a brother named Cleto, younger than she was. This brother was more in the lineage of his father than of his mother. He was gloomy and taciturn, but hard-working. He was already off to sea, and did not get along well with his sister. He would kick her in the stomach, or wherever he could reach, when it came to responding to the sardine seller’s shameless actions. He did not know how to speak to her in any other way. This esteemed family lived on the fifth floor of a house on Alta Street, South Sidewalk, which had seven floors visible, and whose facade line extended little more than the width of its wooden balconies. I say it had seven floors visible, because between the cellar, the sheds, the subdivisions of the floors, and the attics, it consisted of fourteen rooms; or, to put it more precisely, fourteen families lived there, each in their own hole, with their fishing gear, their rain gear, their buckets full of gall and sand for the slab, their shabby everyday clothes, and all the filth and all the stench that these things and people necessarily bring with them. It is true that the tenants who had balconies took advantage of them to gut the sardine, hang rags, nets, half-worlds, and _sereñas_, and that they had the _curiosity_ to throw the useless scraps into the street, or at the first person who passed by, as if the dripping of the nets and wet clothes were not enough of a rain of filth to make that transit dreadful for the _terrestrials_ who, due to their misfortune, needed to use it; and as for the dens that did not have these outlets, their inhabitants, conceived, born, and raised in that corrupt environment, whose stench made them fat, managed so beautifully there. In any case, how could it be remedied? The tenants of the adjoining and adjacent houses, nor those on the other side of the street, nor the entire Upper Town Council lived any better… The same as the Lower Town Council on the streets of La Mar, Del Arrabal, and Del Medio. Returning to Uncle Mocejón, I add that he was the owner and master of a boat, for which he received two and a half soldadas: one and a half for the master, and one for the skipper; or, what amounts to the same thing for readers unfamiliar with this jargon, of all the fish caught, divided into as many parts as the companions in the boat, he earned two and a half. This wealth, reduced by half in Mocejón’s hands, came from lineage , since what he inherited was a launch; and no one knows the importance that this property gave him among the entire Town Council, in which it was extremely rare for a sailor to have a small share in the vessel in which he sailed; nor what influenced Sargüeta and her daughter Carpia to become the most shameless and fearsome brawlers of the Council. As an uncle, Mocejón was quite clumsy with numbers, and he became dizzy counting the ones he could throw at the hand in hand, holding tightly, one by one, with the other, the _patrona_, that is, his wife, was the one who collected the fish sold during the week every Saturday alongside the boat upon its return from sea; incidents in which Sargüeta had mainly proven herself, the poison of her mouth, the resonant of her voice, the frightening of her gesture, the steely of her nails and the strength of her fingers tangled in the fence of a head of the Fish Market. For this reason, a reseller would get the quarters from the Souls’ collection box , if she didn’t have them ready by Friday night, rather than ask Sargüeta for ten hours to settle her debt. Although all the wives of the boat owners are called _patronas_ , whether or not they collect the week’s sales by hand , as soon as someone mentioned “the patrona” of the Upper Town Hall, it was already known that it was Sargüeta. What a patron she must be! It will soon be understood that the young girl Silda had no shortage of reasons to refuse to return to the house from which she had run away. As for the reasons that were considered for her being taken in when she found herself orphaned and abandoned in the middle of the street, so to speak, they were none other than that Mocejón was a wealthy sailor, and moreover, Mules’s godfather, the latter having taken the Sargüeta’s only son from his womb. That it cost God and help to convince Mocejón and his entire family to take charge of the orphan is unnecessary; nor does it need to be stated that Father Apolinar and all those who were with him engaged in the same charitable enterprise heard truly horrendous things, particularly from Carpia and his mother, before achieving what they intended. Which didn’t happen until the Town Council offered Mocejón a subsidy with expenses from time to time , provided the orphan was treated and supported as expected. On the advice of his wife, Mocejón wanted the Town Council’s promise “to be signed on paper by whoever should and knew how to do it;” but the Town Council opposed the demand; and since there was already more than one family willing to take Silda in for the offered subsidy with expenses , without the offer being stated on paper, Sargüeta’s greed tempted her, convinced the others in her household, counting on the fact that with a bad offer, the girl’s straps would be enough, and gave her lodging in her hovel, and little more than lodging, and a lot of work. For the time being, there was no bed for her; it’s true that neither did Carpia nor her brother. There was no other bed there, properly speaking, and as far as form, not comfort or cleanliness, was concerned, except for the matrimonial cot, in a very small space with a light in the bay, which was called a living room because it also contained a small pine table, a bañizas chair, a cabretón footstool, and a holy card of Saint Peter, patron saint of the Cabildo, stuck to the wall with chewed bread. Carpia slept on a half-rotten mattress in a dark alcove with an entrance through the carrejo, and his brother slept on top of the chest in which everything worthy of storage in the house was kept, from bread to Sunday shoes. Silda was accommodated in a corner formed by the kitchen partition with one of the carrejo partitions, that is, at the end of it and opposite the stair door, on a pile of useless netting and under a scrap of old blanket. If only the poor girl had been able to take with her the little platform, the mattress, the two half-sheets, and the threadbare coverlet she was accustomed to at home! But all of this, and everything else behind closed doors, was not enough to pay her father’s debts. After all, even if Silda had taken her bed to Uncle Mocejón’s, Carpia or his brother would have taken advantage of her, and, in the end, she would have ended up with the same bill as not having a bed of her own. I don’t know if Silda thought this way when she lay down on the pile of old nets in the corner of the kitchen; but it is an established fact that lying down there, covering herself as far as the half-blanket would reach, and falling asleep like a log were one and the same. She missed more than the bed. It was not a wedding feast, her house; but what there was, good or bad, was at least abundant, because between just two people, if they share what they have, however little, each one gets a lot. Then, as her father’s only child, who did not resemble Mocejón in genius or art, she was, relatively speaking, a spoiled child; which is why Mules’s share always came with a good portion to increase his daughter’s; while, since she lived with Sargüeta’s family, she never ate enough to satisfy her hunger; and the little she did eat was bad, and never when she most needed it, and usually amid grunts and insults, but rather amid pinches and blows. She was always the last to dip the common spoon into the pot of cabbage with beans and no meat, and everyone in the house had a tooth that was flaming; so that, where they had already passed once, it was practically a waste of time to attempt the crossing. They had a knack for loading the spoon!… Each spoonful Mocejón scooped seemed like a cartload of grass. Only his wife surpassed him, not so much in loading it, as in unloading it into her mouth, which came out to meet him with its lips folded over its angular, half-open jaws, and its teeth pointed outwards, like the points of mangy nails; then… then nothing, because Silda, who was always squeamish, could never find out if it was the mouth that was launching itself at the prey, or if it was the prey that was launching itself, from halfway down, into the mouth: so swift was the movement, so vast the chasm of the mouth, so clean the bite, and so enormous the gulp through which what a second before had been seen, dripping with broth, halfway into the pan disappeared! Carpia and his brother were not as _clean_ in their eating, although they were just as voracious; But both children and parents had the good habit, before dropping the spoon they had just had in their mouths into the pot, of rubbing it twice against their underpants or petticoats, in order to remove any qualms from the person who was going to take their corresponding spoonful from her, in strict turn. Because Silda did not do so the first day she ate in that house, Sargüeta called her a swine and Carpia hit her with her head. When there was no pot, which was not infrequently, if there were plenty of sardines, Silda would relieve her hunger with a couple of them, roasted with a grain of salt, over the embers; If there were no sardines, marlin, or panchos, or rays, or any other low- value fish in the market, Sargüeta would give her a poorly seasoned pinch, or a couple of raw small fish, a strip of cod, or a herring, as a companion, for a three-day-old crust of bread, or a piece of breadcrumb, according to the season and circumstances. Such was her food: it’s easy to imagine what her lunches and dinners were like. In the meantime, she had to follow whatever was ordered of her if she wanted to eat this little and bad food in peace; and what was ordered was certainly too much for a girl like her. For now, helping the women of the house, inside or around it, with the rigging of the boat, that is, mending the nets, drying them, doing the same with the sails and with the fishing gear, etc., etc. When the whole family, men and women, went out to fish in the bay, especially for boga, a fish that was very abundant at that time, and that disappeared completely years later, due, according to what the seafarers say, to the Maliaño breakwater, because the very space it encloses was where the bogas had their pasture, Silda also had to go out to fish in the bay, and work there, even though she was a child, as much or more than the women, or than Carpia, because Sargüeta rarely went to the bay with her husband; She was preferably entrusted with the cumbersome task of removing the _ujana_, sinking both hands into the base, with the fingers extended, like the _layas_ of the farmers, and then turning the _tajada_, and breaking it into small pieces to find the _worms_, which she was throwing into an old casserole, or into a small pan made of leaf tin can, with sand at the bottom. Other times she could be seen with a small basket on her arm, pecking at the ground with a knife, at low tide, to find the hidden _amayuelas_; or on the sandy beaches, pulling out muergos with a small wire hook. But, in the end, these tasks and others like them, although arduous, especially in winter, gave her a certain freedom, and she often spent very entertaining moments with girls and boys her age, who also went about the muergo and the amayuela , the worm and the whip. This was always the best thing for her: to take the basket and go to the dock, to the _arqueo_ of the whip, the little plate and the copper nail. There she met Muergo, Sula , and many other street scumbags from Calle de la Mar, and above all, the famous Cafetera, whose biography has been in books for years, who, although from Calle Alta, never set foot there, and Pipa and Michero, and more than one other girl who went with them to whatever went on. Following this small group, she became fond of Muelle Anaos and the independent and lively life they led in that famous area, where everyone was free to do what they wanted, as if they were a hundred leagues from the town and any civilized country. She imperceptibly put off returning home, and almost always came back with an empty basket. Sometimes she didn’t return until nightfall; and since she was just as likely to be dusted off for missing an hour as for missing the whole day, she calmly opted for the latter. And she went to Muelle Anaos almost daily, even though they sent her to Peña del Cuervo, and with those at Muelle Anaos she learned how to play Maruca. That’s how Andrés got to know her. It’s worth noting that Silda, although she attended all the undertakings and games of the rascality at Muelle Anaos, rarely took part in them except with attention; not out of virtue, surely, but because she was made of that clay: a cold and very self-absorbed nature. She knew where copper, cocoa, and sugar were being swindled, and how , and where they were sold with impunity, and at what price; she knew where the centavos thus acquired were spent on cups of coffee with a glass, and what was given for a farthing, and for a farthing, and for two farthings, and even for a real; she knew how to play cané… and she knew many other things that were taught in that school about all the vices that can take root in creatures untouched by any physical or moral education; But she never carried anything in her basket that couldn’t be picked up in plain sight; nor did she sell a single nail or a strand of hemp in Uncle Oliveros’s hut; nor did she pick up a card for the cane, nor a stone in the wars of the Baja Mar between the raqueros and the land-based ones, or between the raqueros of the Calle Alta and the raqueros of the Calle de la Mar. She was content to attend everything and learn about everything the rascals did, undaunted and insensitive, by character, as has already been said, not by virtue. Andrés also didn’t take part in the raqueriles of the boys from Muelle Anaos; but he did take part in their stone-throwing, their diving, their games of agility, their attempts, almost always successful, to catch a dog and throw it into the water with a song around its neck. Their favorite pastimes there were rowing with Cuco in his boat, and fishing with a small tackle he had from the steps of Paredón. Silda also liked this very much; and as soon as Andrés lowered the fishing line, she was already at his side, very quietly, her eyes fixed on the tackle. “They’re biting!” she would occasionally say, very quietly, seeing that the fishing line shuddered. “It’s a false bite,” Andrés would reply without pulling the tackle. And so the two of them would spend a very long time. Whenever a pancho was caught, Silda would help Andrés reel in the hooks; and if there were two panchos, she would unhook one. And all the while, she remained very quiet, impassive, and always with her face, hands , and feet as clean as the sun. She was like the young lady of that society of savages. Andrés found her very funny for that very reason, and he had considerations and regard for her that he never used with women. other ragged girls who used to wander around there. She, on the other hand, showed no greater inclination toward Andrés’s dress and manners than toward the filth and barbarity of the squalors. On the contrary, the object of her obvious preference seemed to be the monstrous Muergo, the stupidest, ugliest, and most filthy of all her companions. These preferences, however, were not only revealed in the fact that she approached him very often—for she approached many others as well, whenever she felt like it—but also in the fact that she was as affectionate with none as she was with Muergo. “Wipe your nose and wash that face, filthy boy!” she would say to him; or, “Why don’t they shave that hair off your head? Tell your mother to put a shirt on you. ” Among so many swine and shirtless men who wandered around there, she only felt sorry for Muergo’s filth and nakedness. And Muergo reciprocated these relative delicacies of Silda’s by laughing at her, kicking her , or throwing a scythe at her, like Maruca. And the preference continued, on Silda’s part! For what reason? Who knows? Perhaps the power of contrast; Muergo’s own monstrosity; an unconscious desire, born of human vanity , to tame and subdue what seems untamed and rebellious, and to beautify what is hideous; to do with Muergo what some women, among those called elegant in the world, do with certain woolly and very ugly dogs: take pleasure in seeing them lying at their feet, growling with affection, very clean and well-groomed, precisely because they are hideous and disgusting and shouldn’t be there. Easier to explain is Andrés’s inclination toward the Anaos Pier and the rascality that reigned there. The son of a sailor and called to be one, the adventures of the bay tempted him, and the smell of the salt water and the stench of the hulls enticed him. He chose that terrain to satisfy his seafaring appetites, because there were boats for hire there, abandoned launches, and ships in the careening bays. He had the opportunity to bathe with impunity, naked, at any time of day, and to attend school, and to smoke in complete peace of mind, especially because other boys of his ilk were also around very often: all advantages that could not be found in the dock or in the cannons of the pier. Only the Maruca sometimes offered them; and that’s why he also went to the Maruca from time to time. As for his friendship with the raqueros, there was no other option but to choose between it and the fatigue of entering their territory by force of arms, which was a difficult and risky task to be undertaken daily. Usually, it was done the first time. Afterwards , peace was signed, and life was lived so happily with that scoundrel, taking care to keep them enchanted with cigars and any trinket in the city, especially Cuco, who, due to his corpulence and barbarity, was the most fearsome in his _jokes_, although, in his own way, he was sociable and affectionate. And as Silda was becoming more and more attached to the pampered life at Muelle Anaos, and her absences from home grew longer every day, and the Town Council didn’t seem to remember to give the offered help with expenses, and the Mocejón family was determined not to support such a useless and rebellious little girl for nothing, one night that beating occurred , which forced Silda, who had already suffered so much, to take to the streets and sleep in a boat, for refusing to accept the offer that, upon her arrival, was whispered in her ear by good old Uncle Mechelín, a sailor who, with his wife, Aunt Sidora, occupied the hold, or ground floor, of the house. And since it is necessary to say something about this new family that appears here, and the present chapter already has all the length it needs, let it be left for the next one, where that matter will be dealt with… and others, if necessary. Chapter 4. WHERE THEY WANTED HER. Mechelín and Aunt Sidora were the complete opposite of Mocejón and Sargüeta, both physically and morally. Mechelín was cheerful, well-built, rather tall than short, with average flesh, talkative, and so communicative that he was frequently seen, while puffing at the street door, recounting some incident he considered amusing, out loud, looking at the doorways or empty balconies across the street, or at the people passing by, for lack of anyone to listen closely. And he would chatter about it, and he would laugh, and even reply, with appropriate intonation and gestures, to imaginary interruptions to his story. He was also somewhat droopy-necked and hunched around the back; but since he walked relatively neatly, with a fairly well-shaven face, his sideburns and hair gray, not exactly a bush, and he was so lively with his tongue and so pleasant to look at, those hunches only appeared to be what they were: the work of the rigors of his job, not laziness and neglect of mind and body. She sang, not too badly, in a low voice, some songs from her youth, and knew many stories. His wife, Aunt Sidora, was also usually in a very good mood. She was short and plump; she always wore shoes and boots, dressed neatly, though poorly, and wore a headscarf (a la coif) over her hair. No one celebrated her husband’s antics as she did, and when she was overcome with laughter, she laughed with her whole body; but nothing trembled as much when she laughed as her breast and belly, which, although they were already very large, she made them more prominent in such situations by placing her hands on her hips and throwing back her head . She passed for a fair healer, and almost dared to call herself a good midwife. This exemplarily well-matched couple had never produced children. Uncle Mechelín was a companion on one of the five launches that existed at that time in the entire Upper Town Council, where there were always more barquias than launches, and Aunt Sidora was mainly dedicated to taking care of her husband and her house; selling, herself , the fish from her quiñón, when she would not have preferred to sell it alongside the launch, and accompanying, for a day’s wage, at the Fish Market, one of the several resellers who called on her for her tasks of weighing, collecting, etc. She spent her spare time in the neighborhood of the street, prescribing decoctions here, staunching wounds there, cutting a petticoat for Nisia or gathering some sleeves for Conce… or “fixing a child” in her bitter predicament. Since there were no vices in the house, nor many mouths, Aunt Sidora and her husband took quite good care of themselves, and even had a few gold coins saved, well wrapped in more than three pieces of paper, and kept in a safe place, just in case. On Sundays they dressed up, she in her dark blue denim skirt; blue stockings, and Russian shoes; a black silk shawl with a fringe over a cloth doublet, and another dark scarf on his head. He wore flared trousers, a vest and jacket of fine black cloth, a sailor’s tie, a black silk belt, and a blue cloth beret with a long black cord tassel; his face clean-shaven, and his hair combed… as far as his roughness would allow. All these garments, plus a flannel mantilla with velvet strips, which women wore for funerals and very solemn religious ceremonies, were kept until a few years ago as a characteristic and traditional costume by the people of both Councils of sailors. A brother from Mechelín, who was a street vendor, like all his caste, married a young woman from the Lower Council—a rare example! —and his relatives, friends, and gossips alike spoke volumes about it! “Look, this goes against the norm, and it can’t end in anything good! Look, she’s not one by her own standards, nor does she have it by caste!… Look, Up Above you have them more than your equal and in accordance with the law of God, which commands that each fish stay on its beach!… Look at this and that, and look here and look there!” And, as time went by, what was announced in the Upper Council came to pass: No, in my opinion, because the bride was from Down Under, but because she really wasn’t good “in her own right,” and she gave herself over to drink and idleness , until the poor husband, burdened with sorrows and misery, he went to the other world overnight, leaving behind in this one a widow without a shred of shame, and a two-year-old son, who looked like a black poodle. Mechelín and his wife supported these two unfortunate beings as much as they could; but when they noticed that their help, both in kind and money, was translated by the widow into liquor, leaving the child to crawl on the ground, naked, filthy, and dying of hunger, besides cursing her brothers-in-law for being stingy and greedy, and that the child, as he grew, was becoming as lost and much more vulgar than his mother, they cut off all communication with their ungrateful relatives . Four years passed in this way, during which the boy grew up and became the Muergo we know. Muergo, then, was the blood nephew of Uncle Mechelín, in whose house he did not remember ever having set foot; and his mother, _Chumacera_, a sardine seller at times, had obtained, through charity from those who had been companions in the boat of her deceased, the daily peseta that a woman earns by the work of getting up early to buy bait (cachón, magano, etc.) for the boat, from the fishermen or boatmen on the coast of the bay. The fear of losing the bargain of a peseta forced her to be faithful and punctual in this task, the only one she knew how to perform honestly in her entire life. With what pleasure Uncle Mechelín and his wife would have taken the child, orphaned by such a good father, with them, if they had believed it possible to get something, even a little, from that wild and mountainous vein, and especially without the risks to which this continuous contact with his scoundrel mother exposed them! Because that marriage was dying for a child of a similar age, more or less, to the wild nephew, so that she would fill the house somewhat, as one’s own children do, so desired by all those who don’t have them. So it was that when Father Apolinar and Uncle Mocejón began negotiations for the latter to take Silda into his house, the eyes of the tenants of the cellar wandered after the little girl playing in the street; and they were very tempted more than once, seeing the friar come down in a bad mood, to tug at his cloak to call him inside and say in a low voice: “Bring her here, Pae Polinar, and we will receive her for free, and we will still be very grateful.” But the agreement was the decision of the Town Council, which would have studied it carefully; And besides, they didn’t want Mocejón’s house to believe that their attempt to accept the “subsidy for expenses” offered was what motivated them to take in the orphan. “Be careful,” Mechelín would say to Aunt Sidora, “that even if written on paper it wouldn’t be more to the liking of the community!… She’s as sleek and clean as a king’s canoe! ” “Truly,” Aunt Sidora added, “how sad it is to consider the life that awaits her up there if God doesn’t take her side. ” “Grape!” added her husband, who always used this interjection whenever, in his opinion, a saying had no reply. When Silda was taken to the fifth floor, Uncle Mechelín, who saw her go up, said to Aunt Sidora: “Unhappy!… You won’t be so brave when you come down!… And you’ll have to come down soon!” “I think so,” the woman replied, very thoughtfully, her hands on her hips. “But you and I, we’re not going to drink water. Let’s let it run; and keep our tongues shut, for I fear those people above more than a March gale. ” “Grape!” Mechelín concluded with an expressive nod, winking an eye, turning around, and beginning to sing a seguidilla, as if he hadn’t said anything or were afraid those above might hear him. But from that moment on, they didn’t lose sight of the poor orphan, who, judging by her impassive demeanor, seemed to be the least interested of all in the life she was dragging out in the prison to which she had been condemned, believing they were doing her a favor. They felt very sorry for her, seeing her in the first months of harsh winter, come into the house shivering and bruised from the cold, with the basket of dead people at her side. arm, or with the pot of worms in her hands; or coming down from the floor with bruises on her face, or with the handkerchief around her neck as a bandage on her forehead. They never saw her cry or any sign of having cried, nor could they detect a complaint on her lips. On the other hand, Aunt Sidora’s tongue jumped out of her mouth with her desire to extract details from the girl; but her fear of scandals in Mocejón’s family forced her to restrain herself. Occasionally , when they sensed Silda coming down, the fisherman or sailor would cross the street door with a lump of bread, pretending to eat it, but, in reality, to have an excuse to offer it to her. “You’ve arrived just in time, woman!” he would say to her with feigned surprise. ” This bread was going back to the chest, because I don’t have the damned desire.” If you loved him… And she would leave it in his hands, asking in his ear: “How are we feeling about our appetite today? ” “A fair amount,” the girl would say, revealing, in the eagerness with which she gripped the block, her desire to devour it. But they could not get her to stay there for a moment, nor to say a single word as she passed by that they wanted to hear. Was it the girl’s fear of the revenge of her protectors? Was it a hardness and coldness of character? They attributed her reserve to the former, and this consideration doubled in their eyes the value of the moral qualities of that innocent martyr. For days they saw how she returned home late, and they learned about the life she led outside, and the punishments she received for her behavior, and how many times she had slept outdoors, on a doorframe or on the panel of a boat. “And they’ll finish off the unfortunate creature, after losing her!” exclaimed Uncle Mechelín when speaking of it. “So tender and polished, you careen her in the morning, polish her at noon, and taringa at night, with little gibberish, and I don’t even mention her, a three-deck ship will break up… If I were you, I’d be gone never to return ! ” “As will come to pass,” added the sailor, “if God doesn’t remedy it first . That’s what happens when you simply put your flesh into the mouths of sharks! ” “Grape!” One night, after the horrors spewed from the mouths of Sargüeta and Carpia on the fifth floor at the girl who had recently arrived home had resounded even in the cellar, and two wails from a child’s voice, piercing, sharp, wailing, as if a brutal hand had suddenly torn all the roots of life from a body full of health; after some inhabitant had appeared at the door of each den, despite the frequent beatings and uproars in that neighborhood, higher or lower, Uncle Mechelín and his wife saw Silda descending the last flight of stairs with the same speed as if she were being pursued by rabid wolves. Aunt Sidora met her at the doorway, holding a lantern, and they saw that the child’s clothes were in disarray, her hair tangled, her eyes moist, her gaze somewhere between terror and anger, her breathing labored, and her color pale. “Let me pass, Aunt Sidora!” the child said to the sailor woman, seeing that she was blocking her way to the street. “But where are you going, unhappy woman, at such an hour?” exclaimed the woman from Mechelín, trying to stop her. “I’m leaving,” replied Silda, slipping toward the door, which was not yet closed, “and never returning. Everyone in that house is wicked! ” “Come into mine, angel of God, at least until morning!” said the fisherman, stopping the child with great difficulty. “No, no!” she insisted, freeing herself from the hand that was gently holding her, “it’s very close to the other one.” And she shot out of the doorway like a rocket. “But listen, dear soul!… But wait, little test tube!” Thus exclaimed Aunt Sidora, watching Silda disappear into the darkness of the street, without daring to take two steps behind the fugitive; because Mechelín himself, despite his keen eyesight among the The reader knows what became of her that night and the following morning , having heard Andrés relate it and having seen her, so careless and careless, at Father Apolinar’s house, near Maruca, at the Holy Fountain , and in the meadows of Molnedo. I hadn’t reached Maruca with Andrés and his retinue of street vendors when Father Apolinar, his tile hat pulled down over his eyes, his head bowed for fear of the light, and the coils of his bald cloak gathered between his crossed hands, occasionally rubbing his body against his shirt if he hadn’t already given it away since we left his house with the story, and frequently clearing his throat, was crossing the Muelle Markets toward Calle Alta. Unseen—strangely enough!—by Aunt Sidora, at least, for the door of her cellar was wide open, he reached the fifth floor and knocked with his knuckles, saying at the same time: “Hail Mary!” A woman’s voice answered an indecency from inside; but with such abandon that the ex-cloistered man, without releasing the ties of his cloak from his clasped hands, scratched his back twice in succession, following the usual procedure, and after clearing his throat, murmured: “There must be quite a swell here!” He immediately cleared his throat and sniffed again; he pushed the door open, as the voice had commanded him, and entered. Mocejón was at sea; but Sargüeta and her daughter were at home, untwisting filament from old whips, and although they had certainly not expected a visit from the blessed friar, as soon as they saw him present, they suspected the reason that had brought him there; for, while still muttering about the incident of the previous night, they remembered Father Apolinar’s insistence that the Chapter’s intentions regarding the orphan of Mules be fulfilled; the towers and mounds he had offered them in exchange for the protection he had asked for; the times they had unsuccessfully demanded that he fulfill his promises… Anyway, they felt they were coming to Silda’s; and without waiting for him to finish bidding them good morning, the house was already shaking. Uncle Mechelín hadn’t gone to sea that day because he had spent the night with a hot brick, wrapped in yellow baize, on his starboard side, to relieve a slight pain that had come over him just before going to bed; the result, in his opinion and that of his wife, of the upset he had felt, immediately after supper, at Silda’s incident. The pain eased considerably at dawn, and the sick man was in doubt when he heard in the street the cry of “Up!” from the deputy who has that obligation, and is paid for it, to get up like all his other companions; but his wife wouldn’t let him, and he stayed in bed until well into the day. Then he dressed; He had breakfast on a medium ration of husks and milk, and, to avoid boredom, he began to twist some hake ropes _à la teja_. This method didn’t suit him entirely, since it was more advisable, and safer, to twist them _à la pantille_, that is, around the thigh with the palm of the hand, instead of tying a husk to the end of the rope and making it spin in the air. But Uncle Mechelín noticed, as he began to work, that by continually rubbing the rope with the palm of his hand on his thigh, the pain awoke more acutely than the other way, and he opted for the stubble. He worked like this until very close to noon. While he was finishing off the last fathom of the ninety he intended to give to the line he had in his hands, his wife was placing, as she knew how to do it exquisitely, a large hook, the only one that the hake tackle has, at the end of the _sotileza_, or fine wire in which the line was to end, and she had conveniently arranged the _chumbao_, or lead weight that is tied to the joint of the sotileza with the line, so that the tackle, when set, would sink. This business was already at such a height when, on the stairs, the voices of Sargüeta and Carpia were heard, respectively shouting: “Pegotón! ” “Magañoso!” And at the same time, the buzzing of another harsh, manly voice, and the resounding blows on the unsteady steps, like clumsy stilts descending them, skipping them three at a time. The couple from the cellar ran terrified to the doorway, where Father Apolinar soon arrived, crossing himself with one hand, holding on to the dirty banister with the other, and muttering Latin and shouting spells. –_From wicked wrath… from wicked hearts… free me… free me, Lord, and exalt my prayers!…_ Jesus, Jesus… Jesus, Mary and Joseph!… Furies, furies of hell!… Ufff!… _Run away… run away!…_ Wretched flesh!… Your impious word will scandalize the earth; but the Lord will confound you… will confound you!… Praised be his most holy name! Thus the stunned friar descended exclaiming, and thus he reached the last step, without ceasing to hear the other voices that from up there stoned him with threats and insults. –Farfallon! –Lousy! This was the sweetest and the last thing that was said to the poor man… from the top of the stairs; For, scarcely had the voices ceased there, they appeared on the balcony, more venomous and shameless, the criers counting on giving the friar a bareback run down the length of the street. The unfortunate man stared at them in horror, hearing them again there, his feet planted in the doorway and Latin frozen in his half-open mouth. “Go then!” Who would have told him to! But he wouldn’t have gone out at all, because, to prevent him from leaving without speaking to them, Aunt Sidora and her husband had stood before him; and, signaling him to be silent, they each took him by a loop of his cloak and led him to the cellar, closing the door after they had entered. This room had a small sitting room with an alcove on the south side, with a barred window that filled it with light, and even some of it left over to illuminate a second alcove, separated from the first by a partition with a small window at the top, and entered through the passageway that led to the living room from the door of the portal. When this door was opened, certain signs of light could be seen in the kitchen and two small outbuildings that fell below the stairs. Once the door was closed, everything was pitch black, and Aunt Sidora had no choice but to light the lamp, even at midday. The doors of the bedrooms had curtains of braided calico; the walls were fairly well whitewashed, and on those of the living room there were three images: one of the Virgin of Carmen, another of Saint Peter the Apostle, and another of the Archangel Saint Michael, with their mahogany veneered frames. Beneath the Virgin of Carmen was a chest of drawers with its mirror on top, somewhat worn and faded from varnish; but very tidy, like the four chairs with knobs and the two pine footstools, and the shaggy leather chest with nailed wooden bars, and even the tackle basket, which stood on one of the footstools, and the tiled floor that supported all this furniture and odds and ends. The bed, which could be seen through the curtains gathered over Roman nails, already somewhat battered and misshapen, filling two-thirds of the room, was not badly padded, judging by the bulk of what was covered by a calico bedspread, full of interwoven trunks of red and blue roosters, and other picturesque birds. The smell that permeated there, something of bluefish and concentrated smoke; But, even so, that cellar seemed like a small silver cup full of rose ointment, compared to each and every one of the apartments on the staircase. And now, to the point. Brother Apolinar was led, in the aforementioned manner, to the small parlor. There he sank into a chair prepared for him very solicitous Uncle Mechelín; and after taking off his hat, which he placed on another chair, and wiping his face with a wrinkled handkerchief of herbs, he continued his interrupted lamentations: “Flesh… miserable, fragile, sinful flesh! Ugh!… What scoundrels!… No consideration for the good man, no respect for the priest… no fear of God! And the insult will continue, in broad daylight! Tongues of a serpent! It is true that I owe nothing and with nothing I pay. Sly!… Common: the most honorable man can be as honorable as I am… and as she is, damn it; how sly she is… A braggart!… because I offer, in the name of another, what another refuses to give… because he ought not to give it… Is the epithet deserved?… Well, I call you ‘sticky!’ ‘Sticky!’ Why? Whose? It’s true that no one will believe it of Father Apolinar… But those who don’t know him… And what an occasion! Look, man… and God confound me if I do it for a fool!… And he lifted his cassock to above his knees, revealing that his long legs were covered only by a pair of cotton underpants and some black, stitched, worsted stockings. And pardon my way of pointing the finger, Sidora; but an hour ago I had trousers, albeit bad ones… See how I’ve prospered since then!… What a stickler I must be!… Flesh, concupiscent and corrupt flesh!… But, in the end, Christ suffered more for us, despite being who He was… Shameless women!… _Et dimite nobis, Domine, debita nostra, sicut nos dimitimus debitoribus nostris…_ Because I forgive you with all my heart; And if I have another one left, let it burst… You rascals!… Is hell still vomiting up scum, Miguel?… Do you hear their wicked voices on the balcony, Sidora, you who have good ears? “And what does it matter to you whether they shout or remain silent?” responded the sailor, wanting to make a joke of this step, which transcended the prologue of a tragedy. “Cross them like the devil, and temper your nerves; the more Soliman they throw out now, the less they’ll have in their bodies for the next time. ” “Grape!” added Uncle Mechelín, who did not take his eyes off the exclaustrated man, nor did he miss a single word of the few, but good, that reached his ears from the balcony of the fifth floor, despite the cellar door being closed. “That’s the sure thing: try the sleet, and veer ahead!” “The thing is, if I tell the truth, I don’t even believe myself safe from those hurricanes in this closed harbor … If they smell that I’m here!… Damn!… And it’s not that my thin flesh trembles, but I fear a bad tongue more than a canister of grapeshot. ” “If they hear that you’re here, Pa Polinar,” Uncle Mechelín replied in a solemn voice, preparing himself as if to say something great; “if they hear that you’re here… it will be as if they didn’t hear you at all; because no one comes to my house when I make a scratch on the door.” “Bah!” added Aunt Sidora with a great deal of malice. “Is there nothing more to be learned than to stick your nose in someone’s house to get your way?… Lean back, lean back, Pa Polinar, watch out for those two, and tell us, with two pairs of javelins that will drive them chest to back, what the hell have you got into with them? What foul wind brought you today, holy of God, to fall between the claws of those people? ” “Grape, grape!… That’s all there is to know. ” “Well, my beloved children,” said the ex-cloistered man after gently wiping the bloody edges of his eyelids with a scrap of fine linen he had kept for such occasions, “with two words I’ll kill your curiosity… The girl is showing up at my house… ” “What girl? ” “The girl belonging to the late Mules.” “Silda? ” “That’s her name, I think.” “When did she show up? ” “I don’t think it’s been an hour yet. ” “Where did she come from?… Where is she? ” “Shut your mouth, man; everything will come out when it must … And then, Pae Polinar, what happened?” “I say that the girl shows up, or, so that the devil won’t laugh at the lie, she is shown to me, and I am told: ‘Father Apolinar, last night they beat her and mistreated her in your house, and she ran away from “she, and slept in a barchy; and that now she has no other home than the street, with the sky for a roof… and let’s see how you fix this business…” Because you already know, my children, that Father Apolinar is entrusted , in both Town Councils, with the solution of all the things that cannot be fixed… That is my fate. It is not a great thing; but there are worse ones… and, above all, it is not my place to choose… That Father Apolinar hears this, and that, for the good of the abandoned girl, he thinks of going to Mocejón’s house, to hear… to know… to implore, if it were convenient… And that I come, and that I knock, and that they order me to enter, and that I enter… and that instead of listening to me, they insult and vilify me, because I interceded for them to take the girl in, and the Town Council has not given them what they offered them through other mouths and through mine; and that I must have eaten it, and that they will do and undo me… And damn it! I had to leave smoking, so that those furies would not devour me… And you know about the case as much as I do. Aunt Sidora and her husband exchanged a knowing glance; and no sooner had Father Apolinar finished his story than she said to him: “So, at this present time, Silda is without protection? ” “Except from God…” replied the friar. “No one needs that,” replied the sailor; “but help yourself and I will help you… And what has become of her, the unfortunate one? ” “I cannot tell you. She left my house… to go see the _Montañesa_ come in with the captain’s son… See how what ‘s happened to her distresses her! I remember the child! ” “Innocent things, Pa Polinar. God does it.” And you, what direction do you plan to take? “To my house as soon as you leave here. ” “I say respect the girl. ” “Well, respect the girl, I say too. Afterwards, I’ll report everything to the Mayor of the Sea of this Council, so he knows what’s going on; and there they can go to hell… I, _lavo inter inocentes manus meas_. ” “And if in the meantime a good refuge were to emerge for the poor woman,” asked Aunt Sidora, while her husband confirmed her words with expressive gestures and motions, “why wouldn’t she take advantage of it? ” “Grape!” concluded Uncle Mechelín, emphasizing the interjection with a punch in the air. “A good refuge!” exclaimed the friar. “What more could she want! What more could I want! But where is he, Sidora of my sins?” “Here,” the sailor woman responded with the most cordial vehemence, sticking out her chest and belly more than ever. “In this very house. ” “Grape!” added Uncle Mechelín. “In this very house. ” “Here!” exclaimed Friar Apolinar, astonished. “But have you abandoned God’s hand! You have peace and you seek war! ” “Why war? ” “Do you know that little girl is a wild goat? ” “Because she hasn’t had good shepherds: she would have them now. ” “And those on the fifth floor? Do you think they’ll give you a moment of rest? ” “We’ll come to an understanding with those people: for good, if it goes well; and if it goes bad… even for the sea there are spells, you know well.” “Well, children,” exclaimed Friar Apolinar, rising from his chair and pulling on his tiled hat, “with such good will, God’s help will not fail you. My duty was to put you in the right place; and since I did and you are not frightened, I say that I am glad for the sake of that innocent woman; and since I say no more than what I feel, I am setting off right now in search of her trace, no more afraid of the demons on the balcony than of the mosquitoes in the air… Christ suffered slaps, insults, and the cross for us… Take heart, and suffer something for Him.” And he left, accompanied by the honorable couple. As they passed in front of the alcove in the stable, Aunt Sidora, raising the curtains of the door, said, stopping the friar: “Look and forgive me, Pa Polinar. We intend to put her here.” These waterproof clothes and all these sea things, which take up a lot of space and do not make a good impression, will be taken to the corner next to the kitchen; the bed, which now has nothing but the mattress, will be made up properly; and we will hear it from the other bedroom until we fall asleep. You will see what He’ll be handsome!… Just as my nephew’s little nymph would have been if he had deserved it. “What nephew?” asked the friar, walking toward the door of the portal. “The son of the Chumacera, from _down there_. ” “Ah, come on… Muergo!… Good fish! If he goes as he goes, I tell you he’ll do his mother good. Flesh, flesh too, bitten by the corrupting worm… Good fish!… Good, good, good! So then: go, goodbye, Miguel; come, goodbye, Sidora.” They heard him clearly murmur these words, as soon as he set foot in the portal: “Domine, exaudi orationem meam!” Because without a doubt he was asking the Almighty to free him from the insults that those on the fifth floor would want to hurl at him from the balcony. If he had left the house a minute earlier, to have passed, as he did, from that point on the street to the corner of Cuesta del Hospital without hearing a single insult would have been a true miracle; for Sargüeta and her daughter Carpia were still there, leaning on the railing, cursing from their mouths. Chapter 5. HOW AND WHY SHE WAS RECRUITED. Andrés did not forget the memories, along with the glories. He had promised Silda that he would see Father Apolinar upon his return from San Martín; and to keep his promise, he left the straight path he had taken a little after noon, behind the Muelle, and headed for Calle de la Mar, crossing a gallery of the Markets in the Plaza Nueva. Seated on the first step of Father Apolinar’s staircase, he found Silda, deeply occupied in tying a rose-colored silk braid to the end of her blond braid . The braid was still so short that, after passing it over her left shoulder, there was barely enough space left for her eyes to see the operations of her hands. So these, along with the braid, the braid, and the chin strap, pulled back so as not to obstruct the vision of her half-closed eyes, formed such a confusing jumble that Andrés couldn’t tell what the matter was. “What are you doing?” he asked Silda as soon as he noticed her. “Putting this ribbon in my hair,” the girl replied, showing it to him, stretched out. “Who gave it to you? ” “Let’s buy it with the money you gave to Muergo. He wanted whistles, and Sula wanted candy; but I wanted this ribbon that was in a little store belonging to Pasiegas, and I bought it. Then I came here to wait for you, to find out about that. ” “Is Polinar home?” “I haven’t tired of asking,” Silda replied with the greatest coolness. “Well, against it!” said Andrés, standing with his hands on his hips in front of the girl, stamping his feet and shaking his body from side to side . “Well, who cares more to know than you?” “Shall we not agree that you would go up, and I would wait for you in the doorway? Well, I’m already waiting for you; so come up as soon as possible. ” Andrés began to take the steps two at a time. When he was almost at the first landing, Silda called him and said: “If Pae Polinar wants me to go back to Sargüeta’s house, tell him I’ll jump into the sea first. ” “Really!” Andrés shouted from above. “Why didn’t you tell him when we were at his house before?” “Because I didn’t remember,” Silda replied reluctantly, once again preoccupied with the task of putting the pink ribbon in her braid of blond hair. Not even half a quarter of an hour had passed when Andrés was back in the doorway. “He was at Uncle Mocejón’s house,” he said to Silda, still panting, “and the women almost killed him. ” “You see!” Silda exclaimed, looking at him firmly. “They’re very bad! Very bad indeed!” “They’re going to take you to a good house,” Andrés continued in a very thoughtful tone. “Which one?” Silda asked. “Some uncles’ house in Muergo.” “What are their names? ” “Uncle Mechelín and Aunt Sidora. ” “The ones from the wine cellar? ” “I think so. ” “And are those uncles from Muergo? ” “Apparently.” “They’re good people… but they’re so close to the others! ” “Father Polinar says there’s no need to worry about that. ” “And when do I go? ” “He’ll come down right now to take you. I’m going home to wait for my father, who will disembark soon, if he hasn’t already. ” “Oh, how well the Montañesa came in!… What you missed!… More than a thousand people were watching her from San Martín!… Goodbye, Silda: I’ll see you. ” “Goodbye,” the girl responded curtly, while Andrés left the doorway and ran down the street. Brother Apolinar soon came down; but before Silda saw him, she had already heard him murmuring, between the thuds of his wide feet on the steps. “Fennel horn with the little girl!” he said as he went down the last flight of stairs. “She’s lying around like she couldn’t care less about what’s making me sweat blood!… You should send half the town running after her to find out she didn’t go to San Martín, but was seen at La Puntida with two street vendors… You should go home, and if you have no appetite for the sad daily stew, maybe tell her that what she’s looking for and can’t find, and because she can’t find it, she’s been waiting in the doorway for a while, without any trouble or care… What a pain this snot is!… Why didn’t you come up, you little brat? ” “Because I was waiting for Andrés, who was the one who was supposed to come up. ” “She had to come up!… And who is she who’s out in the elements and in need of a crust of bread and an honest family who will give her a little love?” Aren’t you?… And if you are, who cares more than you about coming up to my house and asking me: Pae Polinar, what ‘s up?… You snot, a real snot!… Come on, leave that horn-like bun and come with me. As the two of them walked toward Upper Street, Pae Polinar was putting the girl in her place. Among other things, he said to her: “And now that you’ve found what you don’t deserve, a little wit and a lot of humility… No more Maruca, and no more Muelle Anaos… because if you give them reason to throw you out of that house, Pae Polinar won’t tire of finding you another. Do you understand? Your father was good; your mother was no worse: they confessed to me.” Well, the people who are going to take you in are as good or better than them… So if you turn out bad, it will be because you want to be, or you have it in your guts… But don’t count on me to straighten out what goes wrong because of your wickedness… horn! for I see myself crucified enough for being a redeemer so often… Because look at what happened this morning!… And listen to this: we’ll go along Rua Menor to the Hospital hill. As soon as we get to the top of it, you lean out very carefully around the corner, and look, without being seen, at Sargüeta’s house. If there’s anyone looking out from the balcony, you step back and tell me; if there’s no one, you cross from one alley to the other sidewalk; I’ll follow you, and together we’ll stick close to the houses, and at a good pace, we’ll head into Mechelín’s, where she’ll be waiting for us… Do you understand? Well, it’s time for it. Silda had no idea that so many precautions were being taken for the sake of Friar Apolinar himself, since she had no other news than the very laconic one Andrés had given her about what had happened to him at Mocejón’s house; but since it was very important to her to pass unseen, when the opportune moment arrived she carried out the friar’s request with a scrupulousness comparable only to the terror that the women on the fifth floor inspired in her; and since they were not on the balcony or anywhere within sight of the street, the exile and the girl crossed it like two whirlwinds and slipped into Uncle Mechelín’s cellar, whose wife was emptying the pot at that moment for dinner, believing, since it was already quite late one in the afternoon, that Silda would not appear as soon as Father Apolinar had thought. The hostess could not have arrived any sooner. She serenely scanned everything in the house within her reach and sat down impassively on the stool that Aunt Sidora affectionately offered her, in front of from the other, over which the stew was steaming in a deep dish, very faded in color, and somewhat cracked and dulled by the varnish, due to the years and its continued use. Uncle Mechelín, for his part, while his eyes danced with joy, offered Silda a good lump of bread and a tin spoon, because in that house everyone ate with their own spoon. The offer was accepted as the most natural and common thing to do, and the meal began, without the slightest sign of surprise or shyness being noticed in the girl . She rigorously took advantage of her turn to dip her spoon into the dish, and listened, without responding with more than a cold glance, to the affectionate words of encouragement that Aunt Sidora or her husband addressed to her. Brother Apolinar thought this an opportune occasion to repeat to Silda what he had told her on the way, and even to add a few more pieces of advice, and he began to put it into practice; but Aunt Sidora interrupted him , saying: “She’ll do all that and more, without being ordered, just as she sees fit. Isn’t that true, my child? Now eat quietly; fill that little belly, for it must be very empty; sleep in a good bed, and later there will be time for everything: time to work and time to enjoy yourself properly. ” “Grape!” exclaimed Uncle Mechelín. “You shouldn’t ask a body for more oar than it can give itself… And you, Pa Polinar, who has a good beak and a good hand in all areas, it would be good if you would give an account, to whomever is responsible, of the pluses and minuses there have been in this matter.” “I’m certainly in on that, considering the responsibility that falls to me!” replied the friar. “I’ll be sucking my finger! ” “Grape!… Today is Saturday… Tomorrow there will be a Town Hall meeting dedicated to relief and other matters. ” “So much the better then,” said Father Apolinar: “I thought I’d only see Sobano when he returned from sea this afternoon; but since you ‘ve reminded me of that, I’ll come over tomorrow and have the case discussed in Town Hall. ” “Grape!… But no stipend or help for the matter; here all we want is authority and a hand against all evil, the enemy of what is done with a good heart… ” “Understood, Miguel, understood… Remembrance! Well, I have a big part to play in it!” When they flay you for what you do, they’d give me a good skin… It’s been so many hours since you saw it?… eh?… Have you forgotten it already? Well, my flesh still trembles and my ears ring. Tongues, serpent’s tongues and souls of perdition! “Well,” said Aunt Sidora half-jokingly, “you’re less of a strong man than I thought, Pa Polinar. Who remembers that now, if not to cross themselves and think of something else? ” “True, Sidora, true,” responded the friar hastily, “that neither for what they are nor for what I am, should I have taken them again in my mouth. But we are fragile clay, miserable flesh; and it falls, it falls a hundred times an hour. My example should be one of fortitude, and it is one of… of chanfaina, Sidora, of chanfaina; because we’re not worth a damn… _Domine, don’t remember my sin!_ And with that, if you don’t command anything else, I’ll return to my chores… Silda, what I said, I said: you’ve landed on your feet; you’ve won the lottery. If you throw it out the window, you won’t deserve God’s forgiveness, and don’t count on me, no matter how bad things go for you… So Miguel; so Sidora, God’s peace… I think we’ll be able to get out… I say, without any major damage, eh?… Does that seem right to you? Aunt Sidora got up, smiling maliciously; went out, arrived at the street door, looked and listened from there, and returned to the little room saying to Father Apolinar: “Not a soul to be seen nor a mosquito to be heard.” “Don’t take my question so seriously, woman,” said the friar, somewhat sorry to have asked it, “because you know that when the time comes, Brother Apolinar has a skin of iron for insults; but, in any case, your precaution is appreciated, and may God reward you.” He said goodbye again and left. A few moments later Aunt Sidora asked Silda: “And how are you doing about your luggage, my dear? Don’t you have anything but what you’re wearing?” “And another clean shirt that was left over there,” replied Silda. “Well, there’s no need to think about taking it out, even if it’s made of rasolís. But then it’ll look like someone else, won’t it, Miguel? ” “And whatever is necessary,” replied Uncle Mechelín, “because when push comes to shove, it’s trouble. ” Suddenly Silda said: “Anyone without shirt thread is a creep.” “He’d have a good one if he deserved it,” replied Aunt Sidora. “This morning,” added Silda, “he didn’t have any breeches either, and Pae Polinar gave him his. ” “He had plenty of them!” said the sailor woman with visible anger toward her nephew. To which the girl immediately replied: “He gave him what he was wearing; and I don’t think he had any others left.” Aunt Sidora and her husband looked at each other, remembering having seen the friar in his underwear. “So, so what?” Aunt Sidora asked the girl. “Muergo needs the shirt more than I do.” Mechelín and his wife looked at each other again, and he asked the girl: “And when they wash that one, which he really needs now?” ” I’ll stay in bed until it dries,” replied Silda, shrugging her shoulders. “But how do you know that little scamp Muergo?” asked the sailor. “From down there. ” “And why are you telling me that he goes around without a shirt or underwear?” “Because Andrés told me he was your nephew. ” “Who is Andrés? ” “A c…ink, son of the captain of the Montañesa. ” “Do you know him?” “He took me to Pae Polinar’s house when I was alone at the Anaos Dock this morning. ” “Why did he take you? ” “So he’d do for me what he’s done. That c…ink Andrés is a good guy. ” “Does he know Muergo? ” “He knows him very well. ” “And why doesn’t he give him the shirt, since he’s rich? ” “He has a grudge against him because he knocked me off my feet with a blow from his head. ” “Who knocked you off? ” “Muergo. ” “And how did you get out? ” “Muergo took me out because Sula and another guy named Cole told him to. ” “So if those guys don’t tell him to, you’ll drown? ” “Maybe so. ” “And with all that and all that, you ask for a shirt for him? A lance to split him! ” “It’s disgusting to see him, the way he walks! But if they give him a shirt here, he shouldn’t take it unless he cuts his hair and washes his feet.” He’s a real naughty boy, a real naughty boy!… and a real donkey!… and a real bad boy! “Then why the hell are you in such a hurry for him? ” “That’s why, because he’s disgusting to look at… and his mother has no shame…” When Silda arrived here with the answer, a voice suddenly made itself heard towards the end of the alley, as if it had the physical force of a catapult, hurled her to the most hidden part of the bedroom. The voice was vibrant, torn, with alcoholic overtones, somewhere between provocative and fierce, with highs and lows and tones that were asking for a fight. “There it goes!” she said, “so that the lice can be removed tomorrow, it’s Sunday… or for the carpancho’s dolls, of which there are plenty in my house… or for the gala on the day you marry her off to a marquis with a gold chain… you sniffy face!… Because the Indies are going to fall into your cellar with that filth we threw yesterday to sweep with the broom… Pick!… Here, for her and for the scoundrel who came to you with the princess and with the tale!… Indecent!… When the voice was fading away towards the street, Aunt Sidora came out of her hiding place, with great caution, and found a white package in the middle of the alley. She picked it up, undid it, and saw that it was a girl’s shirt : undoubtedly Silda’s. Then, daring to reach the doorway and stick his head out, he saw Carpia walking down the middle of the stream, arms akimbo, barefoot , sifting her petticoat, and with two empty carpanchos on her head. “They know,” he said to himself. “All the better: we’re ahead of that. It stings them, and they start to bite. So let them bite. They’ll tire. Scoundrels! Drunkards! Shameless women!” Chapter 6. A TOWN COUNCIL. What was then called the Paredón de la Calle Alta (Up Street Wall) still exists under the same name, between the first house on the southern sidewalk of this street and the last on the same sidewalk of Rua Mayor. Only the parapet that protected the small square on the precipice side and the wide stone staircase that descended to the left to Baja Mar (Down Sea), the landing place for the boats of those sailors, are missing, today part of a populous neighborhood, with the railroad station in the center. There, on the Paredón, the Upper Town Council held its town councils in the open air, weather permitting; if not, in Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, which was, like the _Zanguina_ for the Lower Town Council, its leisure center, its market, its bank, its inn, its tribune, and, sooner or later, the source of its savings. 1 All of this is currently a spacious and elegant avenue, which, by unanimous agreement of the municipal Corporation, has been given the name of _Rampa de Sotileza_; an undeserved honor, all the more grateful since it was never dreamed of by the modest ambitions of the author of this book. –_Note of 1888. _
It is now known, because Uncle Mechelín said so at home, that the following day there would be a Town Hall meeting “motivated by relief and other matters.” And indeed, there was a huge crowd. There was not a single sailor missing with a voice and vote when the hospital clock struck nine-thirty in the morning. El Sobano, the Mayor of the sea, or, if you prefer, President of the Town Hall, set an example by being one of the first to attend. He was a man of few words and many judgments; And since he had twice been a councilor in the city council, representing both seafaring guilds, although he went to sea like any of them and didn’t surpass them much in income or breeches, he had acquired that self-confidence or air of self-sufficiency that comes, among ignorant and bald men like himself, from frequent contact with people of worth and money; and even more so if these people are in authority; and even more so if, like Sobano, he had been as much an authority as each of them and shared in their honors and magnificence. It is true that when the guilds nominated him for such a high office, they would have already seen in him talents of understanding and judgment, and manners that were not common among seafarers. But what about what that man had observed and learned while serving twice, for two years each, as a councilor? Who among the seafaring Santander sailors failed to see him in the Corpus Christi procession or in the Holy Week processions, or in the pews of the cathedral, in his black suit of strict etiquette, with his councilor’s medal on his chest, and his white gloves— cotton, because there was no way to fit kid gloves on his huge hands calloused from the oar? And what about when, during the week of his shift, he presided over the theater from that box draped in velvet and gold, reclining in his silk armchair, with his respectful police officers behind the antechamber curtain, and was free to send to jail the first gentleman who earned the honor, and to please or not please that crowd of important people, turning or not turning the poster of the performance face down over the railing of the box, so that some part of it would be repeated, or not repeated, to the great applause of the public? What sailor from Above didn’t see this from the _casserole_ at some time, or didn’t even know about it, from the stories of the lucky ones who had seen it? But perhaps some boquirrubio of today’s kind, a beardless aspirant to governor, if not to minister, will say that none of these prerogatives is anything new. True; and I well know that, just to see , as _Mesio_ says, even tailors with watches have been seen; but come here, that boquirrubio; come closer to the Cabildo that I will now resurrect you at the Paredón on the Calle Alta; look at that swarthy man, with a rough beard, rough hair, stooped shoulders, clumsy movements, bulky and hairy hands, and not very good in breeches; that I say, pointing at that man: “That is the one who has done all those things that do not seem so extraordinary to you;” and let’s see if there is not sufficient reason for him to be astonished, and for people of the same ilk as the hero, who surround him, to judge themselves ten cubits below him. Which is where we were going with the purpose, although the journey has been somewhat longer than convenient for the impatience of the boquirrubios readers. The Upper Town Council was meeting: Because at any moment a levy was going to be raised; and once a levy was raised, each registered member included in it had to be supported with one hundred and fifty reales , in strict order of registration; Because the distribution of forty reales per dizzying head of household, and ten for each widow, which should have been made the previous week, due to the fact that the boats had not been able to put to sea for nearly fifteen days of storms, was not done in a timely manner or in full; Because, for the last two months, there had been many overdrafts in the Council’s treasury, as a result of not having paid into it all the _soldadas_ that were due weekly, at the rate of one for each fishing or passenger boat, pinnace, barge, etc.; Because the guild’s apothecary had warned that he would not admit a new _employee_ when the current one ended, if he was not given forty duros more per year, or the Council was paid another doctor who prescribed less; Because the day of Saint Peter was approaching, it was urgent to know if, for the first time since time immemorial, the Town Council would fail to pay for the expenses of the festivities, both religious and secular: a three o’clock Mass, with music and a sermon, and among other trifles, a roped bull and the town drummer for two days and three nights; because there were five sick people being cared for by the Town Council, who neither recovered nor died; and, finally, and above all, because the treasurer declared himself incapable of meeting so many needs if those who were most vocal about not receiving prompt relief did not pay what they owed to the treasury, or if he was not authorized to dip into the existing reserves for the great difficulties and needs of the guild. Such were the main points to be discussed that day in Town Council. The committee, so to speak, composed of two first and second sea mayors , a treasurer, and a tax collector, occupied the most visible spot, spread out at the top of the square, near the parapet on whose backs the raqueros rode, or on whose backsides the oldest or laziest members of the congregation lightly rested their feet. The rest spread out in groups across the esplanade; groups that formed or broke up depending on whether the president did not speak or did, or whether a speaker from the crowd was more or less interesting. Meanwhile, an incessant murmur of whispered conversations could be heard, and above this murmur, the buzzing of Mocejón, which seemed like a horsefly because it was so persistent and annoying. Everything that was said or remembered there provoked his grunts; and with his pipe between his teeth, his arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed and twisted, his expression one of anger and boredom, filthy and unshaven, he walked clumsily and lazily, here and there, answering everything without speaking to anyone, and cursing even the sun that heated the scene. Although not with the savage brusqueness of this man, there were plenty of suspicious and discontented people there; and it was very curious to observe how they took advantage of the very opportunity when they should have been explicit and showed their faces, to turn their backs, or at least sideways, and murmur a malicious excuse, or some barbarity, towards a collateral who had not opened his lips. Sobano, for example, said white. “I say black!” an old man responded, rearing up. “Why?” retorted the Sea Mayor. “Because!” said the other, turning sideways; and then, making a bit of a barquin barcón with his bent back, he added, facing those behind: “Come on with me with that!… If when you go, Here I am again, you little testicle… rascal! Once again it was a lad with glossy skin, curly hair, short lips and long teeth, who had dared to raise a objection, in an angry voice, from the very back of the crowd. “So what’s up with that?” someone from the council asked him from the wall .
“Well… what was said!” the lad responded, turning his face to his right. “So what was said?” they retorted. “You’re there to know it,” replied the one with the short lips and long teeth , having just turned back: “that’s why, to know what I say and do what we want; that’s why we are the Council. ” Words that a scruffy fifty-something gladly echoed, saying, with his face turned to the port side: “To spread the breeze, we are the Council; to eat the ujana, as if we were nobody. “Where’s that going?” exclaimed a little further on, a sailor, slumped on his right shoulder and winking at the previous speaker; “where’s that going, I know it well… Some good skins they’ve been throwing away for some time now… Better than mine, you idiots! Mocejón used to wander around where the murmurings were so loud. “The sweeper… the sweeper, children!” he added on his part, with his big head down and his pig’s eye. “The sweeper!… Here we don’t waste any less… with a supple foot and a spoiled body; and you, poor sailor, you go off out there pulling at the oar, and here come the julliscas!… Always throwing ballast, and it never comes out… How will it come out, ñules, if some men don’t have calo!” This opinion of the malevolent Mocejón was not a common one among the council, nor, in all honesty, was there any reason for it to be so. However, it was common among those who had never been able to secure the treasury position that the treasurer did not know how to be one; that all the treasury’s problems lay in the lack of a man who knew how to administer it properly, and that the Sobano, with all his knowledge, was unable to straighten out what others were twisting in the interests of the guild. These were the somber notes that dotted that cheerful and picturesque picture, and the basis of the incessant rumors observed among its figures. For the true weight of the discussion was borne by the Sobano, on behalf of the council; and among the council, by men of good will, like Uncle Mechelín and other companions, who, although they also dealt with the issues half-heartedly, ultimately dealt with them rationally. Typically, the Mayor of the Sea was the one who channeled and directed the speeches, cutting through idle digressions and impertinent arguments; he brought the auctions to where they should be and when they should be, and formulated the agreements, which, in the end, were not opposed by even the most unruly. Without this kind of dictatorship, it would never have been possible in that Town Council, nor in the Lower Council, nor in any similar forum, to resolve anything. And it was then resolved, after an hour and a half of open-air session , well respected by onlookers and passersby, and, even more rarely, by the daughters and wives of those gathered there, women capable of anything except flouting the traditional precepts, which were laws for the guild; it was resolved, I say: First. That, starting from that day, the debtor vessels would pay, on this basis, one and a half salaries per week to the Town Council treasury , until the respective debts were extinguished. Second. That the guild apothecary be warned that he would not be given the forty duros increase he was asking for for the new salary, nor would the physician be dismissed, nor would his prescriptions be limited. Third. That when the time came for the enrolled members included in the draft to go into service in the Navy, each one would punctually collect the one hundred and fifty reales of relief to which they were entitled. Fourth. That in Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, after the Town Council meeting, the treasury accounts would be made public , and that with the surplus they yielded and as the credits were collected, They would gradually clear all outstanding charges, without touching the reserve fund; for if the Council’s obligation to provide relief to the fishermen in times of storms was sacred, no less so was the obligation to pay the fishermen their weekly salaries to the Council treasury. Fifth. That the customary amount be spent on the feast of San Pedro. And finally, that the sick who neither recovered nor died would continue to receive the relief that was being paid to them, until God disposed of them according to His most holy will. These resolutions having been proclaimed in the light of the sun and stamped upon the blue background of the skies, under the faith of the honest word of the sailors constituted in a Town Council, a book that brooks no erasures or malicious draftsmanship, and for that reason its clauses have never caused any question to the Court, Sobano coughed just as the gathering was beginning to disperse, raised his right arm and head, and said, more or less, thus: “Stop, gentlemen!… there’s one point left to settle, and it must be settled before we leave here.” Curiosity moved all those people, and little by little they approached the Mayor of the Sea, until they enclosed him in a tight circle. Mocejón and the other sailor, the lad with the short lip and long teeth, remained outside the line, but listening carefully and grumbling. The Sobano then began to speak, with great parsimony and carefully worded so as to be less offensive, of a certain commitment made seven months earlier by the Council, but outside of a meeting, to assist with a subsidy of costs the family that would take in and treat properly – in justice and charity – this he emphasized a lot, the orphan of the so-called Mules, “who perished in the surf of San Pedro del Mar, with all his companions, in the last coastal season of the sea bream.” Uncle Mocejón, sensing that this matter concerned him, welcomed the Sobano’s words and the covetous glances of the people, like a mastiff the stick with which the boys poke under the door. The Mayor of the Sea added that if the Council had not fulfilled what he had offered through the mouths of good men, it was because he did not feel obliged to do so, seeing that the meager food the orphan received and the pile of rags she was given for a bed were more than compensated for by the work and barbaric punishments imposed on her by the family that had taken her in. “Grape!” a voice exclaimed. “Choba… ñules!” roared the brandy-stained woman of Mocejón. “Let this be done! ” “It will be done!” said the Sobano firmly, “and everything else that is necessary . But it would be better for anyone who hears me to hold on to the oar while this north-westerly passes than to hoist so much sail. ” “Grape!” Mechelín’s voice exclaimed again. “And he who provokes me,” Mocejón growled, “is he a candle, or not a candle? Does the northwest blow here equally for everyone, or does it blow differently?… Ñules!… And you, little jacket from the cellar, if you want to say something, say it clearly and to my face, and not hide it in the pot like the pulpits… watch out!” There was a little movement, like a boil from a hangover, in the gathering, upon hearing Mocejón; whose rudeness encouraged Sobano, cured of idle scruples, to recount in a few words what had happened to Silda at Sargüeta’s house, until she was taken in at Mechelín’s. The Council was asked if they considered that house sufficient for the refuge and protection of the orphan; and the Council answered yes, amidst the grunts, lurches, and flailings of the savage Mocejón, who neither closed his mouth nor stopped for a moment, while the lad with curly hair, short lips, and long teeth, went with angry eyes from Mocejón to those inside, and from those inside to Mocejón, not knowing who to lean on with his opinion. Uncle Mechelín then took the floor and said: “It is known that for the protection of the helpless woman, no stipend or anything untoward is wanted from anyone; but the Council is asked for a hand and authority to let whoever wants to do it for her.” of good will, what others have not wanted or have not been able to do. Is this what is being said valid, or is it not valid? Am I understood, or am I not understood? Is there assurance, or is there no assurance, that the thing will be done as requested? “There is!” many voices responded. And the Sobano immediately added, with his bow pointed at Mocejón: “The Council protects that girl… Can you hear what is being said clearly?” Well, no more is said, because no more is necessary for some to understand what is meant. Mocejón, who did not cease to sail, protesting everything and against everything, seeing that the meeting was breaking up, began to raise his voice as the rumors of those who were dispersing grew; and even when, overwhelmed by them and hindering the majority, he was near Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, he could be heard saying: “Well, look at the other one… louses… suckers! Ñules!… We’ll have to see if it’s worth being a storyteller, a kiss-ass like you, to defame no one who’s worth more than you and the mangy bitch who’s going to give birth to you again and all that nonsense that sticks up for you… reñules!… Chapter 7. THE “SAILORS” OF THAT TIME. Although the reader from overseas might want to stay a little while on the Paredón, after the Cabildo was over, to give his eyes pleasure by contemplating the panorama that can be seen from there, describing with his sight an arc from Mount Cabarga to the plain of the Presas; stopping it in the nearby anchorage of the _Pozo de los Mártires_, a veritable forest of masts, or in the even closer _Dueso_, dotted with launches and barques of the Cabildo, quite unaware that its traditional axiom of “_no matter how much you fix, you will not found money in the Dueso_,” was going to be discredited by the enterprising genius of the following generations, planting the railway station on the Dueso itself, emblem of the revolutionary and transforming spirit of modern societies; asking, out of curiosity, from the top of the stairs, some questions that will not go without a tasty answer to the _launch boys_, who hum or shout below the Paredón, while they _bail out_ or undock those under their care; or glancing from the intersection at the top of Hospital Hill at the two rows of tall, narrow, rickety houses, jammed together for support , laden with sagging balconies and rotten eaves, and the balconies themselves, with nets and rags, with octopus tails and fishing gear drying on the back walls; and sardine guts and scraps of tuna in the air; and disheveled, dirty mothers delousing their half-naked children at the street door; all this, and much more that I won’t mention because it’s obvious and because it doesn’t fit the purview of art, was the neighborhood of the sailors of Arriba, and it continued to be so for many years; although, I repeat, the aforementioned reader from overseas might want to pause to contemplate this and that other spectacle ; And even if he stops for a moment at the door of Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, crowded with sailors more concerned with making their morning meal than examining the Council’s accounts, we still have plenty of time to reach, little by little, San Francisco Street, where the elegant men of that time were walking in their greenish denim tuinas, a garment recently introduced into the current attire, and enter, with due permission, into the house of the captain of the Montañesa, Don Pedro Colindres, better known among the seafarers by his nickname Bitadura, at the moment he arrives with his wife and son from the Company’s eleven o’clock mass. And I want this to be the moment of our presentation to him, so that those who may have seen him on board, or disembark the next day, in his professional attire, without dragging themselves, sturdy and rough, may see him in all his lordly finery. This figure wasn’t very tall: perhaps no more than average; but, on the other hand, he was a double figure, especially in his back, arms, and hands… Forgive the reader’s impatience; but I need to take this figure from further back, almost ab ovo, so that it appears in all the relief it should have when it appears in the painting. I will try to be brief; but, even if I fail, don’t rush, because this digression, in addition to its immediate purpose, must save us from others of the same kind, clearing the ground we are about to enter; because the species abounds in examples, and ab uno disce omnes. Of seafaring stock through and through, he had barely left Don Valentín Pintado’s school when he began to study nautical science at the Consulate with Don Fernando Montalvo. But by then, although he was only thirteen years old, he was valiantly smoking the pasiego tobacco, if there was no milder tobacco within his reach; he swam on his back and stood upright in the water without moving his arms; he played dead, and, finally, he threw a cole from the wall of the Anaos Pier. He would outrun any of his peers rowing a boat; he had captained two wars, and with a clean slap he had a reputation in the Plaza de las Escuelas, in La Maruca, in the Prado de Viñas, and in other such idle places; many shoemakers in the doorway feared him ; he had good friends in the Paredón on Calle Alta, and at the table of La Zanguina he even managed to score three balls and a pint with a garrison corporal who had been a billiard boy in his homeland, and even so, he won the game. Until 1837, when the Cantabrian Institute was inaugurated, this subject and others in the mercantile career were taught at the Consulate of Commerce. But he still retained his earthly air in his dress, his gait, and his speech ; He was still lively, had no ears for boots, wore a cap, was rather blond, said “coila!” when he got angry, and ate a lot of bread, pinching, without taking it out, the loaf of bread he always carried in his pocket. As soon as he became a nautical student, he gradually assimilated the airs and style of that very special breed of students who didn’t seem to have been born of a mother, like all of Adam’s descendants, but rather built of oak on the steps of a shipyard. From them he took the roughness of their accent, the crude apostrophe, the bold gaze, the lack of respect for any teacher but his own, the swaying gait with raised shoulders, the horror of coattails, the buttoned jacket, the cap with gold braid and patent-leather visor, pulled very close to the forehead… and even the tarnished complexion. When he finished his nautical courses, he needed to make two round trips to the island of Cuba as an _attaché_. He did them on a ship commanded by a friend of his father. On these trips, he held the rank of _mozo de a bordo_, that is, a novice sailor. Afterward, he took his exam in Ferrol; and there, having passed his exams, he obtained the _tercero_ certificate, with which he embarked on a frigate in Santander to make the three voyages required of him in this second stage of his career. He also made them in a little over a year, sometimes sailing like a boat, and sometimes with his life hanging by a thread. From the last of these voyages, he returned, although still a chrysalis, showing the wings of a butterfly. By now, the thick hair on his face, shaved from the jaw up, was little more than the shadow of a Catalan sideburn; His hands were beginning to get hairy, his voice to grow hoarse, and his back to become hunched; he was very swarthy, and he joined “the sailors” in their parties and rummaging. He prepared himself, studying with Montalvo for a while; he went to Ferrol for the second time; they passed the strict examination he was subjected to, and he was awarded the title, in full force, of “second”, that is, of “pilot of routes”, which is what Pedro Colindres was looking for, already, by then, known among people in the trade by the nickname of “Bitadura”, I don’t know why… And I take this very opportune occasion to warn readers from the interior, persuaded, perhaps, that it is a whim of mine that almost all the characters who appear so far in this book have a A nickname for a name, for there is no such whim or anything resembling it. The nickname is so common among the seafarers of this port, and so adept are they at hearing themselves called by it, that in the fishermen’s guild there have been those who did not know their own given name, and many who did not recognize it until they needed it to be registered in the sea register. Among these ignorant and uncouth people as well as among the most elevated and cultured, those of a career, the nickname appears without knowing where or how. Generally, it comes from a saying or an action, or some other circumstance, of the person who is found upon him overnight; but who gave it to him and when is not easy to determine. Bitadura took a long time to get a position, after receiving the title of _second_, because such positions were not abundant, given that the merchant sailing navy was so numerous at that time; but, finally, he found a ship, and on it he made his first voyage as a pilot. It was upon his return from this voyage that he appeared in Santander in perfect “sailor” character; he was already… like everyone else. Because, I don’t know how the hell that happened; but it happened: whether blond or thin, or tall or short, the Institute’s sailors or the associates on their first voyage, little by little they were transformed; and when they returned from their second voyages, they were all the same; they all had a lot of shoulders, a lot of hands, and a lot of hair; they were all dark-skinned, with thick, flowing sideburns ; open arms, harsh voices, slow gait, harsh brows, curt in their speech, but picturesque in their words, and with childish tastes and a cheerful spirit. Finally, they all wore the same outfit: a cap with gold braid and an anchor button without a crown; a brown jacket; wellingtons over brown trousers, and a black sailor’s tie; and perhaps this rigorous uniformity of dress and manners contributed to giving them the extraordinary resemblance that was noted between them. Bitadura was one of the most popular of his time; and when, after having experienced storms on all the seas of both worlds, it occurred to him that the entertainments of the Marina café, the nocturnal revels, the snakes at the pilgrimages, and other deeds required in the trade, some of them quite childish, did not satisfy him completely upon arriving in Santander, he one day summoned up courage, he who was not intimidated by the depths of the stormy sea; he smoothed down his hair a little; He put on a clean shirt and some patent leather boots under his gaiters, and went to ask a retired pilot, more from poor health than from excess of age, for his only daughter, a young woman at that time in the flower of her spring, and, as Bitadura himself said when describing her to a friend, after confessing his project, “well-lengthened, sturdy and raised bows, graceful breeches and tall cherry. ”
The suitor’s intention was not a mere conceit, because at that time there were still classes, and unmarried girls from more than seven families in Santander hardly ever wore silk; the suitor was quite famous, because they did not take it as a sin the temporary pranks, let’s say, of those young men so honorable at the bottom of their souls, and so brave and patient at sea; Her father esteemed him highly, and his daughter had seen him, three times, sweep the opposite sidewalk with his hands, only to be left alone, mentally flirting with her from there. So, although he had not yet become a pilot, and was so clumsy with his inflections and verbosity that he sweated like a pig to convey what he wanted at that moment because he could n’t say it clearly, they gave him the girl, whose name was Andrea, and who had two eyes like two suns; hair that shone black and was so thick it couldn’t fit on her head; and a mouth, and a complexion… in short, a good girl in every sense of the word. He married her right away; and before he was a month old, he embarked on his last voyage as a pilot. Because on his return, the captain having disembarked for a long time, they gave him to him the command of the ship, which was a well-known brig. And here Periquito had become a friar. He was now a captain; he already had a salary of sixty pesos a month, and it wouldn’t be long before he enjoyed the benefits that the charterers or owners of the ship generally grant to the captain who commands him with zeal and intelligence… But, on the other hand, what a bothersome weight the duties imposed on him by his sudden transformation! How difficult it was for him to adapt to the ritual of his new rank! For now, put away your jackets and rain boots, and everything that this and the other garments of a pilot’s habit represented in his public life: independence, ease, the cheerful life of a careless young man, conventional and picturesque language… and become a serious man, and speak seriously with merchants and brokers, and, above all, dress in fine cloth, with wings and draggers… and put your massive bulk under a frock coat; your feet into patent leather boots; his big, thick, hairy hands in kid gloves, and… horror of horrors! On his head, trimmed by the barber’s sickle, let him receive the disgrace of the beaver… and then take to the street in that trappings, not daring to walk or turn much for fear of popping the buttons or bursting the seams; and bow your heads in the most fashionable way at offices and consulates; and while he speaks or is being addressed, sit, for the sake of elegance, on a chair, and make him doubt whether he will put the canoe on the floor or hold it in his hands, or throw it over the balcony, which is what he would prefer! The first time he saw himself thus attired in front of a mirror, he burst into laughter. “With this and a cane,” he exclaimed, “a village quack!” “Why don’t you buy it?” his wife asked him. Bitadura looked at her with astonishment on his face. Telling a captain like that to go out with a cane was equivalent to advising a cuirassier to carry a fan. But, in the end, he gradually grew accustomed to the livery, although he only wore it for official functions, so to speak, or at very solemn moments. Outside of those occasions, he wore a loose, half-rigged suit, a match between pilot and captain; comfortable, yet still serious. When he already had a three-year-old son, he was given command of the Montañesa, one of the finest ships in Santander’s registry. Since he was not slow, he became accustomed to the company of people before wearing fine clothes; he became one of the most attractive captains to the passengers, and the owner of the Montañesa had no reason to regret having placed her in his command. Since he was also an accomplished sailor and a very zealous administrator, he was given a wide berth, beginning with the granting of groceries. With this, by carrying small packages of peninsular produce on his own account and importing them from overseas, he earned very good profits in a few voyages, and later received a good interest rate on the cargoes entrusted to him. Despite this, and despite being well over forty when the reader met him, he continued to be, off duty, the same old Bitadura, the grown-up boy, passionately devoted to the minor things of his homeland, to simple pleasures, to picturesque phrases, and to comfortable clothes. Andrea, who had no children other than the one we know, had gradually become more ham-like, and was, on the occasion in which she appears here, a woman of great appearance: white and taut-fleshed, rich in figure, and with a cheerful and beautiful face. She had gone to eleven o’clock Mass that day arm in arm with her husband, wearing a black grosgrain dress, a Manila shawl, a lace mantilla, a mother- of-pearl fan, and openwork silk mittens. He wore a frock coat and trousers of the finest black cloth with boot loops, a satin waistcoat over which wound two enormous branches of his gold watch chain; a dark-checked silk scarf with two brilliant-cut pins connected by a small gold chain; a very shiny top hat ; patent-leather boots; and ash-colored silk gloves. The man was sweating from the heat and discomfort beneath those finery. that pressed him around the neck, the waist, the hands, and the feet; and his swarthy face shone, framed between his already graying sideburns and the brims of his hat, while the starched collar of his shirt softened and wrinkled with the sweat on his neck. He had been expecting all this, and God knows how uneasy it was; but the escape was necessary, because his wife had been dreaming of her for months: she knew of no greater satisfaction; and he loved his wife too much not to indulge her, without hesitation, in something so feasible. Besides, why deny it? If Andrea thought herself more important than a corregidora because she was on the arm of a husband like hers, Bitadura thought that, in the opinion of all who passed by him, no princess was worth as much in appearance as his wife. And so the two of them walked, up San Francisco Street and onward to Plaza Vieja, with each step welcoming him and shaking hands, and her congratulations and greetings, while Andrés, walking on his mother’s right, in his Sunday best, consisting of a fitted jacket with a moiré collar, wool jeans, a mottled waistcoat, a bow tie, new boots, and a chenille cap imitating tiger skin, proudly greeted his friends of the same ilk, or pretended to be a stranger when some rascal, his comrade in crime from Muelle Anaos, winked at him . As they left mass, there were new and more numerous greetings, new stops and welcomes; and returned home with all possible haste, because there would be no shortage of visitors to receive there, and besides there were guests at the table, they ate at one o’clock sharp, and Andrea didn’t trust even the cook she had taken for that occasion, who was beyond the culinary resources of her maid. The reader and I arrived at the moment when the captain was throwing his gloves and cacimba onto a chest of drawers, and his wife, after folding the mantilla and silk shawl, was storing them on a handle of the piece itself. Andrea would have gladly exchanged her country dress for a more modest one, made of wool satin, and the captain his “Lord of the Town Hall” trappings for the ship’s fittings; but, as has already been said, they were awaiting visitors, as it was de rigueur in those circumstances; And a newcomer like Bitadura didn’t receive visitors back then without breaking the bank, especially since it was a holiday and he had a wife as fastidious in these matters, and as handsome and comely as his own. While she was taking a turn in the kitchen, there was a knock at the stair door and Bitadura ran out into the living room… the living room of the captain at that time, with portraits of all the ships he had sailed on, from pilot onwards; a mirror with a gilt-paper frame, and two or three small squares of chenille embroidery, works of the captain when she was at school, hanging on the white walls; above the corner cabinets and the mahogany console, snails from China, bouquets of coral, stick figures of spices, a large tray, placed on its edge behind a music box; and between two wax fruit bowls, each with lanterns, and beneath another oval one, a ship that bobbed on a distorted sea as soon as a spring on the pedestal was touched; cherry-wood seating; a carpet in front of the settee; flowered muslin curtains on the windows of the balcony, in those of the alcove, the carriage house, and the study; the floor of a well-scrubbed pine plank… and stop counting. The mahogany seating with lemongrass inlays and bristlecloth seats ; the mantel clock, the silver candlesticks, the yard-and-a-half-high mirrors with gilt-paste frames; the full-length portrait , the work of Salvá or Bardeló; The velvety wallpaper on the walls, the red taffeta curtains on the bedroom windows, and the little rug in front of each door and each important piece of furniture in the living room, were left to a handful of families, whose women grimaced when they brushed against the common people, whose boys wore the only silk-lined frock coats seen among their contemporaries, wouldn’t drink water from the public fountains even if they were dying of thirst, playing _finely_ tag with their peers, and would rather let themselves be flayed than take off their shoes on the Maruca to sail a bit on its floating perches… And may the reader forgive me once again for going off into the wheat fields again: my intention not to get lost in the story is stronger than the strength of the memories that come tangled in every detail I note of those people and those times that were engraved on the virgin tablets of memory. I return, then, to the subject, and say that the first visit to the newly arrived captain was that of the couple on the fourth floor, with the eldest of their daughters, a respectable family of shopkeepers by inheritance, but quite insipid for tastes as special as those of Bitadura. He was later entertained somewhat more by the retired Captain Arguinde, with his cheerful nature and the clumsy syntax of an unrepentant Biscayan; not so much by Doña Sinforiana Cantón, widowed at a very young age, and already over forty-five, of a pilot who died of fever on the coast of Africa; much less by the wife and daughters of a retired commander, friends of his wife, and even less by other people who also came to see him for reasons of distant kinship, or out of gratitude, or out of interest. Because with his friends and comrades, with the “aligote people,” as he called those in the trade, he had already found himself slowly and in a convenient place to talk freely and laugh without restraint. The three guests he awaited were from this group, in addition to his pilot, Sama, and they arrived one after another. Only one of them was a captain. Of the two pilots, not counting Sama, one was named Madruga, a prototype of the species; The other was Ligo, the young man we saw at San Martín with Andrés. He was the youngest of all, and he wanted to be the most elegant and cultured; of course, he was the most showy and the most unwise. Madruga and he formed a delightful contrast. Madruga’s features were impassive; he spoke softly, little, and as if reluctantly; but what he said came out in copper-plated tones from his lips, whose mocking expression was so close to anger that they were often confused: hence the singular interest of his picturesque speech. Ligo, on the contrary, was loquacious, with great presumptions of being a “man of the world,” or of being capable of being one. He spoke of everything in the style and with the brusqueness of his own, with refined terms that he fabricated to his liking when necessity demanded it. Thus, the resulting mess was such coarse pleasantries and such refined vulgarities that it was all there was to hear. There were still ladies at Bitadura’s house when he arrived, and he was the last to arrive. Madruga had behaved just as he was, taking off his cap and bowing slightly before sitting down. Sama hadn’t gotten involved in many sketches either, because he didn’t know them, and had cowered very quietly in a corner, where he amused himself by turning his cap over in his hands while whistling, almost mentally, a local joke. Captain Nudos, somewhat younger than Bitadura and as well dressed as him and cut from the same cloth as him, didn’t surpass him one iota in politeness and social ceremonies: in truth, he was almost shaved bald in those matters; But, after all, he had had dealings with people by reason of his position, and he had heard that, in a house, the lady should always be the most looked after by friends and family. Therefore, seeing a vacant space on the couch where the captain was sitting among other friends, he slipped in there and ended up right next to her, with no more trouble than shifting a little to enlarge the space into which his ample bottom didn’t fit properly. And there he was, somewhat cramped and somewhat bothering his colleagues; but, in the end, like a gentleman and not interfering with anyone. When Ligo entered, with a great clatter of heels and snorting and Much shaking of the masts, the master of the house entertained, as God and his impatience gave him to understand, those tiresome moments; Andrea talked with the ladies; Sama, tired of turning his cap, had placed his elbows on his thighs, and was amusing himself by inserting _spittinas_, plumb, through the joint of two floorboards; Madruga, with his left foot resting on his right knee, his body very much leaning back, with one hand between the lapels of his jacket and his cap in the other, listened, with an attention so affectedly serious as to be comical, to the little that Bitadura thought of in earnest; and Captain Nudos, judging by his face , was praying to God to inspire him with a way out of those straits as soon as possible. Upon entering and observing the scene, Ligo was confirmed in his belief that those men were unfit for the predicament they were in, and he suspected the ladies were bored. He was going to put everything right by giving his comrades a lesson in courtesy and elegant mischief, and a little pleasantry to the visit, for the ladies’ amusement. And off he goes! An apostrophe to this one, a pat on the back to the other, innuendos to Bitadura, teasing of the captain, finesse here, gallantry there— how good old Ligo would manage, and what quality would his discretion and pleasantries be? Before he could even think of sitting down in the chair he was dragging from side to side while talking and moving around in the circle, there was not a single lady left in the room , and the captain came out behind the last one, her cheeks very red and biting her lips with laughter. As soon as the five sailors saw themselves alone, Bitadura fell upon his companion, the one on the sofa, who was beginning to unfold his face and go numb, saying to him while he overwhelmed him with blows: “Osio, Macario!… Come down now, son, your face is like a _ufia_! ” To which Ligo added: “If only he didn’t get involved in _manipulations_ that he doesn’t understand!… “As for manipulations and _pitiflanes_, you,” said Madruga very seriously. “It can be seen that you do,” replied Ligo. “Here there is rigging to navigate in all waters, both aligote and pitimini.” And if not, look how the ladies were rolling with laughter, who were, when I entered, as if in the prayer room!… “Nothing, man, you’re dolphins of the sea, and nothing more!” And so the argument continued; and at the sound of the shooting and the laughter, Sama lost the little respect he had for the presence of Bitadura, who, after all, was his captain; he let out a cornet-like sopimpa, imitating it with his fists and voice, and then the four others danced it like the same blacks of Cuba. And they didn’t play step or soleto afterward, because the captain arrived, announced that the soup was on the table, and they all went to the mess hall. Bitadura had been away from his homeland for five months, and he had just spent nearly two of them at sea without any communication with the world. The first thing that would occur to a man today, in those same circumstances, upon returning home and sitting down at the table with friends, would be to ask them: “Who rules in Spain? What’s the politics? When was the last proclamation made? What revolution is being prepared? What governor do we have?” Bitadura, and all the Bitaduras of that time, did n’t care about these things. What he asked with great interest, as soon as they all sat down at the table and while he was serving Madruga a plate of noodles, because he had just heard him say that he was still _estivating_ just as he was in the _cellar_, was something along the following lines: “And what’s Nerín doing?… And _Caparrota_?… How’s _Sietemuelas_? And _Tumbanavíos_?” These and other such topics were the topics of conversation, often interrupted by Madruga saying to Sama, who was standing in front of him: “_rob_ those _groceries_,” pointing to some olives he wanted; or by Andresillo saying: “_hit that pump, _motil_,” so that he would pour wine from a bottle into the glass he was offering him; and so on. along those lines. Towards dessert, there was some talk, almost in earnest, about the captain’s plans for his son’s career. He was getting quite big now, and his father hoped he would enroll in sailing within a year, so that he could do all the practical work at his side, before he grew tired of sailing, or God himself took his patent and buried him in the “hake field.” So the poor mother, whose heaviest burden was to think incessantly about that same risk while her husband was away at sea, felt a pang of heart. She could not resign herself, without protest, to her son following his father’s hazardous career. Seeing that the horizon was clouding in that direction, Bitadura changed the course of the conversation. And with this, and with the desserts being finished , and with the gin and maraschino appearing on the table, and the supplies for making coffee, as was done there, with a cup of powder per beard, strained with boiling water through a flannel sleeve; and with Andrea and his son withdrawing with their corresponding rations on a tray “so as not to bother anyone,” the sailors were left feeling better than they had wanted. An hour later, Madruga was dancing the _Cucuyé_ with Ligo; and, a little later, at the host’s insistence, his pilot, armed with a knife and a twisted napkin, was singing and acting out _Sama la culé_… precisely because he performed this so perfectly , he had been given the nickname he bore, with everyone else joining in and assisting him on the stage… And in these and other such acts, until the time to go for a long run to the Alameda de Becedo. And those big boys were the men who knew how to navigate a ship to all the ports of the world, and with a fervent prayer and a promise to the Virgin, face death a hundred times, with a serene face and an undaunted heart, amidst the fury of storms! Has poetry ever sung of anything grander and more epic than those little things? Chapter 8. THE OWNER OF THE “MONTAÑESA.” Perfectly, Señor Don Pedro; everything you tell me, all the news you give me, together with the results obtained, proves once again that the “Montañesa” is a more than average little estate; in which the hand of its manager, who brings it and carries it across those seas of God with rare luck, plays no small part . Truly, you have the hand of an angel. Even hurricanes, sometimes pushing him and sometimes stopping him, seem to be at his service, so that the ship may reach port at the right time for the business of the house… May such a good star continue to shine for him for a few more years, and… Speaking of the hazards of the sea: do you persist in making your only son a sailor? Thus said Don Venancio Liencres, wealthy merchant and owner of the Montañesa, speaking with his captain, the day after what was narrated in the previous chapter, in the sad and dusty lordly apartment of the mean study that he had in the mezzanine of a house on the Muelle. The two of them had been alone there for a while: the merchant, poorly dressed and worse, sitting in the straw chair at his desk, overloaded with bundles of unanswered letters and samples of sugar, flour, and cocoa, and the captain on the shabby sofa opposite, beneath the portrait of the Montañesa, the same as the one he had in his house, and a sheet of paper with the Days of Mail per Week, tacked to the wall with yellow tacks, over a red ligne trim. While the merchant was speaking thus, he was fingering, with obvious affection, after having carefully folded for him, the statement of account of the frigate’s last voyage, which had been hastily and for his convenience, prepared for him in the adjoining apartment, the communicating door of which the captain, at Don Venancio’s request, had closed after entering. Bitadura was somewhat suspended by the merchant’s question, as unexpected as it was strange to him. Unexpected, because it was the first time the man had spoken to him about his son; strange, because It had never occurred to him that Andrés might pursue any career other than that of a sailor. Therefore, without ceasing to be somewhat astonished, he responded with this other question: “And if I don’t make him a sailor, what will he be? ” “Anything… Anything is preferable to that race of chance in which the man with the best heart and the greatest luck can never achieve what any wastrel who is not a sailor achieves without effort: family life. You know it well. ” “That is true,” responded the captain, swallowing a sigh and frowning, as if the merchant had guessed the little corner where he kept the only secret of his heart. “Besides,” added Don Venancio Liencres, “with respect to your son’s future, you are not in the same situation as other colleagues in the profession. You, having obtained good results from your career and having only one son, can give him the choice between what he likes most.” “Nothing pleases him more than a career as a sailor,” the captain hastened to reply. “Or choose for yourself,” the merchant continued, pretending not to have heard the retort, “what is most suitable for him; because the inclinations of children usually obey the whims of the moment… the passing fancies of the imagination, the contagion of another’s enthusiasm… You understand me now. ” “Yes, I understand you, Señor Don Venancio,” Bitadura said with a force of attention and a seriousness that were scarcely imaginable in the careless sailor who had been dancing the sopimpa in his house the day before with Madruga; “but if I have to choose a career for Andrés, what should I choose? That of a litigator ?” “Bah!” “That of a quack ?” “Ugh!” –That of a solicitor?… That of a notary?… That of a professor?… –Horror!… Nothing of the sort, my friend Don Pedro, nothing of the sort: that is the plague of the world, and, what’s more, a misery… Lawyers, doctors… court officials, writers! Ugh!… Blistering and hunger… A father should aspire to something more solid for his son… And laugh at those who tell you that people do not live on bread alone; this is what those who have never been able to fill their stomachs usually say. Bread, bread above all, my lord Don Pedro! That is to say, pesetas, many pesetas! The rest, that only comes to hand. Look here, man: my father herded cattle in the mountains, and my mother harvested cornfields for a day’s wages; I had no other education than what the village teacher could give me: the four rules, a medium italic, and the Catechism. Well, with just this and a lot of patience, and today sweeping the storeroom and beating the mice that were chewing the sacks of flour with a broom, and then doing almost the same thing at the desk, and then editing the sheets, and copying some letters and taking many to the post office, and holding on and holding on! And on and on! Today a clerk, tomorrow a little more, the next day much higher… here I am. They gave me the wife I asked for when I felt like getting married; I’ve been consul of the Commercial Court, I don’t know how many times; mayor, whenever I’ve felt like it, and I don’t waste a car because I don’t need one, and the only one in town only goes out on days when the bells are ringing loudly. How do you know that I didn’t scuff the classroom benches with my backside as a boy? Or, at least, what difference in culture do you find between the two dozen people who pass for leaders here and me? What I mean by this is that commerce is the soul of the people, the foundation of all things, the best and most worthy career for youth, and doubly so when they don’t need to go through the hardships I went through to get where I am. Do you understand me, Señor Don Pedro? Señor Don Pedro understood Señor Don Venancio perfectly; and because he understood him, he allowed himself to make some well-founded observations, such as the risk of spending one’s life engaged in the thankless tasks of a desk, and reaching old age without having escaped poverty, seen the world, or learned anything of what it exists or what it teaches. “Nonsense, nonsense!” said Don Venancio Liencres to each objection that Bitadura made, in his own way, evidently eager to agree with the merchant’s way of thinking; the merchant reinforced his arguments with the force of this other: “The commerce of Santander is, today, a mere commodity: little, but good; and it will become gold, if greed does not blind us, if we do not commit madness… like this one that has been circulating these days, with reference to I don’t know who who spoke about the case I don’t know where: that a railway between Alar and Santander, imitating the one being built between Aranjuez and Madrid, and a steamship line between this port and the island of Cuba, might be advisable. Railways ! Steamers! The adventures of a madman! The pranks of rebellious people who have little to lose and want to try their luck with the fortunes of the unwary, only to end up with the saying, “Here lies a Spaniard who, when he was well, wanted to be better.” And I return to my subject: if we make do with what we have and don’t launch ourselves into crazy adventures, like that of the railroad and the steamships, which, thank God, is nothing more than a crazy idea, discussed by four unemployed people, the maravedí sown here in commerce, with a little love and intelligence, will yield a good peseta in the first August. Are you getting the picture, Señor Don Pedro? Don Pedro was getting the picture, indeed; and for that very reason, he dared to tell the merchant that, even accepting everything he was saying as gospel, there remained the material difficulty of putting Andresillo on that path. What did Bitadura understand about these things, even though he was so closely involved in them by virtue of his profession? Who gave him a hand? What supporters did he have? Where did his son lean? Through what door did he bring him? “Let’s get to it,” responded Don Venancio, who, speaking of these things , was in his natural pulpit, for he understood little of others, not to mention that, by all appearances, he had taken the matter of Andrés’s career with great determination. “Give me your boy. I only have two children: the son will be about your age soon; I intend to bring him to the office as soon as the summer is over. Let them work together and become good friends: the same motivation can motivate both, for if Don Venancio Liencres’s son would work in his father’s vineyard, Andrés Colindres’s father has very good vines in that vineyard . ” As the years went by, and diligent children became knowledgeable merchants, and you and I retired to rest: here was your capital, increased by interest, or by the profits from business dealings if you had preferred that capital to rise from the humble category of a current account with interest, to the more respectable one of a limited partner… Do you finally understand me, Señor Don Pedro? “Yes, sir,” he responded, without disguising the keen interest with which he treated the matter. “But what if, after he’s entered into business, it turns out that he doesn’t take kindly to it or is no good for the trade, what am I to do with my son?” “Well, baskets!” replied the merchant. “If after becoming a sailor he turns out to get seasick, or drown, or a stray goes astray and sells the ship, will you make anything better of him than a lazy, clumsy desk boy , as there are many of them?” “You’re right, Señor Don Venancio,” responded Bitadura promptly , never one to hide his impressions. “I’m certainly right!” exclaimed the merchant, leaning back in his armchair, completely satisfied with his triumph, though not surprised by it. “I think we should come to an understanding,” added Bitadura, rising. “For now, I thank you with all my heart for the interest you’re taking in my son’s fate, and for the offer you’re making me… I’ll soon be in a more clear reply… Don’t be surprised. The things that sound most familiar to me are the ones I most want to see from afar: it’s easier to mark their course that way than by tying into them. ” At this, he pressed with his right hand the hand the merchant had extended to him; and as he was somewhat moved, he said in farewell: “At your service, Señor Don Venancio,” Don Venancio saw the stars, for a reason that would have been clear to even the most inept, observing how, moments after Bitadura left, the merchant blew on his purple fingers, which seemed to be stuck together; a detail that proves, at most, that it is somewhat dangerous to shake hands with men like that, if they are even slightly agitated. But why the hell was Señor Don Venancio Liencres so interested in Andresillo’s fate? What did the rich merchant, as thick-skinned as the moneybags he piled in his iron safe, care whether Captain Bitadura’s son won the lottery or was eaten by sharks? Since when had the man of the trade stopped caring so much that sailors enjoyed little of the pleasures of domesticity? Why was she now so sensitive to these _trivialities_, of which he had never heard her speak, as if she considered them a kind of bad business for her heart? Why did she think the same as Andrea about them?… Tate!… Andrea!… This name was a bright spot in the darkness of the captain’s reasoning, as he was on his way home… “Shall we bet two centavos,” he said to himself, “that my wife has been plotting around here? Could it be hers as well, the reasons of convenience that Don Venancio has put forward to me, combating my purpose of making my son a sailor? In any case, and whoever these reasons may be, they are very much in their place and I should not disregard them just because they did not occur to me.” Indeed, the captain had conspired against her husband’s plans , in Don Venancio Liencres’s office. Every dark sorrow she suffered—and the unhappy woman suffered many times during her husband’s long absences—fearing for her life amidst the vagaries of the sea or the rigors of strange climates, and why hide it? For his affection as a loving husband, which good old Bitadura truly and unfailingly was ; every such sorrow, I repeat, that Andrea suffered, turned the eyes of her soul to her son, and a greater sorrow resulted from it, when she considered that to the absences of the captain would soon have to be added those of the _attaché_… and both absences at the same time!… and she alone, entirely alone, in her house, fearing for the lives of both of them! Many times she had tried to speak to her husband on this subject, and even managed to capture his attention for a few moments; But she never got any further than that, because Bitadura, who sold everything for cheap, would come out to meet her with a joke, giving her a little slap and then biting her cheeks, or covering her mouth with a kiss, after having twirled her three times in the air in his iron arms, in the same position a godfather places his godson while the priest puts salt on his lips. But Andrés was growing older, the time to make a decision was approaching, and Andrea still feared the worst. She steeled herself after much thought, and three days before her husband’s arrival she requested an audience at the office with Don Venancio Liencres; And with that simple yet powerful eloquence of heart, so common to all mothers when pleading the cause of their children, she expressed to the merchant her fears, her desires, and her fervent entreaties that, while keeping these negotiations a secret as long as possible, he would try to eradicate from her husband the idea that so tormented her… Don Venancio Liencres was a completely insignificant man, intus et foris; but, in doubtful cases, he had the good instinct to lean towards the best, because his material, although rough, was sound; moreover, like all fortunate nullities that are made in this manner, lacking the materials of his own to make even something decent, he took whatever was offered to him anywhere; and he took them with love, because it was a great reward that people held him in high regard, doing something that others were not doing. He held the captain in high regard; he knew his son by sight, and even thought him handsome and willing; He held that act of consideration in high regard towards him, from a woman as handsome and honorable as the captain; her fears seemed quite natural to him, and her desires well-founded, and he was even slightly moved by her heartfelt words; and not only did he sincerely promise to serve her in any way she desired, but he also, on his own initiative, went under her protection as far as the curious reader has seen; and he would have gone even further, if greater effort had been required to achieve, by the sole virtue of his reasoning—for reasoning well was indeed Señor Don Venancio Liencres’s mania —the triumph over the captain’s obstinacy . This time it was Bitadura who, as soon as he arrived home, brought up the subject of Andrés’s career; and since the captain was aware of where her husband came from, at his first words her face burned. This gave her away, and Bitadura acted angry ; but the lie could be seen out of the corner of his eye and at the corners of his mouth. Andrea, pretending not to see anything, confessed the deed in detail, with a rather fake air of resignation as well. “We’ll meet again about that!” exclaimed Bitadura, pacing around the room, still with his back to his wife, swinging his arms a lot and clicking his heels even more. “Going to the neighbors’ house with family secrets !… That’s not done!” Andrea, who had been watching him furtively and saw him so determined not to show his face, began to walk behind him, but very close, and said to him, as he walked, with an air of studied humility: “Well, son, if I have acted so wrongly in thinking I was right, now you know: you are the knife and I am the meat; so cut wherever you want. ” “Yes, ma’am!” responded Bitadura, suddenly turning around. “Yes, I will!… And right now! And hard! Come here! Sit here!” And sitting down on the sofa, he sat her on his knees. “Look me in the face!… Come on, that little whore!” And he bit her nose. “Come on, those big ears!” And he bit them off too. “And now, to finish first, let this whole armful of meat go down to the balcony.” And he took his wife in his arms, as usual. He stood facing the balcony, and saying: “One o’clock! Two o’clock! Three o’clock!” swinging her at the same time, he suddenly turned on his heels inward and planted half a dozen kisses on her face. “Here… for being a talker… for telling stories… and because I feel like it. ” Andrea laughed as if she were being tickled, and took these sweet punishments for signs of good omen… until Bitadura told her that everything would be done as she wished; and the roles were reversed. Chapter 9. ANDRÉS’S ENTHUSIASMS. Meanwhile, Andresillo walked toward Calle Alta, stopping with all his acquaintances along the way to talk to them about his father’s arrival, what he had heard him say about his trip, and also something about the previous day’s meal, and very particularly about the affairs of Sama, Ligo, and the other guests. He had had a great time with them! He went to Calle Alta to see how Silda was getting on in her new home. He considered the orphan to be his protégé and was interested in her fate. When he arrived in front of the Paredón, he saw Colo coming up from low tide, with two oars on his shoulder and in one hand a bucket half-filled with masazo. Colo was that nephew of Don Lorenzo, the crazy priest, whom mention has already been made. Andrés asked him about Uncle Mechelín’s house and noticed that Colo was in a very bad mood. Before he could think of asking him the cause of it, the sailor, lowering his oars, said to him: “Man… this isn’t enough to make one lose one’s health!” “What’s the matter with you?” asked Andrés. “That man, you fool!… my crazy uncle, there’s no dog, you fool! to get that hiccup out of the hold, what a terrible thunderbolt! And this morning, with bad luck, I’m going to the launch, he catches me at the door of the house, and, fool! He’s going to manipulate me in the substitute… isn’t that right, you? Isn’t that what you say ?… That’s what you have to do to rob that school in “That those Latins teach … what a wicked lightning bolt!… Oh my, man, what do I know about that, nor what good is it to me! ” “A damned thing,” said Andrés. “Well, let’s get on with it; and without further delay, as soon as this summer is over… So I closed in on the band… and without further ado, that donkey of his, you fool! gave me two blows with the stick with that knotted cane of his… Wicked lightning bolt!… But what for, man? Let’s see, what do I want that for? Wouldn’t it be better if he spent the cost of my studies on some new breeches?… Well, because I told him the same thing, he gave me another blow with the stick. Isn’t that an animal!… He says there’s a… what did he say?… that’s a church thing… Ah! chaplaincy… A chaplaincy that belongs to us; and if I ever manage to become a priest, I’ll be covered in shoe polish.” “If I don’t get carried away, Toña! I’ll get carried away with beatings; because now it turns out that the man who teaches those Latins gives more beatings every day than my uncle’s animal… What do they say that teacher’s name is?… Don, don…” “Don Bernabé,” Andresillo suggested, who already knew him by hearsay. “Yes, Don Bernabé… ” “A lot of beating awaits you there!” Andrés said with candid ingenuity. “A lot of beating!” With that and little else, the two boys continued up the stairs; and as they passed in front of Uncle Mechelín’s doorway, Colo said to Andrés: “This is the house.” And since his house was on the other sidewalk and at the end of the street, he said goodbye and quickened his pace. With that, Silda left for the cellar, accompanying Muergo. Muergo was already wearing Father Apolinar’s breeches; but with no other arrangement than having to gather up their trouser legs by rolling them up; and even so, his bottoms were down to his ankles. With this, with the aforementioned jacket on top and his unruly hair crowning the ensemble, the son of the Chumacera looked like a bale of garbage walking alone. “Here I am wearing a shirt… ha, ha!” the monstrous youth said to Andrés, hitting with his right hand a kind of tumor that was visible on his left side. Andrés looked at him in astonishment, and Muergo hurried off down the street. Silda said to Andrés at once, alluding to Muergo: “I wanted them to give him a shirt, and they wouldn’t, because Muergo doesn’t deserve one and his mother has no shame; but I found him this morning near the Paredón, and I brought him home so his aunt could see him without a shirt and give him an old one of his uncle’s. He didn’t want to come; but later he came, and then they wouldn’t give him the shirt; but I insisted, and they gave it to him.” But if he pours it into brandy and they see him without it, they won’t give him any more and they won’t let him come back here… His mother is a drunkard, and he drinks a lot of brandy too. How ugly and filthy he is ! Isn’t that right, you?… Come in a little, you’ll see how nice it is here… I’m not going back to Maruca so soon, or to Muelle Anaos… She’s getting very busy there… Then go through this doorway, so that the women from the fifth floor don’t find you if they come down; and never stay too long at that street door, because they’ll throw filth at you from the balcony. They’re very bad, very bad!… Yesterday they started a ruckus because they told Uncle Mocejón at the Town Hall that he had punished me badly, and that if the women from his house didn’t leave me alone, they would face justice… They’re very bad, very bad! Aunt Sidora, who was bustling about inside, came out, to the sound of the conversation, halfway down the street, and Silda said to her, pointing to Andrés: “This is the good c…tintas that took me to Pae Polinar’s house.” The sailor woman was very happy to meet him, and praised the action; and as she thought the boy was very handsome, she told him what she felt, so that Andrés formed a high opinion of Aunt Sidora, although he blushed greatly at the compliments. She did not personally know the captain of the Montañesa; but her husband did, and he had often spoken of him, praising his sailor’s qualities and his partiality of character. Señor Don Pedro was a great person, and, moreover, a streetwise man by origin: another very worthy characteristic for Aunt Sidora to take into account. to esteem the captain and rejoice that it was his son who had taken pity on the abandoned girl at the Anaos Dock, and taken her to the home of someone capable of doing for her what Father Polinar later did. The shameless women from above treated her badly, very badly, when she went to speak to them about the girl she and her husband had taken in later, just as they would have taken her in before, if they had only had their best interests at heart; but there were other things to consider, and they put up with it. Now, thank God, Silda was in safe harbor, and the Council had put the shameless, loose-tongued women in charge, so that they would not try with their wicked ways to prevent others from doing for the unfortunate woman what they themselves refused to do… “Look at my bedroom,” Silda said to Andrés, interrupting Aunt Sidora’s tirade . The bedroom, free of clutter and thoroughly swept, contained a very peculiar bed, and an old hanger with some of Aunt Sidora’s clothes on it . “Her little dresses will be hung here too,” she said, “as soon as I have them ready. I am now mending one of my own calico skirts, almost new; and, God willing, we shall buy something from the store when we can, because we cannot make everything we want. I have enough linen soaking for two little shirts, which is what she needs most ; for the unfortunate woman came to the quasi in live pigtails. From there they went to the small parlor, where Aunt Sidora’s skirt lay, in pieces, on a chair near a pile of unraveled filament. These scraps were the pieces of Silda’s dress, which Aunt Sidora had cut and was preparing to sew. Silda had watched these operations with great attention, and Aunt Sidora hoped to make her take a liking to the house; Teach her, little by little, to sew and the Catechism; to make a fire, even to draw a pot, to sweep the floors; in short, everything that a daughter of good parents, who would tomorrow be a woman of authority, should learn. In Aunt Sidora’s opinion, Silda had taken to her indiscretion since her father’s death, because bad women had made the house odious to her. That would not happen from now on: the girl would go out when and how she ought to go out, and she would spend at home as much time as she ought to spend; but neither at home nor in the street would she have any occupations other than those appropriate to her age and sex. While she was saying all these things, in her own way, Aunt Sidora, facing Andrés, Silda, with her impassive face, looked at him as much as at the sailor, and Andrés, very attentive and even impressed by the expansive and noble loquacity of the fisherwoman, did not take his eyes off her except to fix them for a moment on Silda’s serene ones, as if saying to her: “Do you hear that well?” Finally, he was not content with the eloquence of his gaze, and went to that of words, straightening the girl, very seriously and with great energy, the following: “I tell you that you will not be ashamed if you return to the Anaos Pier and join that indecent Muergo.” “To the Anaos Pier,” Aunt Sidora interrupted, “she’s already decided not to return… right, you son of a bitch?… And as for Muergo, according to how he behaves, that’s how we’ll behave with him… Isn’t that right, good heavens ?… But what thousand demons has this innocent girl seen in that scarecrow Barrabas, to make her take such care of him?… As far as I’m concerned, it’s just pure monster-ness she sees him… Right, you son of a bitch?” Silda shrugged her shoulders and asked Andrés if he would go to Calle Alta during the San Pedro festivities. Andrés replied that maybe he would, and Aunt Sidora praised him for all there was to see then and how wonderful the view was from the door of her house. There would be bonfires and puppets, and lots of dancing; three days in a row, with their nights, like that; and on the saint’s day, a roped bull. Strings of flags and pennants from balcony to balcony. The people of the neighborhood, without going to bed in their houses, ate in the tavern or outdoors, and played to the sound of the tambourine. The street was crowded with tables with liquors and fritters. The Church of Consolación, open day and night; the altar of San Pedro, illuminated, and people coming and going at all hours. But Andrés was as well informed about what those festivities were like as Aunt Sidora herself, for he hadn’t missed one since he walked the streets alone. Afterwards, he examined with much consideration a bay silk that was hanging from a nail. That was called a real fishing line, and not the little cord he had, with some lines of about the size of a hook and turnip! Aunt Sidora, seeing him so amazed at that little thing, went to get the fishing basket, which her husband hadn’t taken to sea because it was for sardine, which is caught with a net. Andrés had seen those fishing gears many times drying on the balcony or piled up in the basket, but unwound. Aunt Sidora explained to him the purpose and handling of each one. The hake lines were as thick as the head of a large pin, with a fine end and a large hook at the point. The longline for sea bream: more than eighty yards of line filled with hooks hanging from their short lines; from hand to hand, a line. The bonito lines were composed of three parts: the first and longest, a line that was called a line, twice as thick as that used for hake; then, a thinner line, and then the subtlety of wire, with a large hook. The sea bream and hake hooks were baited with sardine bait, generally, and the bonito line was baited with some kind of decoy: usually a corn husk, which didn’t dissolve in water, like paper. To carry the sea bream lines, there was a cup, a kind of maserita, about a foot square, with very open sloping sides , like the one Aunt Sidora showed Andrés because she had it handy. As the hooks were baited, they were placed at the bottom of the cup with the reins draped over the walls and the line gathered around the edges. This was how this tackle was taken to sea, its preparation taking quite a while, as there were no fewer than two hundred hooks. Sometimes a hundred sea bream were caught at once. Hake were caught drifting, almost with the boat stationary, at a depth of more or less a hundred fathoms; sea bream, a bony fish, would hook itself, leaving the line hanging with the hooks hanging; bonito, trolling, at full speed from the boat to the sail. It was a voracious animal, and it swallowed the bait with such eagerness that sometimes it came out caught in its stomach. For all this, it was necessary to go far out, far out! And there were cases where the fishermen didn’t return to the port for two or three days, either because they had other ports closer by to spend the night, or because a sudden storm forced them to do so. The sardine, which came in enormous manjúas, would hang by its gills in the net, which was crossed at the front. Andrés knew this well, as well as how to use the scythe for fishing in the bay; therefore, the affable sailor didn’t explain anything to him. Andrés didn’t blink as he listened to Aunt Sidora, who, for her part, was delighted by the effect her stories had on him. “That’ll be a pleasure!” exclaimed the boy, licking his lips. And he confessed to Aunt Sidora that he had always loved fishing; but that he had never fished offshore, not even between San Martín and La Horadada. Most of the time, he fished on the Paredón del Muelle Anaos. but it had to be on the Paredón, it had to be out in the bay with Cuco’s boat, always panchos, everywhere panchos!… never a lubina, not even a porredana that weighed a quarter of a pound! So he was eager to be older so he could rent a boat with other friends, openly, and have his fill of fishing for everything. This, as long as he didn’t start sailing; because once he was sailing, he’d have plenty of boat and sailors with those on his ship when he was in port. Because he was going to enroll in sailing very soon, as his father had told him again the day before while they were eating. In short, he said everything he knew and thought there, reciprocating the kindnesses Aunt Sidora had shown him, and convinced that both the sailor and Silda were listening to him with great interest; and It was the truth… It seemed that Aunt Sidora wholeheartedly offered him, a little later, fresh bread and a grilled sardine, which Andrés very courteously refused. But when they said goodbye, she offered to return there often. When he arrived home, his mother told him, showering him with kisses, that he would no longer be a sailor. The news, for now, left him stupefied; but before finding out whether it made him happy or sad, and before asking what his father intended to do, he considered whether he should return immediately to Aunt Sidora’s house to tell the story, or leave it for another day. Because, since he had said there that he was going to be a sailor!… Chapter 10. OF THE PATACHE AND OTHER PRIVATE PARTIES. Andrés’s business was moving forward along the new path on which the captain’s conspiracy and the eloquence of Señor Don Venancio Liencres had set it. Bitadura would undertake another voyage to the island of Cuba during the month of July, and Andrea had decided that, by the time her husband was absent, Andrés would be imprisoned with some commitment, however small, to the merchant’s plans, which were finally accepted categorically by the captain. With the winds of absence, men’s thoughts change greatly, as they are naturally fickle; and, “just in case,” from the very day it was agreed between Bitadura and his wife that Andresillo would be placed under the command of Don Venancio Liencres so that he could become a merchant, he was given a tutor who would review his accounts in private lessons and teach him how to write English letters fluently , which would take two or three months and a couple of hours of work each day. He would learn the rest at the desk; for, in the opinion of the merchant at the Pier, half a day’s practice at the lectern taught more than a course in double-entry writing in a teacher’s chair. Among the many good pieces of advice his mother gave the neophyte, she particularly urged him to seek the company and close contact with the merchant’s son, with whom, according to what he had said and repeated to the captain, he would work at the desk and rise to the pinnacle of his infallible prosperity. She considered this preliminary to be of great importance; for a close friendship, at the age of the two boys, years later becomes an unbreakable bond. Andrés knew the merchant’s son well. His name was Tolín Antolín and, physically, he was not very good: thin and pale, though spirited. He was no more than three and a half feet tall at the line, and he was a very poor jaliba when it was his turn to stand; playing marbles, anyone could catch him, with no more effort than cutting off his atocadero, because he quickly tired of running. At marbles, he was somewhat more skillful, but not very bright: he got a lot of quarters, and besides, his tongue was out. He had been to Maruca twice; but he never returned, because each time it had cost him two days in bed to take off his shoes; and going to Maruca without taking them off was like never going. Besides, he twisted the heels of his boots quite well; the patent leather of his visor was as worn and cracked as Major Adán’s, and his pocket handkerchief was well soaked in mud of all colors: the best sign that Tolín, although given his father’s standing he could and even should be one, was not one of the aforementioned “pinturines” who played in time with glass marbles in the Arcos de Dóriga or in those of Bolado, after a grocer had swept the floor. Andrés knew all this because Andrés knew all his contemporaries in Santander, high or low; and because he knew it very well, he did not dislike Tolín, although it would never have occurred to him to make him his favorite companion. But since he was so strongly urged to associate with him, he tried to do so without the slightest reluctance, and he soon achieved it, because Andrés’s intimacy was one of the most coveted among the boys of his time, a prestige that is explained knowing, as we do, that the son of Bitadura was as apt for scrubbing as for sweeping, and he joined the distinguished and even The gallantry of a young gentleman, the strength and ease of a street urchin. And imagine what it’s like to judge by appearances! Tolín’s friendship gave him one of the pleasures he had never tasted. Tolín was very close to the _Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo_, a barge that docked next to the Fish Market’s steps, because it almost always arrived loaded with coal. This closeness of Tolín’s was due to the many favors the barge’s owner owed to Señor Don Venancio Liencres, whose business dealings in the ports of Asturias were many and good; and not only did he provide _Joven Antoñito_ with good freight rates, but he also honored him with the utmost preference, and never refused his honorable owner an advance of two or three thousand reales in times of need; that is to say, one voyage yes and the next no, when things were going better… And here a few paragraphs devoted to the _patache_ species are necessary , so that one has a fairly accurate idea of the difficulties of the _Young Antoñito de Rivadeo_; of the importance of the favors of Don Venancio Liencres to the skipper, and, consequently, of how deep-rooted Tolín’s intimacy must have been aboard that patache. There has been much debate, among idlers and busybodies, over whether or not the men who embarked with the former to go in search of a new world, and the one who rode on the back of the latter to cross a rope stretched over the depths of Niagara, were braver and more daring than Columbus and Blondín. Whether Columbus was encouraged by scientific faith and a passion for glory, and whether Blondín was sustained by confidence in his serenity and his well-tested experience; that if the others, beyond the fear that might have fallen upon them, without being very apprehensive, that they were giving their lives to the whim of two madmen, were only driven by the hope of a good reward… There is, in fact, room for dispute about these serious details, and I will be very careful not to intervene in it with the pretense of being right. What I do is bring up the case to affirm, as I affirm, keeping the readers in mind, that it takes much more courage than for all that, and even to be much more abandoned by God, to enter, with deliberate purpose, to navigate in a patache, as a skipper, as a sailor, as a motil; because there everything is worse in substance, with slight differences in detail. There is no room there for scientific faith, nor the passion for glory, nor confidence in serenity, nor hope of profit; There’s nothing good there, but there’s all the bad stuff from Columbus’s caravels and Blondin’s rope. To go there to make a living is to kill yourself little by little and with bad tools. The patache is a small boat of just under thirty tons, with the rig of a brig-schooner. It’s assumed that these ships were new at some point; I’ve never seen them in such a state, and I don’t lose sight of them, as best I can. Therefore, it can be said that the patache is a composite of planks and old rigging. It has five men; at most, six or five and a half: the skipper, four sailors, and a motil, or young cook. The skipper has his special compartment aft, cumbersomely called a cabin cabin; The rest of the people crowd into the bow quarters, a triangular space, very small in width, length, and depth, with two mangers on each side, resembling cribs. The sailors sleep in these mangers, over whatever spare clothes they have and under whatever they are wearing; for blankets and mattresses are as rare as ounces of gold. To enter the quarters, between the windlass and the forecastle, there is a hole, little larger than a molehill, which is covered with a board covered with waxed canvas; sometimes the lid is sliding, sometimes hinged. In any case, if the hole is covered with the lid, there is no light inside, nor air; and if the lid is left half-open or raised, rain and dust enter. Cold, sun, and the glances of passersby; because the patache, in ports, is always docked at the wharf. Each crew member, including the skipper, buys and stores their bread—large cakes, each lasting about six days. With this bread, some potatoes, beans, or cabbage, with a pinch of bacon, lard, or oil to soften it, all cut into strips, and seasoned by the motil, whose hands never touch fresh water except to stir it, into which he throws into a bucket the freshly split potatoes, or the cabbage after having chopped it on the roof of the cabin, sometimes with an axe. With this stew, I repeat, and that bread, the crew eats, on the holy ground, around the pot, into which each one, including the skipper, goes, dipping his spoon when it’s his turn. Thus, he also has the same potatoes, the same beans, and the same cabbages for dinner. Occasionally, instead of potatoes, cabbages , or beans, there is cod, which the motil cooks in red sauce, after having desalted it by dipping it twice in the water of the dock from the side of the ship, tied with a string. For lunch, a little cascarilla in a tank… And always the same, when times are good. No crew member on a patache earns a fixed salary: they all get a share. But what a share! For now, the freight, on a round trip, even if the hold is crammed and the deck is clogged with barrels and planks, doesn’t exceed much more than two thousand reales. Of this freight, the ship earns 40 percent; the skipper, a salary and a half, and also 5% of the _capa_, or bribe, or, in other words, on the freight collected. The remainder is divided among the five crew members: six, eight, twelve duros, or fifteen at the most, each; an amount that would mean something, despite its smallness, if the coming and going and chartering of a patache were a piece of cake; but we’ll see what the situation is regarding these details. With the occasional Basque exception, the patache is always Galician or Asturian; and if there is no coal, or apples, or _tabales_ of herring to bring, it arrives in Santander in ballast: this is the most common. It is already in the Dársena, tied up to the wharf. There goes the boss, a man already getting old, calm and sad-looking, from desk to desk, from warehouse to warehouse, calling each owner by name, greeting them all with the finest and courteous manner, and ending everywhere with the same question: “Is there anything for Rivadesella?” One morning, a whole day of such errands, results in twenty sacks of flour, two boxes of sugar, eight hundred pounds of brooms, an old cot, and two bales of brown paper. And there is no more cargo in all of Santander for Rivadesella. Successive couriers bring a few new orders; but so few and so slowly, that with a crazy luck the warehouse is overflowing in little more than a month and a half. It is common for the courier not to complete his load in less than two months, or to close the register halfway through. But, in the end, it is already dispatched and put on leave; That is to say, they unmoor from the dock and anchor in the middle of the basin, to sail out at the evening tide or northeast in the morning. For then, precisely then, the weather decides to shift to the northwest and raise a storm that doesn’t end, especially in winter, in less than three weeks, if not two full months; two months that, with the other two, add up to four. Let’s say three, on average… Three months of potatoes, bread, and bacon for six men with good appetites, and with a handful of pesetas between them, to feed and clothe themselves and the families of most of them! The storm has already abated and pointed northeast, and the barometer is rising. The boat weighs in; and the launch itself, with the efforts of the sailors themselves, tows it to the canal. He hoists all his gear there, begins to relax and swell, and then heaves ahead; tacking goes, tacking comes, in about half a day he is out of the port. If he is very lucky, in thirty hours he reaches the point of his destiny; if he’s moderately lucky, he’ll find a calm off Cape Mayor, and there he’ll spend hours like a buoy; or a series of round winds will keep him reeling at sea for six or eight days, not knowing where to turn or which way to go; and meanwhile , the people on board, who hadn’t counted on that, turn to flour, or preserves, or noodles from the freight; because it’s not a matter of starving to death with a house full of provisions. If he’s a bit unlucky, he’ll arrive two or three times during the voyage, which means another month of delay; if he’s more unlucky than that, each of these arrivals costs him serious damage to the hull or rigging, and puts the crew at grave risk of losing their lives. But, in any case, whether lucky or unlucky, sooner or later, a gale will catch him between Tinamayor and Suances, which will drive him all the way to Sardinero, unless it feels like smashing him against a rock first. From there, with another volley, he will land me at the mouth of the harbor, heading for the Quebrantas. Sometimes he will throw him into them with a single jerk; other times, he will allow him to linger a bit, dropping anchor halfway between the fierce breakers. In this horrible situation, it is rare that he can hold out until the storm ends… And, in the meantime, it is the only opportunity the unfortunate crew have to abandon the ship, which pitches and tumbles and dances, its sails torn and its rigging fluttering in tatters, a plaything of the waves that envelop it and drive its gigantic back beneath its keel. Typically, the rusty anchor drags, or the chain breaks, and the wretched ship tumbles into the surf, where in a few moments it is smashed to splinters by the incalculable force of those raging seas. Every winter, this monster devours its ration of patache. In a single afternoon, not many years ago, I saw five perish. The five, after being harassed by the storm and lacking the ultimate tack, the one that saves them, the one that keeps them from the abyss, had had to anchor before the roaring jaws of the monster. Four crews had already barely escaped, and a pilot’s launch was picking up the fifth, with heroic efforts, when I arrived at the Cerda castle. Moments later, their weak moorings broken, they filed off one by one toward the Quebrantas, and, to arrive faster, they bounded like a goat through the undergrowth, and all of them disappeared into that hell of foam, blows, and bellows. The monster’s palate has also tasted large ships, but very rarely, because a large ship flees the coast when a storm catches it close by. And if necessity forces it to take the port and anchor in a dangerous place, it has good chains and better cables; and finally, as soon as they are available, it calls for a tug to get it out of trouble. The poor patache sails to the coast, on the coast bad weather catches it, and on the coast it endures them, because it doesn’t know how to navigate anywhere else ; its cables and chains are, relatively speaking, weak, and a steam tug costs more than it can afford. Such is its sad condition. which does not save, but rather doubles, in relation to a larger ship, the workload of the crew on board, where everything is scarce and weak, and therefore demands greater efforts and greater sacrifices from each one. In short: incessant work, miserable food, a manger for a bed, a scuttle for a bedroom, all the risks of the sea, all the disadvantages to run them, and the knowledge of never improving one’s fortunes by that route. All this is accepted, knowingly and willingly , by a man who decides to join that legion of heroes of misery, of hardships and of toil, who are not even encouraged by the sad hope that at the end of their career, dashed against a rock, or dragged by whirlwinds of sand and bitter waves, their martyrdom will be engraved in the memory of the people, or deserves even your pity; for even that which is felt for the shipwrecked on high board is bargained for those on a miserable patache. So necessary and inevitable is their disastrous end considered! And now I ask: is this passive and selfless courage comparable with the ambitious fever of the men who accompanied Columbus on his first voyage, and of the one who crossed Niagara on a rope, perched on Blondin’s back? And I also realize that neither this question, nor much of what precedes it, was necessary for the purpose I proposed in bringing up the patache in this tale; but it doesn’t always end where it points, nor is it easy to speak with interest about an unfortunate person without exploring the whole field of his misfortunes. This is a disease of the human heart, and I wish it didn’t suffer from other, more serious ones! Let the reader forgive the excesses, if they bother him, and stick to what is pertinent to the case, in order to understand the importance of the favors that Señor Don Venancio Liencres granted to the skipper of the _Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo_, getting him out of the predicament of his long stays near the pier, sometimes with preferential freight rates, and other times with generous advances of money. Tolín knew something about this because he was tired of meeting the skipper on the stairs and hearing his father talk about him; and since there is no boat that, no matter how bad, does not have a fairly good launch, the _Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo_’s was, coincidentally, one of the best in its class: light and slender, not badly painted or very dirty. Tolín saw this; and seeing it, he remembered the ties that united the skipper of the boat to his father; And remembering this, one day he sneaked onto the _Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo_, where they didn’t receive him with a canopy, because there wasn’t one for him. But, failing that, the skipper introduced himself to his sailors so that he would be treated there as he really was, concluding by warning them, since he had a hunch about what the lad was looking for, that whenever he asked for the launch they should give it to him, and even the help of the boatman when he tried to leave the dock. From that day on, Tolín had more control aboard the patache than the skipper himself. But he didn’t abuse it. His only entertainment was getting down into the launch, always idle since the ship was moored at the pier, and since the boatman had taught him how to sail, he would go around the dock, or run around here and there holding onto the ropes of the ketch-boats and barges. Tolín spoke of these things with Andrés as soon as he became his friend; And Andrés, amazed at Tolín’s fortune, wanted to be introduced to him on the patache that very day; and Tolín introduced him not only as a friend, but as his future partner in the trading house, and also as the son of the captain of the Montañesa. A single title of these would have been enough to deserve the full respect of the crew of the Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo; with the three of them together, they almost admired him. Then he climbed the rigging to the scuttles and went down to the back of the hold with the agility and steadiness of a cabin boy; and, finally, he jumped into the boat, equipped one of its oars in the stern, and rowing with one hand and the other on his hip, he reached the Rampa Larga in a jiffy, dodging boats and stretched ropes, and returned in another. That finally won him the sympathy of the crew of the patache, and from then on he had a boat on which to relax as he pleased, and a good, free launch with which to go out into the bay, alone or accompanied, to share the adventures of a rower and a fisherman. Tolín, not given to maritime emotions, could never have imagined the value of the bargain he had given his friend when he shared his privacy with him aboard the _Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo_! Andrés, in return for this favor, wanted to share with Tolín all his friendships and entertainments, which could be called contraband. But the amusements of the Anaos Pier were not for the son of Don Venancio Liencres. Cuco’s jokes frightened him; the Cafeteras, Pipas, and Micheros, already big, inspired little confidence in him, and the Surbias, Coles, Muergos, and Guarines, a small troop, With their females and all, they smelled very bad and disgusted him. He had already tasted enough of La Maruca to convince himself that he shouldn’t return there. On Calle Alta, where his friend also took him, the people at the bodega seemed fine to him; but the bodega and the rest of the house, not so much; the rest of the house especially. Curiosity led him to explore it a little by way of the stairs. He didn’t go beyond the third floor. Unsafe sections; steps unhinged or worm-eaten; unexpected branches, to the right and left; And wherever he looked , there was a black door, badly closed and full of gaps… so many doors!… and sometimes faces peeking out!… with a mop of hair!… and whispers inside, and shouts!… Then, filth on the walls, filth on the railing, filth on the steps… and a stench like parrocha, and like burnt bonito thorns!… He began to believe himself lost and sick in a labyrinth of filthy horrors; he doubted for a moment whether this was reality or a nightmare, and he drew back in terror, calling out to Andrés, who was already coming up to look for him. “Well, all the houses on the street are like this… or worse,” he said to reassure him. And Tolín, upon learning this, became afraid of the whole street, which he had never walked down twice in his life. He wasn’t lacking in courage, nor was he lacking in courage; but his physical nature was weak, and the best-tempered spirit falters within a sickly body. Furthermore, his upbringing had been exclusively terrestrial, and the land was his element for the few acts of bravery his nature allowed him. It would never have occurred to him to go boating in the Dársena without it being the boat of a friend of his father and captain of a ship docked at the Muelle ; a set of circumstances that, when he turned near the patache, allowed him to consider himself at the door of his house, among family friends. The least maritime of the maritime, in terms of recreation, was the Maruca, because it abounded in land-based rascality; and for that reason, and because it was close to his house and he knew it well by sight, he tried, with little success, to go there. So he told Andrés, after the ordeal on Calle Alta, that he could count on him for everything except “those things.” And when he had accompanied him one day for a ride in the patache’s boat, and while the two of them were rowing alone, the tide had swept them away and crushed them against the chain of a frigate, putting the boat almost keel up, in which situation they would have perished without the help of a passing boat, he also warned him that he would not row with him again if they left the Dársena. Andrés was surprised that there was a boy who did not like such things, and he tried to please his friend by accommodating himself to his tastes whenever he could. He left La Maruca and Muelle Anaos for a while, but not Calle Alta, where he went quite frequently to have long conversations with the people from the hold. because besides the fact that Uncle Mechelín, who had taken a great liking to him, enchanted him with his sea stories, his tales, and above all, his good humor, and Aunt Sidora was very happy to see him there, when saying goodbye to everyone, Silda never failed to say to him, with her imperious tone and hard frown, “Come back.” And how could Andrés not come back, when it gave him joy to see that little girl, a short while before half wild, sitting next to Aunt Sidora, so clean, so combed, so neatly dressed, so sensible, threading two patches to loosen up to sew, or handling the set of needles to learn the _increases_ on a blue cotton stocking! Besides, Aunt Sidora had assured him that she was very skillful in the kitchen and in the arrangements of the house, and that when she took her with her to the tasks at the Fish Market, she learned everything and told him everything afterward; And yet it seemed that she didn’t pay attention at all. She didn’t even want to be talked to about the life she had led up to that point since her father’s death. As for Uncle Mechelín, he would turn around and tell Andrés about Silda’s abilities , and show him the buttons that She had glued it, all by herself, to his waistcoat, or the patch she had sewn onto the elastic. In short, the girl was a different girl now, and the honorable couple was in love with her. To make matters worse, the girls on the fifth floor were as quiet as saints, tired of the provocations and useless gossip from the balcony, and whenever they passed in front of the cellar when they were entering or leaving, because when one doesn’t want to, two don’t quarrel, not to mention the restraint and restraint provided by the City Council’s declaration, which, if ignored, could have given reason even to the authorities of Marina, whose rulings admitted no reply. What’s more! Even Muergo seemed to have been beneficially influenced by the girl’s transformation. Not only had he not sold the shirt, but he was also in search of another, or something better, often appearing at the cellar, with the scant amount of cleanliness that a swine like him could muster, and meanwhile munching on the lumps of bread that his aunt, not very willingly, gave him. Wasn’t the pleasure Andresillo felt seeing such things in that very poor dwelling quite justifiable? Wasn’t the well-being that reigned there, around Silda, his own doing, to a certain extent? Who, if not he, had picked up the helpless creature from the middle of the stream and set her on the path to where she had arrived? Tolín shouldn’t have thought of taking him away from the cellar on Calle Alta, because he neither could nor should have done that, even without the strong pull of his seafaring passions, the stories of his friendly Uncle Mechelín, and the affectionate courtesy of Aunt Sidora. Chapter 11. THE FAMILY OF DON VENANCIO, TWO KICKS, A HANDLE BUTTON, AND A NICKNAME. He didn’t take the matter of the English letter and the audit of accounts with such enthusiasm; but he didn’t neglect it. His mother often asked the teacher for information, and he gave her quite good ones. His father, relying on his wife’s interest in Andrés sailing stern on his new course, was only concerned with the final arrangements for the fitting out of his ship, which was about to set sail for the island of Cuba. Don Venancio seemed very pleased to see his son and the captain’s son so close; and even the merchant’s high-class wife had given some testimony—it is unknown whether spontaneous or advised by her husband—that she did not dislike Tolín’s new comrade. When he arrived one afternoon for afternoon tea, very quickly because Andrés was waiting for him at the entrance, his mother said to him: “Tell him to come up and have tea with you.” And the son of Bitadura came up, after being urged a great deal, not on ceremony, but because a lady and a house like Don Venancio Liencres’s truly impressed and intimidated him more than struggling, alone and with an oar, against the current’s pull in the middle of the canal. That was why he entered somewhat timidly, and also because, not taking into account that commitment, he wore his boots without straps, a four-day shirt, a seven on one knee, and his skin was very porous, having come down in a single cataplera from Calle Alta to the Tolín entrance. Don Venancio Liencres’s wife was one of the finest examples of the Muzibarrenas of Santander at that time. A snout of disgust, a haughty look, four monosyllables between their teeth, much luxury in the street, a three-real percale at home, poor handwriting and not a shred of spelling. Of lineage, let’s not speak: the vainest one, as soon as she stood a little on her feet, could see the hoe, or the chisel… or the slingshot of her father’s youth… Ah… the poor men! And how they tormented them, unwittingly, when, already gray-haired, they boasted, _coram pópulo_ and of them, of having been what they were before being what they were! Rude people! To consider it an honor to have made a fortune by sheer effort, and to have the audacity to tell it in front of their daughters, who would never have been born, or would have worn out sandals and serge skirts, without those dark and cruel battles with elusive fate! In short, small-town mercies , of which there is hardly a trace left, good thing said. Venancio Liencres was very tempted by such sincere remarks in front of his wife, who would turn red with rage upon hearing them, after having turned blue, some time ago, at the similar remarks of her father. For not even these eternal testimonies of his vulgar lineage, which seemed a providential punishment for his vanity, could cure him of it. Otherwise, she was a poor woman who knew nothing about everything: from the multiplication table to how to hurt someone, except with a gesture. She greeted Andrés with a mouth full of frowns and a look that seemed to demand an account of his untidiness. True, Tolín wasn’t much better dressed; but Tolín was Tolín, and Andrés was the son of the captain of a ship “owned by the company.” As she went to open the glass of a sideboard that took up half the back wall of the dining room, she raised her indigestible voice just enough to be heard from a room in the carriage: “Child!… Let’s have some tea!” And immediately Tolín’s little sister appeared, dressed in a rich silk skirt, large lace trim on her trousers, and everything she could wear, in the strict fashion of the time, the daughter of a Don Venancio Liencres in a town where the luxury of wealthy girls has always been very noticeable. Her mother looked her up and down, unwrinkling her eyelids and her muzzle; and then, wrinkling them again, she said to Andrés with a quick and vain glance: “Look at this… and be amazed, you poor thing!” The girl, whose name was Luisa, was a faint hint of a _fine_ young lady: long hands, gaunt arms, a rounded waist, bony shoulders, lean shins, a very fine, white complexion, straight hair, regular eyes, and regular features. With this and her mother’s mirror, she appeared to be a _finely_ insipid girl, but not as much as Mrs. Liencres; after all, she was a girl, and the sincerity proper to her young age was stronger in her than the confused notion of her hierarchy, instilled in her very core by her mother’s conceits and certain sayings . While she placed three plates on the table, one with figs for Luisa, and the other two with olives, the girl noticed Andrés, whose color was becoming increasingly brighter and his hair more unruly. “And he’s handsome,” she said to her mother, biting into a fig. “Come on, eat and be quiet,” she replied in a low voice, placing a small piece of bread beside each plate. And then, turning to the children, she added, pointing to the olives: “You guys, here; and then we’ll be out on the street. But be careful what you do, and how you play, and what you’re playing at! Let’s not look like street urchins. Do you understand, Antolín? ” Tolín didn’t take kindly to the warning; but Andrés became even more excited than he had been, for he caught a glimpse of the lady as she spoke to her son. The latter snatched an olive with his fingers. Andrés, seeing it, snatched another in the same way; and plucking up heroic courage, sank his teeth into it. But he couldn’t get any further. He had eaten, without flinching, cuckoo bread, green raspberries, and bardal grapes; but she could never overcome the disgust and the teeth-wrenching bitterness of the olive. “Mom, he doesn’t like them,” said Tolín as soon as he saw Andrés’s face . “Don’t pay attention to me,” Andrés hastened to correct himself, not knowing what to do with the olive he had in his mouth. “It’s just that I don’t feel like it. ” “It’s just that you don’t like them,” insisted Tolín, peeling the pit of the third one with his teeth . “I also think he doesn’t like them,” added the girl, studying Andrés’s gestures with great attention. “Perhaps he wants figs like me. ” “No way! Thank you very much,” said Andrés again, breathing fire even out of his ears. “It’s just that I don’t feel like it… because I’ve eaten cámbaros… I mean, _cambrelos_ of those that cost a quarter.” The lady gave her figs instead of olives, and left the three diners alone in the dining room after recommending to Luisilla that she finish her portion quickly, because “the girl” was waiting for her. take her for a walk. From that day on, Andrés often had his afternoon snack at Tolín’s house, and many afternoons he went with him, and at his expense, to the acrobats in the bullring, where Barraceta performed the frog to perfection, and the famous Madam Saqui performed the _Ascent of Mount San Bernardo_, by a rope inclined from the upper door of the pigpens to the roof opposite. Andrés managed to imitate Barraceta exactly, and Luisilla made him perform the frog almost every afternoon they had afternoon snack together, as soon as they were alone in the dining room. Tolín was more dislocated than he was; but he lacked the muscular strength to support his entire body weight on his hands, and he couldn’t even hop with them. Meanwhile, Andrés managed to perform up to eight consecutive jumps, to the girl’s great admiration and applause. The three of them had a great time. Afterwards, they went their separate ways. Luisilla would go with her friends to the Gardens of the Second Alameda, and Andrés and Tolín would go wherever they saw fit; depending on the vote of the former, to the Muelle de las Naos, or to Calle Alta, or to the Joven Antoñito de Rivadeo, while it was docked at the Fish Market. Thus summer passed and autumn arrived; and Andrés and Tolín were pushed face to face across a double lectern at Don Venancio Liencres’s desk, where they did little more than swing their legs, dangling from the very high stools; bite their fingernails , or draw ships and somersaults with a pen. Colo entered the Institute, more than learning Latin, to carry firewood on his wretched flesh, morning and night; Bitadura roamed the seas of the Antilles; Ligo, Madruga, Nudos, and others of their kind also undertook long voyages; Father Polinar continued with his arduous tasks of unscrupulously disobeying wild fishermen and reconciling conflicting opinions, without recovering one iota from his deep- rooted habit of giving his shirt, whenever he had it, to the first person who asked for it. Muergo no longer went home because, at midsummer, thanks to the friar’s efforts and at the insistence of Aunt Sidora, he was placed as a boat boy at the house of Uncle Reñales, the master of the Lower Town Council. It was very difficult to get him to do the daily tasks of untangling the sardine, bailing out the water, and other similar duties; But a few lashes and slaps, applied firmly and in time, made him return to the path, until he noticed that when he wasn’t going to sea in the launch, he passed the time with his fellow workers , waiting for her at the dock or sleeping on the panel to guard them until dawn, occasions when necessity inspired them with resources of great entertainment, almost always brutal and even ferocious, in relation to the tastes and mortal nature of any son of a family; but not for that breed of exceptional beings, suckled by the elements, who, barefoot and half-naked, fall asleep so beautifully, curled up in a ball, without shivering and singing, in the hollow of a closed door of the dock, during the coldest and rainiest hours of a winter night. Because of this employment, he stopped frequenting Alta Street; But he went up there whenever possible, for he never returned from the cellar without having brought out at least a good lump of bread, which Aunt Sidora was very willing to give him since she saw him subject to the yoke of an obligation. Silda had persuaded him to shave his hair once a month and to wash his face a little every eight days; by which means he sooner gained than lost Muergo’s natural monstrosity, for the more he trimmed it of accessories and clinging elements, the more it became evident. This did not surprise the girl, nor did it disenchant her in the least, since she was not trying to make the son of the Spindle-Oarswoman beautiful, but to subject him a little to discipline and cleanliness: an endeavor like any other. On the other hand, how she fluffed up and became unknown from hour to hour! Oh! Bread without tears and sleep without alarms, what wonders they work on helpless children… and on unfortunate men! She was already sewing without Aunt Sidora preparing her work; she was diminishing a half Without counting the stitches out loud, she wove a net with great ease; she was as clean as silver; and possessing an instinct for cleanliness, the dust and filth of that narrow and very poor dwelling fled before her. The Anaos Pier, the Maruca, the Paredón… There was no need to mention them. Colo, Guarín, and so many other comrades from her scheming and swindling life only remained in her memory to delight in present well-being with the recollection of past bitterness. She didn’t hate them, because they weren’t to blame for the hazards that had thrown her into that disastrous life; but she avoided meeting them when she went to the Fish Market or to Baja Mar with Aunt Sidora, to help her with her chores. Outside of these occasions, she rarely set foot outside; not because she was forbidden to, but because she didn’t show the slightest desire to leave her hovel. From these testimonies alone, one had to judge her well-being, for she never revealed it in any other way more eloquently. She was obedient and docile without apparent effort, but not affable or expansive. She has already been compared to a cat , for her instinctive and natural cleanliness; for also, like the cat, she seemed to feel more attached to the house than to its inhabitants; although, in all honesty , it must be declared that, for once, appearances were deceptive. I know that there was a good deal of gratitude in her little heart for the favors she received from the honorable couple in the cellar; only she didn’t take the trouble to express it in a phrase, or a word, or even a gesture; perhaps because she didn’t realize what she felt, nor did she tire of finding out. Nor, after all, was there any reason to, because such as she was and conducted herself, allowing herself to be carried away by the force of her own conveniences, her affectionate protectors were extremely happy with her. What I dare not say for sure is that she would have yielded, without breaking, to the natural aloofness of her character, had she not been as far as she was in terms of what was asked of her, and what she could give willingly and without the slightest effort. Cleto, Carpia’s brother, returning one day from sea fully clothed, with two oars on his shoulder, and the tackle basket in his free arm, found her huddled beside the first step of the ladder, cleaning the rubbish from the doorway. Since her back was turned, she didn’t see the fisherman enter; he, sober and economical with his words to the point of avarice, instead of ordering the little girl to move aside, as she was blocking his way, kicked her so hard that she lost her balance. “You donkey!” exclaimed Silda, as soon as she looked up and recognized Cleto. Behind him came Mocejón, limping, also laden with tarred clothing, for it had been raining and was still raining, with the old man’s bucket in one hand, and the other holding the flask and an earthenware jar he carried over his shoulder, made into a bundle from the ends of the first. The girl was caught between her father’s big paws when the son’s brutal attack left her half -prone on the ground. So that she had hardly tried to get up when she was already banging her nose against the step, thanks to another kick, stronger than the first, accompanied by these words, which sounded more like grunts: “File up, you little scumbags!” Silda didn’t scream or utter a single moan, although, after she raised her hands to her face, they were covered in blood. She got up from the ground very calmly and returned to the cellar where Aunt Sidora was, who had seen or heard nothing. “I fell down,” she said upon entering, “and fell against the steps.” Thus she explained the incident, perhaps out of horror at other more serious incidents of the same origin. Aunt Sidora hastily put down the work she was working on; she placed Silda with her head bent over the first pot she could find within reach, and placed the door key on the back of her neck: a very good remedy for stopping nosebleeds . The incident had no further consequences, nor did it surprise the girl in the least as far as Mocejón was concerned. As for Cleto, it was a different story. Cleto was not bad, nor did he ever give her a hard time. a blow while she lived with him. It is true that she had not given him the opportunity to do so, and that the boy had enough to do with the war he was waging with his sister, and that not even by chance did he protect her with his strength to free her, even once, from the endless attacks of those hellish women. But, even so, Cleto was not evil, unlike the wickedness of his entire caste. Cleto was very crude, very dry, nothing more than very crude and very dry; and she did not offend him in the least, nor did she bother him when he kicked her down. And that is why she felt Cleto’s kick more than all the torments the women of her house and Mocejón’s animal had made her suffer. Another day, a few days after this mishap, Silda was leaning against the frame of the cellar door, finishing patching Uncle Mechelín’s waistcoat. She often worked in that place, because from there she could see what was happening on the street, without risking being surprised by those on the fifth floor in the doorway. As evening was falling and the light was fading at that intersection, she dared to go out to the front door to do the last stitches as she pleased. At that time, Colo was coming down the sidewalk, his hands under his armpits and his eyes swollen from crying. He confronted her as soon as he saw her at the door and, very distressed, asked her about Andrés. “He hasn’t been here for three days,” Silda replied. “Why did you want him? ” “So tell him what’s happening to me, God! And see if in a pinch he can do something for me, since he’s rich… Oh, my God, what pains! Look, Silda…” And she showed him the palms of her hands and the shins of her crossed legs, covered in purple stripes and with purple welts. “What’s that about, you?” the girl asked. “About the blows that light my way in Latin. ” “Who? ” “The teacher, you fool! Because I can’t handle those waves of Jewish words very well… Bad lightning! Look: these darker lines are from four days ago; these others, from yesterday and the day before; these fat ones, from this morning; and from these two red lumps , the blood spurted out this afternoon when the blow lit my way … God!… Then I couldn’t take it anymore, Silda… because there’s firewood for me every day; and as I held the book in this hand while this other one was beating me with a blow, I threw myself at that barbarian’s snout with all my might. I escaped; and they’ll take me to prison first than to Latin, God!… and whoever persisted in this, I’d be capable of splitting him open.” and he’d open me up too, you little girl!… Well, fine! Do you see how my hands and feet are? Well, my back must be worse… “Did he hit you on the back too?” “No: he also hit me slaps on the face, and with the butt of his cane on the head, and even kicks in the stomach. That thing on my back is from my crazy uncle, and it’s just started now; because when he came running away, I told him that this one and nothing else; and that, Silda, that was a hail of firewood on me, with the knotted cane; Christ, if he were one, wouldn’t have borne it without giving up his gear… So… Look at him!” And exclaiming thus, Colo hurried to run towards the slope of the Hospital, because he saw the dreaded mad priest coming towards him, at the top of the street, with the long tails of his frock coat waving in the air moved by his swift gait; the knotted cane raised in his right hand; his hat tilted to the top of his head; and his eyes glittering; for this was the most striking characteristic of the famous Don Lorenzo. Silda, seeing him approaching her, retreated in fear to the doorway, precisely at the moment when Cleto was coming down from his house. He was holding his breeches around his waist with both hands and muttering under his breath something like curses and swearing. But this time, although he found Silda in his path, he didn’t push her aside with his feet. Seeing her sewing, he stopped and said to her: “Will you lend me your hand a little? I’m leaving right now to buy one.” Silda wasn’t sorry to see a fellow from the fifth floor standing so meekly before her , and Cleto in particular, for the reasons already mentioned. “What do you want it for?” he asked her in turn. “To glue this button… I have nothing but it in my breeches… That rascal Carpia stole my sheet to tie the ruff; so if I take my hands off, my breeches will fall down. ” “Why don’t they glue your buttons at home?” “Because nobody there knows as much as that. ” “Well, who used to glue them for you before? ” “I did, when I had a ruff… until I lost it. ” “And who mends you? ” “Nothing is mended at my house, you know that well. When something breaks there, it’s left that way until it falls, if it can’t be held back with a row of points. Everybody’s throwing themselves at you… and then out into the sun. Will you lend me the ruff? Yes or no? ” “Do you want me to glue the button for you myself?” “All the better… Take it: it’s that one. I have a square one upstairs too. If you think it’s better, I’ll pick it up. ” “The one with the handle is good.” Silda took it in her hands; with her tiny, tight, and very white teeth , she broke the strand of black thread she used to mend Uncle Mechelín’s waistcoat; she knotted the resulting end with only the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, a task Aunt Sidora had trained her with great effort at, because she said that a woman clumsy at tying thread never seemed a good sewer. She pierced, with difficulty, the stubborn cloth at the waistband of Cleto’s trousers with her needle, while he held her hands pressed against his belly; She inserted the needle through the button loop, letting it glide down the thread in somersaults, and began to sew and stretch the stitch, putting all her five senses into this work, the first she had done outside the home. Cleto wasn’t ugly. There was a certain sweetness and much light in his black eyes; his features were very regular, and all the lines of his body were well-balanced and manly. But he was very dirty, and the untamed hair on his head covered half of his face, weather-beaten and mottled with patches of thick, black down that was beginning to turn into a full beard. He even held his breath while Silda used the scant strength of her plump, white hand to push the needle through the hardness of the cloth, which looked more like tarred cardboard. Uncle Mechelín surprised them with this task and this attitude , returning from the street with his pipe in his mouth. He paused for a moment at the door, staring fixedly and with a face like Easter at the unexpected scene, and then, unable to contain himself any longer, exclaimed: “Fix it well, Cleto!… fix it well!… Look at that hand-held catch!… look at that catch with a grain of grain… and that sharp-edged seam!… What can one ask of it in true justice?” Cleto turned his eyes toward Uncle Mechelín, and immediately looked away without replying. Silda took no notice of these compliments, not even with a smile. The delighted fisherman continued to shower Cleto with praise and praise for the seamstress. The task was finished; Silda went into the hold, while Cleto, without opening his lips, handed himself the newly glued button, and Uncle Mechelín did not close his mouth as he addressed Cleto. and Cleto left without saying goodbye, and Aunt Sidora’s talkative husband was still talking to him; and after him she went out to the street door, and from there she followed him with her eyes… and with her words; and he leaned against the rotten frame when he lost sight of the waiter from the fifth floor; and then, tempted by the passion for loquacity that used to overwhelm him, as has already been said, he began to wander his gaze over the sidewalk and the balconies and windows opposite and over the passers-by, saying at the same time and in the richest and most picturesque variety of tones and registers: “You must see it!… I tell you, you must see it to know what those little hands are like, and that coming and going like the feather itself in the air!… It neither treads nor stains… You tell him the thing once: now he understood… She, the blue stocking; she, the white sock; she, the fine patch; she, the mother-of-pearl button the same as the button of sole; she, the broom; she, the fire; she, the pot… Come on, for everything that God created there is an oar there, with a grace and a finesse that takes the eyes off the face… If pain comes to me in this side, she heats the brick, and in a verb she carries me, wrapped in the pan, to the head of the bed. If my Sidora falls from her ailments, the angel of God divines her thoughts so that nothing will be lacking for her, from the ounce of chocolate, well boiled, until it shelters the pit of the stomach… Food, you say?… Regarding food, it is a small thing; but she is well put on, provided they give her easy work and a sleep without trouble… Listen, you don’t hear a word from her, unless it’s to answer what is asked of her, or to ask what she really can’t know… How about clothes?… Why, isn’t it glorifying to God to see how she falls for even an old rag you put on her? If I tell you that, if I didn’t know who her mother was, she would have been taken for a daughter of some England princess… if not a merchant’s lady from the Muelles… Well, and the art of spelling in the first place, and reading in a book afterwards?… And what about the prayers she’s learned in no time, for even Father Polinar is astonished at them?… Nah, children, if you teach her easily, she’ll learn easily… Grape!… And to all this, she’s clever; her walk is clever; She is exquisite in her dress, even if the garment is shabby; she is the very silk that her hands make, and the ground where she walks and the corner where she hides are as clean as silver… It’s so natural, really. And what I say to Sidora when I am praised for the fineness of her body and the fineness of the work of the angel of God: “This, Sidora, is not a woman, she is pure _sotileza_…” Take that! And that’s what we call her at home: Sotileza above and Sotileza below, and she answers Sotileza so beautifully. As if there is no offense in it, but much truth… Grape! And for that reason, and from those days on, the orphan of the shipwrecked Mules was called Sotileza , not only in Uncle Mechelín’s house, but in all the other houses on the street, and on the street itself, and in the entire Cabildo, and in the Lower Cabildo as well, and everywhere where her famous beauty was known, from which it easily followed and the curious reader will see, among other things equally common and everyday, if he arms himself with the patience to accompany me in the story for another little while longer. Chapter 12. BUTTERFLIES. Among seafaring people, and don’t be offended by those here, because the trade they have is for nothing else, a clean person is a bit rarer than a three-pound pear. In Sotileza, the instinct for cleanliness grew with the years; and, in my opinion, from the force of the contrast formed by that improbable neatness of flesh and dress with the scum of places and people among which she lived, and here is how the devil drags me for the third time to compare the cat with the orphan of Mules; in my opinion, I repeat, from the force of this contrast, so singular and striking, the fame of Sotileza’s beauty must have been born in the Upper Town Council , the clumsy perception of the filthy sailors confusing the attribute with the essence, or rather, the colors with the form. Because I remember very well that the first thing one saw in that graceful girl when she was, at twenty years of age, in the flower of her gallantry, was the extreme cleanliness of her attire, in which the clear notes always dominated, as if this were another display of her neatness, impervious to danger; and not dressed up for street festivities, or neighborhood weddings, or mass, or Sunday strolls, for that would prove very little; but every day, at the door of the bodega, at the top of Paredón, across the sidewalk, weaving the net in the doorway, sweeping the street sweep out into the middle of the gutter, or mending Uncle Mechelín’s breeches; in a short petticoat, revealing beneath three fingers of linen whiter than snow; with a denim doublet, striped in blue; a multi-colored handkerchief over her high, curved, and massive bosom; half-arm the sleeves of her shirt, and another small silk scarf, also light in color, gracefully tied to the cap over the full chignon of her chestnut hair, with its iridescent waves of burnished gold. The curiosity excited by these striking details moved the observer’s eyes to further explorations; and then he noticed the admirable aplomb and the fine, graceful lines of her leg and foot, bare and very white, which peeped out from under the strip of linen; the turned arm, also bare; the round , sculptural neck that rose above her broad shoulders; and, finally, the healthy, fresh, truly spring-like face, the most enviable portion of her brave head, which the neck supported, and on which the wide gold rings hanging from her small ears sparkled as they swayed. Such was what, in the indicated order, was striking to the eyes of an observer somewhat trained in the intricacies of art, upon contemplating Sotileza for the first time in her own natural terrain; with these elements, if there are any to construct what is called a fine young woman, one can be very far from reaching the beauty that unlearned fame attributed to the memorable street vendor. Examining her in even more detail, the lines of her face were far from conforming to the good models of classical beauty: her forehead was narrow; her mouth, although small and fresh, was extremely harsh in expression; the gaze of her slanted eyes was too crude; the brow was very accentuated, and the general contour lacked the correctness of Athenian features. Although each portion of her body was impeccable separately, the whole, although flexible and graceful, was not a sculptural model. In a word, Sotileza was not a beauty in the artistic sense of the term; but she possessed all the necessary charms to be admired by the young men on her street, and to excite curiosity, and then even a frenzy of whims, in cultured men, more slaves to evil passions than to aesthetic sentiment. Her voice had a beautiful timbre, with deep notes that powerfully accentuated the vigor of her laconic phrasing, and it fit very well with the expression of her face. Far from correcting her natural evasiveness, it had become stronger over the years; and although this quality never led her to be witty or provocative, when her tongue was sought by the envious or the daring, her sharp dryness made her truly formidable. With the power of her rich nature, and perhaps, perhaps, with the awareness of her beauty, she had acquired the courage she lacked as a child to face certain dangers head-on, and managed to impose herself, even with her gaze, on the women of Uncle Mocejón’s family; a triumph Sotileza boasted of, for she was one of the very few in which she had placed her entire mind ever since she began to understand that to achieve certain things, a woman of her character needed only to persist in doing so. Of course, she was aware that the women on the fifth floor, more than corrected, were tamed by force, nor that, consequently, they would not fail to take advantage of the first opportunity that presented itself to wound her with impunity. But, for now, the beast, although growling, was caged, and she had, in the prestige she enjoyed on the street, the weapon with which to torment its envious spirit; and in the temper of her character, the necessary strength to impose herself. Cleto had said to him several times, since the button incident: “Count on me even to beat them up, if it suits you… because they are very bad!” And Sotileza had smiled, knowing the quality of the motive that led Cleto to propose this idle barbarity. Because Cleto frequented the cellar a lot. The poor boy, who was naturally candid and good-natured, since he was born had cultivated no other association than that of the people of his house, filthy and ferocious people, without art or government, quarrelsome, drunken and heartless; and he didn’t know that a young man like him, who didn’t feel the need to be bad nor did he find pleasure in living as he did on the fifth floor, he could find elsewhere something that he missed, a certain _that_, like a gut, that was digging deep inside him, deep inside himself, as if tearful and disconsolate. And this something appeared in the cellar, in Uncle Mechelín’s joviality, in Aunt Sidora’s kind simplicity, and even in the cleanliness and good order of the entire room. There they talked a lot without cursing anyone; they ate tasty things at regular hours; they said prayers opportunely, which he had never heard of; and if he complained of some pain, some remedy was lovingly recommended to him, and Aunt Sidora herself even prepared one for him … In short, it was a pleasure to be there, where there were so many things of which he had not the slightest idea; many things that cheered that gut “down there,” which before had always been writhing and sad; and they made him take a liking to life, and to distinguish between cloudy days and sunny ones, and between harsh noises and sweet sounds; and to talk, to talk a lot about everything they told him, and to remember what he had been before in order to recreate a little in what was becoming. Because, at the same time, Sotileza grew; and as she grew, he noticed how the lines of her body were transformed and the roundness and smoothness of her flesh were accentuated, the power and light of her gaze and the harmonies of her voice; and how she alone was filling the cellar with all these things and her industrious woman’s sleeve, and even with her light; for poor Cleto would have sworn that it was from her, and not from the sun in heaven, that those splendors that scattered through the house came… Then he would return to his own, where he found nothing to eat for supper nor a bed to lie on, and he heard curses and blasphemies, and those infernal women wanted to devour him, because he took such a fancy to “the rogues below. ” And these daily scenes made him remember the cellar with renewed longing, and as soon as he found a free moment, he would return to it; and more than once, considering what awaited him above, he had his lips half-open to say to Uncle Mechelin, who was kneeling before him: “Let me live here forever! I don’t want a bed or food. I ‘ll sleep on the kitchen bricks and eat a crust of bread in the tavern, out of what you earn working for you!” And it’s worth noting that the couple at the winery didn’t mind Cleto’s well-known affection for Sotileza. Cleto was hardworking, honest, healthy, and robust as a horse, and he would even be handsome and comely the day he fell into hands that would care for him and groom him with care. Besides this, he was doomed to inherit half the barquia, if Mocejón didn’t sell his own at a bargain before he died. What better accommodation could there be for Sotileza, if Sotileza were to one day accept him without reluctance?… Reluctance! And why should the helpless orphan feel it? It’s true that, in the opinion of the loving old folks, once Sotileza was put to the test, there was no gold with which to pay for it, nor a marquis worthy of it; But passion did not blind them to the point of ignoring that the marquises laden with gold would never knock, with good intentions, at the cellar door. And not counting nor having to count on such a bargain, were there much better ones than Cleto for Sotileza in the Upper Town Hall? Of course , they would not pinch Cleto’s tongue so that he would burst into song about what the young man felt; nor would they prick the girl’s ear with praises of her suitor, to win her over; but they would take great care not to block the door, and even more so to close it little by little. So that if that reverent plea that Cleto had so often on his lips had come out of his mouth, perhaps it would not have been snubbed by Uncle Mechelín, nor perhaps by his wife, who were carried away only by the impulse of their own hearts. But there were other considerations to attend to; and one of them, not the least important, was having stubbornly refused the same claim hinted at by Sotileza more than twice in favor of Muergo, since the latter, barely enrolled in the guild and already approaching sixteen years old, lost his mother, as a result of a fall on the Rampa Larga, while climbing loaded with sardines… and brandy. Sotileza, therefore, persevered in the same purpose as Silda, of protecting the son of the Chumacera, so in need, in the opinion of the charitable girl, of a will that would govern him and keep him away from the evil path where the bad habits he inherited from his mother could lead him, and the loneliness and abandonment in which he had recently lived. And the brute Muergo made good use of these inexplicable softnesses of the former victim of his barbarities at the Muelle de las Naos and at La Maruca. Particularly since he was orphaned, not a day went by without a long and profitable visit to his uncle’s wine cellar. As best he could, the visit was made at lunchtime or dinnertime, because on these occasions he always found something to eat for his insatiable stomach. He lived on Calle del Medio, staying with a family who gave him a mattress and food for little less than what he earned as a companion on a boat belonging to the Lower Town Council: the third he had known since being placed as a boy, as already mentioned, in Uncle Reñales’s. On his visits to the wine cellar on Calle Alta, he very often ran into Cleto. They hated each other to death; and they were both there like two mastiffs facing a single piece of meat. For Muergo, the “tajada” (a dish) was everything the house contained, for fear that the other would extract from it, even in kind words, what wasn’t enough to satisfy him. For Cleto, the “tajada” (a dish) seemed to be the gross monstrosity of the oarlock’s son, which made him odious, and even more so in that place. It is true that he took little comfort in the undisguised complacency with which the old couple helped him contradict the slightest attempt at a verdict that the stupid sailor offered, amidst grunts; but this consolation was soured by Sotileza’s determined determination to always protect Muergo, rightly or wrongly; and this was the true cause of the aversion the young man on the fifth floor felt toward the oarlock’s son. Because Muergo’s grossness and monstrosity alone… Oh, Muergo’s monstrosity! We must have considered him well at the age of nineteen, the period in which Sotileza reappears, just as he presented himself at the beginning of this chapter! Since we lost sight of him, everything about him had grown at once: the plumpness of his lips; the squint of his gaze; the width and turn-up of his nose; the thickness of his mane; the fullness of his ears; the whiteness of his sparse teeth; the arch of his shoulders; the intensity of the coppery color of his skin; his natural adipose tissue, which had come to shine like Ethiopian leather; the savage harshness of his voice; his stupidity… everything, in short, both physical and moral, had grown larger and stronger about him ; and so that nothing would be missing from the harmony of this complexion of monstrosities, he was usually wrapped entirely in a flowing shirt of very hairy green baize. A pair of brown breeches and a Catalan cap , also green, with a red cuff. With this stiff, woolly attire, and his slow, swaying gait, he looked like a polar bear, assuming that at the pole there were bears that were green from the top up and brown from the bottom down. There was nothing more decent to compare him to. Sotileza had preached to him a lot about saving up to get a good dress for a holiday, and he already had part of it; but he didn’t want to wear it without the jacket and beret that he was missing and expected to have in a month and a half, around the Feast of the Martyrs, patrons of his Council. He could have worn it before; but he was very attracted to La Zanguina, the famous tavern in Arcos de Hacha; and La Zanguina held almost all of Muergo’s savings; and not all of them, because they wouldn’t collect his entire debt at once. Muergo was a drinker; but he was afraid of losing the protection of the people of the cellar, he had a pretty good handle on vice. He could calmly endure half a barrel of brandy; but when he got drunk, he was a beast. That’s why the same comrades who ridiculed him with impunity when he was in his right mind ran away from him as soon as they saw him drunk. Then he was capable of the greatest atrocities, however bloody. Otherwise, he was cheerful, hard at work, quite pleasant, and healthy. And how far he was from mistreating Sotileza as he had mistreated the girl Silda when he was a boy! The little reason that remained in his head, some vile self-interest, and much of the necessary influence of nature itself, which spoke to his flesh as the orphan of Mules grew and became more beautiful and offered him with tireless perseverance the only tokens of affection he had ever tasted, had gradually tamed and defeated him, until he felt himself a slave to the will of the graceful girl, as a wild beast surrenders, fascinated, to the caresses of its gentle tamer. With this simile, and no other, we can explain the mutual affection of these two beings, so different from each other. At work in him were selfish interest and the unstoppable power of a mysterious law; in her, first, the force of a reckless purpose; and then, the satisfaction or vanity of triumph. “Look here, you son of a bitch,” Aunt Sidora said to her one day, “that pampering with that beast is going to cost you dearly… because the goat always runs for the hills, and playing with wolves only gets scratches and bites!… I’m not saying this because of the bread it eats, because you want it and that’s enough for me… But why don’t you tell me to give it to another mouth that deserves it more? ” “It deserves it,” the girl answered. “That monster of Satan deserves it!… Why?” the sailor girl exclaimed. “Because it does,” the other girl responded dryly. “I could wish for a better reason than that; but whatever you want, there are better ones to the contrary, and he who doesn’t see them will be blind… Only you have to be born lucky, and that animal had it with you ever since you should have hated it… A bad year for injustices against the law of God!” And look, yours wouldn’t have touched me so deeply if I didn’t see you denying even a “good morning” to the lucky fellow above, who’s a piece of bread from head to toe, when you don’t think anything’s enough for my swine of a nephew. “Cleto’s of low stock. ” “Well, look at that son of a bitch!” ” Everyone has their own tastes.” “And old people have a lot of experience, you son of a bitch, and even the obligation to advise the young men when the young men aren’t going down the right path. ” “And what harm do I do in looking out for someone who’s hateful to everyone? ” “The evil of giving wings to someone who shouldn’t fly with them. ” “Because he’s ugly! ” “Because he’s not good. ” “He doesn’t steal or kill. ” “He hasn’t given it his all; if he does, it won’t be his understanding that will hinder him.” And bear in mind that Muergo, more than being ugly, is hated for being a donkey with hooves. ” “Others have them and are well regarded. ” “Because they also have qualities of esteem… And look, my dear girl, don’t be offended or angry with me; but I would tell you more without fear that you might think that what that animal is eating away at us, for your softness, is what pains me to speak the way I do.” And after these words, as Sotileza remained silent, they both sat down, at Aunt Sidora’s command, to finish gluing a cloth to one of her old skirts, because the next day was Sunday, by the light of the oil lamp hanging from a nail on the wall next to the master bedroom. At this point, Cleto was coming down from his house and bumped into Muergo as he was entering the doorway; and as if the former had been listening to Aunt Sidora’s admonitions to Sotileza and they had inspired such a sudden resolution in him, he said to Muergo very quietly, but with great vehemence, while he grabbed him with both hands by the front of the hairy elastic: “I don’t want you to come back here again! ” “Fist!” Muergo responded, also in a low voice. “And who are you to command such things? ” “Are you going back or not back the way you came?” Cleto insisted, without letting go of the other. “No, fist!” replied the one from the Lower Town Hall. “Well, I’m going to give you two blows… But don’t scream even if I knock your teeth out… Neither will I.” And as soon as he said it, he did. Two sharp knocks sounded, and then two more of the same kind, amid a confused murmur of coarse interjections and gasps of breath; then another louder and more resounding knock, like that of a head against the gate; almost at the same time, a blasphemy from Muergo, half in falsetto… and all fell silent again in the darkness of the portal, amidst which Muergo spat more blood than saliva, and felt his teeth one by one, to see if they were still intact; While Cleto, after venting a little of his venom, set off down the street, fearful of what might happen to him in the cellar if he entered at the same time as the other man, and the other man told what had happened, or those inside guessed it without anyone telling. But Muergo was in no mood to relate anything of that kind; and since on a face like his a few boils more or less meant very little, the women didn’t ask him anything about the three that were rising quite high around his big mouth. He said goodnight with a grunt and asked for his uncle. “He’s going out to get some fishing lines for the sea,” his wife replied. “Is there a woman?” She took out her jacket just in case. “Well, let’s get the boat ready early, because tomorrow we’ll go for barbel after the first mass, before the tide rises.” If he can’t , he can stay in bed, because Cole and I are going too. I’ve got that message… ha, ha, ha! “Why didn’t Don Andrés himself come?” asked the sailor woman. “He said he was very busy… Gosh, what piles of duros on that table!… I’m sorry!… He could walk among them… and gamble too!… ha, ha, ha!” Uncle Mechelín arrived at that moment. He was more lazy and dejected than in years past. He also lacked that expression of joy on his face that we had known him with. They repeated the message that Muergo had brought, and his wife added: “If you’re not up to it, stay in bed. Muergo and Cole have to go anyway . ” “I’m ready for it,” replied the fisherman, looking at Sotileza, who seemed to encourage him with her eyes. “What I regret is, let it be said without offending anyone, that for these things Don Andrés remembers those from Down Under more than the very people from here who travel with us in the boat… Men feel it: truth be told. But they are fancies of esteem for others, who must be respected. ” “Well, if we weren’t for respect, Miguel,” replied the sailor woman, “and for respect of another kind, who better to help you in such times than that fortunate Cleto? ” “Grape!” responded Uncle Mechelín. Upon hearing Cleto’s name, Muergo twisted on the stool, like a bear probed by the spine. “What’s the matter, donkey?” asked his uncle. “Nothing that matters to him,” replied Muergo. Cole was a brave and knowledgeable fisherman, who years before had been a rascal the reader met, under the same name, at Father Apolinar’s house. Such cases are not uncommon among Santander sailors. Let us mention, without straying from the scope of our story, Guarín, Toletes, and Surbia, three other fishermen transformed over the years into fishermen of both courage and shame. Colo , the man from Calle Alta, also did well for the trade after he abandoned Latin and was taken in by his mad uncle at Caridad’s house. Meanwhile, Cafetera, Pipa and Michero were at the Carraca, purging the mistake of taking as an object of legitimate looting a pocket chronometer, belonging to a ship docked at the Paredón de la Dársena, and another generation of looters ruled at the Muelle Anaos, led by a certain Runflas and a certain Cambrios, fatally destined to collect the keys to that memorable lazy place; because already some piece of the Maliaño breakwater was beginning to show its back. above the highest tides, to the terror of the _bogas_ that fled from those beaches, God knows where, never to return to fill the boats of the Santander fishermen with their flocks; the railway embankments reached very quickly and already threatened the Muelle de las Naos itself by way of the Calderón bathhouse, from whose balconies, those waiting their turn to dive into the marble basins entertained their impatience by spitting for the last time on the sea water that lapped the walls of the building on that facade and the one to the northeast, and often hit the ledges; because the locomotive could be sensed peeking out from the Peña del Cuervo, its long, serpentine, whitish locks stretched out in the air, carrying within its fiery entrails the germs of a new life, and sweeping away as it passed the customs and habits that had prevailed here for so many, so many years of uninterrupted, patriarchal tranquility, and the Upper Town Council only had a pond left in which to anchor its boats, and a hole in the embankment in which to pull them out into the bay. On the same Calle Alta, more than three of its ancient buildings had been replaced with just as many brand-new ones with iron balconies and white walls; and there they remained, oppressed and bursting, and making as sad a statement as porcelain teeth in a set of rotten teeth. For the traditional fishing guild, all these things were cause for serious pondering and foreboding of a devastating storm that was upon them; but they anticipated weathering it, facing the other wind and pretending not to see the danger; not saying a word about it, and continuing their old habit of living shut up in their shells, without dealing with land and without seeing or knowing anything positive about the center of the town, other than the cave of Ojáncano or the “Serenitas del mar.” And all this and much more was to blame for those ” madman’s adventures,” of which Don Venancio Liencres spoke to us, incredulous and astonished, and in which the Santander commerce had been immersing itself up to its neck… Poor man! Chapter 13. ANDRÉS’S ORBIT. It was enough for them to artfully prick his weaknesses to be the first to attend the preparatory meetings, and the first to speak at them, to praise the incalculable advantages of the daring enterprise—and not the least among the principal shareholders, and one of the most passionate in the memorable battle that later raged over whether the path should go to the right or the left. It is even presumed that he once penned El Despertador Montañés to respond to certain veiled attacks he thought he saw in El Espíritu del Siglo, when these two newspapers, respective organs of the two belligerent sides, were throwing punches at each other. He applauded the establishment of steamship lines between this port and other French ports on the Atlantic… and, finally, he even took the bait later on from the first credit societies that crept into Montaña after the railroad. He lost quite a bit of attachment to his old desk chair and threw himself enthusiastically into business, illustrated with eloquent perorations and luminous scholia on the sidewalks of the Pier and in the Senate of the Recreation Circle. His son and Andrés replaced him on the bench of patience—as he called the old-fashioned desk. Tolín had come out well -suited to what might be called department management: the corridors, the correspondence, good order and discipline upstairs and downstairs, that is, the desk and the warehouse. He had an excellent nose, a delicate palate, and admirable subtlety of touch at the tips of his fingers for examining samples of flour, sugar, and cocoa; and above all, a passion, which is the mystery of all these fussinesses. Andrés helped him very little, and he was left in charge of the cash register. He lacked a true vocation as a merchant. Honor, a great force of will, first, and later, habit, They made him adapt without reluctance to those tasks, so thankless to anyone who does not approach them with a true love for the ends to which they are directed. It was enough to look at the two friends to easily understand this diversity of tastes and aptitudes between them. Tolín was a young man of poor nature, with a serene countenance, measured and even meticulous in his gaze; chosen, or rather precise, in his phrasing, methodical in his work, and very organized in its accessories; his handwriting was clear, of the best Spanish variety; he made use of the leftover strips of paper, however tiny, to make his numerical calculations, in figures that seemed cast in white; he knew how to distribute his attention appropriately, without getting confused, among several matters at once; and although he was agile in his movements and not very anxious, there was not a stain or a wrinkle on his proper dress. In short, he fell on the desk like a saint on his pedestal. Andrés was a sanguine, fresh-faced young fellow with a voracious, yet quick and versatile gaze; slender, manfully handsome in every attitude. Seated halfway up his buttocks in front of the lectern, the bench creaked with every stroke of his pen; and while the shining curls of his black hair swayed before his eyes, his mouth never ceased murmuring a word or whistling very softly the most common strains. A slip of the pen would make him burst into the most lamentable exclamations, and with a trifling blurt he would utter the most atrocities to himself, forgetting that there were people listening. Yet, nevertheless, the swoop of a fly would distract him, and at the slightest noise from the street he would leap to the mezzanine window. In the collections and payments he was in charge of as cashier of the house, he would make a hell of a racket counting the coins handed to him, or spilling the Napoleonic bags on the counter, or testing the law of suspects by making them bounce on the board. Otherwise, he was punctual at work, and pleasant and helpful to everyone and everything; but life was too much for him, and he needed all those worries and other rackets to keep from suffocating inside the shell. As can be seen, there could not be two more different natures than those of Andrés and Tolín. The only thing the two lads had in common was the extremely cordial affection they professed for each other. A few months after joining the office, Tolín fell ill. The fever lasted for many days, and his convalescence was long. Andrés, as already mentioned, knew how to paint ships with ink, indigo, and botabomba. Tolín emerged from his illness somewhat crafty and wanted his friend to entertain him day and night, painting ships and dolls by his side; and Andrés had the saintly patience to spend nearly two weeks painting after painting, on a nightstand that was placed next to his friend’s bed while he couldn’t get up, and then at the dining room table. Luisa attended all these home-made art sessions when she wasn’t at school, unblinkingly following the paths of Andresillo’s brush and pen, which they already knew how to trace, respectively, without moving their hands, a stormy sea with four discharges of indigo, a polacra sail with a flood of _botabomba_, and a hull and rigging with two dozen stripes made “in a word.” ” Now paint the captain,” Tolín would sometimes tell him. And Andresillo would paint a doll, whose cap hit the yards. “Now the pilot,” Luisa would add. And the pilot would paint himself next to the captain; and then all the crew members, and the ship’s dog, and the chicken coop, and the steering wheel, and a piglet, and half a dozen hens… until Andrés said: “There’s no more room.” After a few days, Tolín wanted to throw his money away as well; and since in his good days as a rascal he had cultivated some frank drawing on the walls of the doorways, and was, by nature, quite inclined to imitative works that didn’t require others, virtues that patience, by dint of dissolving lumps of indigo and botabomba, and by getting his fingers and lips dirty, he managed to paint as perfectly as his teacher, although the latter did not believe so, and would tell the girl so quietly and surreptitiously every time she, nudging Andrés with her elbow, pointed out, with amazement in her eyes, what her brother was painting. He became so fond of art that, after returning to his desk duties, he continued painting on his own in his spare time; and when his father bought him a box of the best paints worth five and a half reales, or six at the most, they were worth the best, I repeat, that were sold at the Alemanes on San Francisco Street—black, with crimson, varnished lids—he set about painting whatever God created and that took his eye. Then he painted Don Venancio Liencres in profile, wearing a black coat, top hat, and cane; his mother, the painter’s mother, with a fringed mantle, a feathered cap, and a striped dress, also in profile; Luisilla, in suitable attire, also in profile; and the cook, the maid, and the bookkeeper… all in profile and facing left , because he couldn’t manage the other way around, much less with figures from the front. Afterwards, he painted chairs, benches, tables, and the cat, and copied the flowers from the dining room wallpaper and the figures on the playing cards; until, seeing his father’s determined vocation, he tried to have him learn drawing, on principle, with Cardona, who gave lessons in his theater studio; But Tolín wasn’t about to retreat to the tiresome and slow preliminaries of school, after reaching where he had in art, and he wanted to continue cultivating it with no other guide than his persistent inspiration. He provided himself with vellum paper, which he had never had before, and launched himself into the landscape. Then he copied, in pieces and in detail, everything that could be seen from his house, both in front and behind. This work lasted for years; because at the same time he was working with enthusiasm and skill at his father’s writing desk, and the panorama is enormous, and its details were infinite. Botín’s house alone, with the ashlars of its arches, one by one, and with the tablets of its green shutters, one by one, took him nearly three months. You make me the Pier, slab by slab; and the Cathedral, edge by edge and tile by tile, and thus the bay with its ships and its mountains in the background; and the Alta, with its Atalaya and its trees; and Maruca, and San Martín; and let’s see who’s the handsome one who agrees to paint it in less time. When we find him again replacing his father at the desk, his mania was already waning: he only painted a few things from time to time; but the fire of his love of art still burned within him, since, to relax his spirit, broken by the weight of the tasks in the mezzanine, he would lock himself in his room as soon as he entered the house, and spend half an hour in ecstatic contemplation of two dozen works with his brush, which, “painted” like the best of the collection, adorned the walls. There they were, years ago, the admiration of all who lived in the house and those who visited it, with the corresponding label at the bottom, in letters like jagged edges, that read: DONE BY ANTOLÍN LIENCRES AS A PASSION IN THE YEAR OF EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SOMETHING . And as if the parenthesis of the label were not enough to praise the merit of the work, Don Venancio, his wife, his daughter, the maid… anyone who, under any pretext, and they were abundant then, introduced a visitor into that room, was very careful to say, pointing out each painting: “This is the Harbor Master’s Office; this is Botín’s house; this is the Castle of San Felipe, with its cathedral behind it; this is the shipyard launch, loaded with passengers, oars and sails at the same time… How proper is it all, eh?… It seems that each thing speaks for itself! ” And then he added: “Well, look, he paints it all as a hobby. He’s never had a teacher.” nor has she loved him… Why, doing what he does and knowing what he knows? Andrés gave up very quickly. It’s true that artistic pride didn’t really touch his guts. When Luisilla saw her brother painting ships underhandedly, and even wasting them as decorative details in his landscapes, she said to Andrés one night: “Learn, learn, son. This is called painting ships… and boats! ” “It’s better to handle the real ones well, like I do,” Andrés responded. “And hang out with sailors… and with sailor women!” Luisa replied with a great deal of sarcasm. Andrés turned very red, because it was true that he was quite excited by the company of those people and those diversions. The things that consumed Tolín’s mind, along with the change in his public habits due to the passing of time and the frailty of his nature, attached him so closely to the corner of the house that those nocturnal gatherings during his convalescence became a true necessity for him. Not even boiling water could get him to go out into the street as soon as the street lamps were lit. The nucleus of his gathering was Luisa and Andrés. Sometimes three or four friends from the neighborhood would gather there; but this happened rarely, without any regret for the others, who were quite content to be alone. Usually, while Tolín painted, Andrés would recount the remarkable things about his maritime adventures, and Luisa would focus on the painting and the stories, not missing a single brushstroke or a single phrase. Sometimes he would dip his spoonful into both pots and say to his brother, for example: “I think that green color is more like lettuce than sea green.” Or he would interrupt Andrés with these words: “Well, that doesn’t suit a decent boy like you. Maybe you smell like that boat mess… and you might also say some nasty things when we can’t hear you.” Andrés, because he truly loved Tolín, regularly attended that get-together, which greatly pleased his mother, the captain, and Don Venancio Liencres, to whom Bitadura’s son was more and more obligated every day. Because if the person in authority had told him , “Spend those two or three hours of your free time at night wherever you like,” oh, then!… then, without completely abandoning Tolín, he wouldn’t have frequented his house so often, with the hassle of changing his shirt every other day, and the risk, among others, always very serious for him, of perhaps bumping into Mrs. Don Venancio, so serious and uptight, and having to greet her very politely and courteously, certain of receiving only a single word in reply, and that one short and dry. He was much more highly regarded, and he amused himself in the bodega on Calle Alta, and next to the harbor master’s office, or at the point of the Muelle, or in the Arcos de Hacha; wherever there were sailors idle and huddled together. He knew and associated with so many of them!… As he grew older, so-called social propriety forced him to keep his distance a little more; but his inclinations didn’t lose an iota of strength; on the contrary, they strengthened and grew with him, which was a real growth, because Andrés grew and broadened, which was a blessing from God. At seventeen, he was more than two fingers taller than his real height, and in the storeroom, he could carry a quintal in each hand above his hips. Rowing, he could outmaneuver the strongest sailor and steer the rigging of a boat or launch with singular skill. Neither southerly winds nor gales could overwhelm him; and against winds and tides, he struggled triumphantly, and not only undaunted, but joyful. I don’t know what evil the sea held for that boy; he seemed like a woolly dog: as soon as he saw one, he was already looking for an excuse to throw himself into it. He knew the currents, the sand points and all the mysteries of the bay, like the best expert, and had run in it all the risks and storms that can be run due to fog, groundings and winds. unleashed… In short, he knew it by heart. He felt the urge to learn something about the open sea, and he didn’t waste any opportunity to do so. The first opportunity came by chance. Pilot boats don’t have permanent crews, and they are hired from the first ones who come along. The remuneration is as follows. For a levy on a ship of over 150 tons, the salary is 220 reales, of which 100 goes to the pilot, 1.50 for the boat, and the rest is to be divided among the sailors. Every day, two pilots are on duty and must be at the mouth of the harbor one hour before dawn ; they cannot leave until another hour after dark. If these two boats are short of service, the senior pilot notifies the skipper or skippers who are needed in extraordinary cases, on a strict schedule. When one such incident occurred one holiday afternoon, Andrés was having a conversation with some sailors at the entrance to the Zanguina. Two men were missing to complete the crew of the launch, which was to leave to board the ship at Sardinero; the matter was urgent, and the pilot was getting impatient. “This is my chance to see something of that,” Andrés thought. And he generously offered to be on hand. They held him in high regard there for being the son of the man he was and for the wealth he was producing; and with all the proper considerations and reservations of rigor and courtesy, the proposal was enthusiastically accepted. As if the young man had won the lottery, he ran to the dock ahead of the fastest runners; he jumped into the launch first; he rigged his oar on the slack side; he threw his tuina under the bench; he planted his feet on the front… and he was in his twilight. The launch, rowing as it rowed, left the harbor; it sailed west of Peña de Mouro, and after mooring alongside, Andrés climbed aboard with the pilot. Another bit of glory, entirely new, for the spirited youth! To enter the harbor on the bridge of a brig with all its canvas blowing against the wind, and to witness the maneuvers on board, and the anxieties of the captain, his mind a slave to the pilot’s commands and signals; and to hear the harsh creaking of the pulley, and the sad, lilting chant of the men taking in the sheet; and the noise of those running, and the voice commanding them, and the murmur of the wake; and to feel on his face the air moved by a sail being stroked, and on his feet the deceptive effect of the brig’s slow pitching as its keel glides through the waves it itself stirs, following the course plotted by the skillful helmsman— and savor, right in the hive, the sweetness of the inexplicable, mysterious harmony that this combination of sounds, colors, and movements produces! The experience so captivated him that he repeated it many times thereafter, whenever he had the opportunity; although not rowing in the pilot’s boat, as a curious addition to his crew. I have again mentioned La Zanguina, the famous sailor’s tavern in the Cabildo de Abajo, whose origins are unknown even to the old people who still frequent it, and who did not come to know about it in Arcos de Dóriga, where it is said that it was first established, and with the same name, by a slave captain who with his tales of his adventures irritated the hair of the rough sailors who listened to him. Well, in order to attend Zanguina, even twice a week, during the hours of _session_, Andrés cut short the time necessary for Tolín’s social gathering, at the end or at the beginning of it, according to the seasons and the _coastal_. Tolín knew it; his sister did not. But the two of them deceived her with some little lie, so that Don Venancio would be unaware of the incident. Because the girl’s demon, who was already past being a girl, had taken to the fancy of meddling in Andrés’s affairs , as if they mattered a great deal to her; and with such scrupulous and urgent objections and warnings that only Captain Bitadura’s son could explain it to her. The reason Luisa was her mother’s daughter, so jealous of the luster of her house and the good appearance of those who lived there. Andrés went to La Zanguina because the sailors of the Lower Council lived there, more than in their own homes. They passed through there on their way everywhere, and there they returned; and there they rested and there they chatted; there they spent the morning, and the nine o’clock, and the ten o’clock, and the eleven o’clock, and the rest; and they twisted their tackle, and bought the parrocha, and raised loans, and left their savings; and there, upon returning from the sea, loaded down with their gear and waterproofs, the wives waited for their husbands: those of the bad ones, to heap insults on them in exchange for a few slaps; those of the good ones, with food in their baskets and their youngest child in the other arm; Because these sailors, though not as fine- skinned or as polished in their words as the fishermen of poetry, also like to have the smallest offspring on their knees and give them the tastiest sandwiches, while they scarf down, albeit in a strange place, the domestic stew, especially when they expect not to leave their doors for two or three days, which happens during busy campaigns, such as those for the red sea bream. There they would then prepare their arts for the following morning; and there, therefore, they would incarnate the countless hooks of their red sea bream lines; and there Andrés was amazed to see how carefully the fishermen placed the incarnated hooks at the bottom of the cup, the reins against the walls, and the line along the edges . He had already studied this subject on Calle Alta; But it’s not the same to see one man doing it alone, in the silence of his home, as it is to see many men doing it at once, amidst the noise of conversations, the interest of stories, the aroma of the tavern, and the light of the reverberations. How many people he met there; how many characters he studied; how he learned the name, the application, and the handling of each thing; the zunas and virtues of each sailor; the constitution of the guild, its treasure, its debts; the intricacies of each family; its joys, its sorrows!… Because those were truly glass houses, not the ones inhabited and so praised by those public lords, whose lives are an indecipherable mystery, despite the imagined transparency of their shells! That was properly and materially living and thinking out loud, in the middle of the gutter. There he also met the then-reigning Falagán, of the traditional Falaganes dynasty of Cueto, to which he was , and still is, associated with the duty of lookouts at Cabo Mayor; a duty that consists of lighting fires there when the south wind blows in the bay or the swell breaks on the coast, to warn the boats fishing outside with smoke, if it’s day, and with light, if it’s night . Although not with all the details being recounted, Bitadura and his wife were aware of Andrés’s brilliant inclinations, and the captain was far from condemning them. But the captain had them in her sights at all times. “You see,” her husband would tell her. “That boy’s character is of the highest quality: a fish of the sea, from head to toe. See if I was right when I wanted to teach him to sail!” “True,” replied the captain. “But, for now, I’ve got him safe from storms and sharks; and that’s what we’re gaining. ” “Not even that… not even that much!” retorted Bitadura; “for on the best of days the boat can get the better of him… And look how glorious it is to end up drowned in a basin, when one could have died in the hurricanes of the sea! But, anyway, you wanted it; and since you’ve had your way, I don’t mind seeing him the way I do. He’s strong, he’s handsome, he’s got a heart… and that’s what men are for, better than shaking the trawlers, with gloved hands and their necks between two starched jibs, in salons and promenades… Let him not fail in his duties, as he never does, and, I repeat, I like the thread he’s pulling out. What I feel is that, by sneaking around for many things, do them hastily and badly; and to do them badly and hastily where he does them is very dangerous, because his life could depend on it… We have to talk about this, Andrea! –And about the other thing too,–replied the captain earnestly. –And what’s the other thing? –The other thing is that no one can get him away from that damned cellar on Calle Alta. –The one in Mechelín?… The most honorable and peaceful house in the whole Upper Town Hall! He’s fine there… better than at La Zanguina, where I saw him one night when I passed in front of the tavern. –La Zanguina too!… and at night! Well, doesn’t he go to Don Venancio’s house? –Apparently, he’s making a killing. If I tell you he’s making a fortune!… But don’t worry about La Zanguina, because that ‘s on me. –But what will they say at that gentleman’s house? “They know nothing about the case… And if they did, what the devil!… Have I handed over their son to them to court them at all hours? Well, look at you: between the two extremes, I love him more with the traces of Zanguina, than filling the house and the city with figureheads painted with indigo and egg yolk, like the other one does. ” “I understand myself, Pedro. ” “I understand myself too, Andrea… and I understand you too; only we don’t agree on that either. Whatever is at hand from God must come; and what doesn’t come that way, neither should he seek it, nor should you force him to seek it; because he neither needs it, nor, if you push me a little, is it good for him…” And enough of this conversation. Chapter 14. THE DEVIL ON THE STAGE. Just a few hours after that, Andrés decided to express to his father one of his wishes, one of the few most fervent wishes he felt: to own a boat of his own, or at least half of it, like many young men his age. Back then, there was a fleet of very elegant private skiffs anchored in front of the Café Suizo, just as there are now gift horses and fancy carriages. He tried to soften the rough edges that the claim might entail, declaring to his father that he would contribute all the savings he had made from the salaries and bonuses he had earned at the desk to the purchase. The captain smiled and offered him the gift of a new skiff, on the condition that he only return to the Zanguina in transit and in cases of necessity; because everyone down below who owned a boat, or even enjoyed the pleasures of the bay, felt the need to take a trip to the Zanguina . Andrés readily accepted the condition; And with Bitadura’s instructions, Lencho built him a skiff, rigged like a sloop, so slender and graceful that it sailed alone. Around this time, Uncle Mechelín began to suffer from many ailments that often prevented him from going to sea and even confined him to bed. Their meager savings were exhausted, and various needs began to arise in the hold, because the women’s labor was not enough to cover them all. Andrés observed this with great sorrow, especially when he became convinced that the honest fisherman’s ailments were the scourges of the trade, inflamed by the weight of age; that is, the kind that cannot be cured and require great care so that the sick man could gradually get through the last, brief stretch of life. “I don’t know,” Aunt Sidora was saying to Andrés one afternoon, her eyes watering, while her husband lay on the bed complaining, “how, looking in this mirror, there is a man so forsaken by God that he takes up this trade. Unhappy man! Fifty long years of toiling in those seas, in freezing cold, in scorching suns , in winds, in rain, in snow; little rest, a modicum of sleep; and back in the boat before daybreak; and you close your eyes so as not to see the image of death that embarks before anyone else, and always goes there, there, with the unfortunates, to finish them all off when they least expect it and where there is no other protection than the mercy of God! Look here, Don Andrés: I don’t know what happens to me when they haggle with me a farthing for a pound of gold. Hake in the square, people throwing a penny for a piece of bread they don’t need. If only they knew how much it costs to pull that fish out of the sea! What dangers! What hard work!… And for what, sir? So that the first day the unfortunate sailor stays in bed, his family won’t have anything to eat… no matter how honorable and hard-working he is, like this lucky fellow, who doesn’t have a bad habit… If only there had been enough savings for even a small boat!… You see, two thousand reales in fifty or more years of work isn’t too much to ask… If we had that boat today, in good health Miguel would go out with it to the bay, if it weren’t possible for him to go farther out; and if not, he would earn the boat itself by others fishing in it, and we would eat from that sum at home. But not even that, Don Andrés, not even that! And I don’t have a daily wage: I lack the eyes for sewing, and the little they give on the street to this misfortune, which is my consolation and my help, they pay poorly, and when they seem to… Sotileza, who was present, never took her eyes off Aunt Sidora, except to look at Andrés’s moist eyes. The latter, as soon as he left, spoke at length and eloquently with his father, who knew Uncle Mechelín well and truly esteemed his honorable qualities. At the conclusion of what father and son discussed, the former said to the latter: “Let your mother not know, because she doesn’t see these things the way we do; but we must provide Mechelín with the barchy he needs. ” And Uncle Mechelín soon had it; and from that day on, the faded joys of the bodega on Calle Alta blossomed again, and Andrés and his father’s name were even venerated there. At that moment, Aunt Sidora said to Sotileza: “Look, you little girl: from today on, try to be a little pleasant in appearance and speech to that person, who is an ounce of gold in himself, if only so that he won’t think we’re ungrateful. It’s not that you wish him ill, for I know very well there is nothing of the sort; but your face should never hide what’s going on inside, not even if what’s inside is bad, let alone good. Because it’s a known fact that, although there was great intimacy between Andrés and Sotileza , this was almost entirely at the expense of the former’s frank and communicative nature. Sotileza wasn’t much more expressive with him than with the other people she knew, with the monstrous exception of Muergo; But since, with regard to Andrés, the surly girl, who was already approaching the limits of beauty she soon reached, had no ill will to conceal, she willingly agreed to make the effort demanded of her by the more grateful than experienced sailor. Her astonishment was immeasurable when she noticed that, as Sotileza’s affability increased with Andrés, his with Sotileza decreased, and she was even gradually curtailing her visits to the hold. What on earth was going on there? Why had such a gentlemanly and down-to-earth young man, whom everyone adored, resented her? Didn’t he already judge them worthy of the kindness he had done them? Did she not see how they savored and nourished him, and under his protection the ailing sailor happily bore the full weight of his afflictions, without being robbed of sleep by the vision of the hospital to finish his days, and how he took advantage of the slightest respite from his pain to earn a few more cents by his own labors, because that was his duty? Did she not often go from the humble hold to the captain’s house, a few, but the best of what she had chosen from the day’s catch, not in payment for the benefit received, for this was priceless, nor would the benefactor ever have charged her, but as testimony that the piece of bread had not fallen into ungrateful stomachs? And if it wasn’t this or something that might have resembled it, what was it? And in vain Aunt Sidora wasted away and racked her brains; and meanwhile, the more she looked after Andrés, the more changed she found him. She went to consult the case with her husband, and later with Sotileza. But as the first one told her off, swearing that he had not seen any signs of such a change, and the second, shrugging her shoulders, thought the same as Uncle Mechelín, the good The woman, beginning to doubt whether she had seen visions, went, if not forgetting them, to get used to them; which was all she could do, with the nail still in her. And the fact is that Aunt Sidora was firm: what she ignored, fortunately for her, was the reason for Andrés’s withdrawal; and this reason the reader will discover. The very day that Uncle Mechelín found himself in possession of the barchy, Mocejón, already a complete wreck, came up to his house, vomiting out of that enormous mouth the greatest tempests amidst fumes of poison. “Nules… reñules!” he exclaimed while, lurching and nodding, he went from the door of the stairs towards the hall where Sargüeta and Carpia were untwisting old whips, and Cleto was smoking, silent, gloomy, and leaning against the wall. “What was running out, came out!” But, you rascals, where is the shame of people? How do they act like that? Is there a law of God, or is there no law of God? This house, is it a house… or what is it? If she was taken from mine because she was mistreated… how can it be allowed, you rascals, to keep her there… for those swindles? Because, you rascals, the matter is clear; and as soon as someone caught them on the fly whispered it in my ear… I caught it too. You rascals, what scoundrels! He was asked for explanations, and he began to link, in his brutal way, the donation of the boat with Andrés’s attachment to the hold and with the youthful freshness of its tenant. And I say that Uncle Mocejón began to make this connection because halfway through his task, the women of his house came to him and took the alleged allegations to the most scandalous extremes. Cleto was slow to understand, because he was so slow of understanding; but as soon as he saw what it was about, he sprang up like a tiger and exclaimed indignantly: “Fucker! That’s all a pure lie! You all lie here! And you more than anyone! You scoundrel! I know that s—ing man! I know very well who each of those down below is… and I know also who each of those up here is!… And I say that’s a lie, freak! And I say again that you’re lying, because you’re senile… and you, because you’ve never spoken with the truth… and you, because you’re envious and conceited… you scoundrel!” As Cleto continued shouting thus, his mother threw the footstool in his face ; He pricked up the tarred whips; and Mocejón, without the strength to throw anything at him, nor to slap him twice, hurled interjection and insults, which rattled. Between blows, Sargüeta and her daughter neither kept their mouths shut nor gave each other a turn. “Come on, you codger!… you wicked son!” “Here, you indecent one… so you can take the gift! ” “They sold her, yes! ” “And she let herself be sold! ” “And not for the barchy, for which she sold herself for less in the first place! ” “That’s how they put on the best clothes! ” “And they live in the shade, without working! ” “Go and get her now!… Carry her, you idiot! ” “But be careful where you put her, because if you show her here, the house will burn! Prick!” This, not to mention what happened with Mocejón, which can’t be told, is a very concise example of what was shouted on the fifth floor in less than half a minute, amidst fierce flailing and frightful gestures. Cleto was foaming at the mouth; and, unable to take revenge from his father or his mother, he attacked Carpia and gave him the most sovereign beating he had ever received in his life. Afterwards, he left the house like a rocket; but her women didn’t insult him from the balcony, as they usually did, because, as professional brawlers, they knew very well that the matter was dangerous enough to be thrown out into the street from so high up. They also knew that Sotileza didn’t have the stamina of the frightened Silda, and they were also aware that the protection of the Town Council and the esteem of the people on the street were closer to the orphan from Mules than to them, even in matters of little importance. What wouldn’t happen at such a scandalous point? For if it weren’t so, how long ago would their tongues have stamped the shameful seal on the cellar door? What was the need for the testimony about the barchy? Since Andrés and Sotileza had Having ceased to be prepubescent boys, wasn’t each visit by one to the other’s house sufficient reason for two mouths as poisonous as theirs to raise a mountain of infamy against him? The seal would be stamped, for nothing else would be needed!… and with fire, not only on the door of the house, but on the faces of each and every one of its inhabitants; but only when circumstances offered them an opportunity that would exonerate them from all responsibility; when the appearance of the facts confirmed the justice of the accusation. They were moving towards that with heroic perseverance, with a watchful eye and working quietly. Cleto, for now, emerged filled with horror from that scene of satanic abominations; But as soon as the street air freshened his heated face, and his poor reason began to calm down, and his honorable heart began to beat at the usual rhythm, he noticed that deep within him there was a thorn pricking him, at the same time that a terrible suspicion was banging on the walls in his head, like a fly imprisoned between glass panes. Ah! If slander always leaves some trace of its passage, even in the most subtle minds and the most seasoned hearts, how could Cleto’s rudimentary reason and his unobservant heart escape the poison distilled there by the words of his entire family? Why shouldn’t what he rejected as slanderous, after hearing it from such mouths, be true ? Andrés, a wealthy and handsome young man; Sotileza, an orphan and needy woman, stole the show; Uncle Mechelín and his wife, two “blessed men of God” and very grateful to each other. And if the other man persisted, what would come of all this? And if it wasn’t for the sake of persisting, why did the other man go there so often? What days and nights did the unfortunate man spend in this turmoil of his brooding thoughts! Everything came back to him: watching Andrés when he found him in the cellar, watching the street to surprise him there at unusual hours, and noticing Sotileza when she was at Andrés’s side… And he put it worse; because the most innocent glances and the simplest words seemed to him irrefutable proof of the cause of his misgivings; and the slightest noise at night, on the stairs or in the doorway, would make him jump from his restless bed and go out to listen through a crack in the door. Fortunately for everyone, he didn’t dare say a word, although he often uttered them , to the couple downstairs, even if only as a way of letting off steam, since they wouldn’t serve as a warning to anyone. But instead, he stopped Andrés one night in the middle of the sidewalk, and, with his consent, led him toward the Paredón, whose esplanade was deserted at that moment, he told him, very quietly and in his own way, everything that was bothering and tormenting him inside, robbing him of his appetite and rest. Andrés was shocked, because he was unaware of the true reason for Cleto’s alarm. Cleto had assured him that only the good reputation of that honorable family had moved him to tell him what he was telling him; and for a youth as rude as Cleto to dwell on such trifles, the assumptions must have been far-reaching. He inquired about this point; and although Cleto assured him that he had only heard it from his own household, as they were more than happy to spread it throughout the town, it did not reassure him much. But he denied it with solemn fortitude; And clasping Cleto’s right hand with his own, he swore before the face of God that he had never in his life thought crossed his mind such an infamous thought as the one the slander attributed to him. The son of Mocejón, faced with such sincerity, saw the celestial vault rent and the sun and the moon and legions of angels with golden wings appear from there. Not a trace remained in his soul of that suspicion that had so barbarously tormented him. Andrés understood that he had to do something to stop the slanderous suppositions in their tracks; and, for now, that night was no longer one of socializing at the wine cellar. But how fragile, miserable, and concupiscent, as Father Apolinar would say, is the human condition! That scrupulous Andrés, so noble, so cautious, so prudent and self-sacrificing, upon hearing Cleto’s dark confidences on the esplanade of the Paredón, in the narrowness of his room, in the silence and darkness of the night, scrupulously examining in the laboratory of his reason the reasons he had used to proceed as he did in his dealings with Uncle Mechelín’s family , he already began to become something else, although, in all honesty , without being aware of it. The most upright conscience suffers from a certain elasticity, which, if not curbed by the force of an iron will and solid reason, reaches the most dangerous extremes. This, in general. Well, if the inexperience of a young age, the impetus of the whims of a virginal and powerful nature , ignorance, passion, enthusiasm, as in Andrés’s case, all conspire in favor of innate weakness, help me to feel. Andrés had seen Sotileza grow and transform little by little from a vagrant and half-fattened girl into a handsome and graceful young woman; but never had an idea crossed his mind that had the slightest connection with the purposes attributed to her by the slanderous sardine sellers of Alta Street. Hence his sincere indignation upon learning Cleto’s confidence, and his immediate resolve to withdraw step by step from the humble house where his presence compromised the honor of a maiden. But once the light of this flash had dissipated, and he then examined things with the weak clarity of his reason, the first thing that presented itself before his eyes was the very body of the supposed criminal; not in the insubstantial attire of an innocent childhood playmate, or of the good friend of his budding youth, but with all the incentives that a dreamy fancy can accumulate on a luxurious youthful form, like that of the beautiful altera. Immediately, recalling once again the slanderous suppositions of Uncle Mocejón’s women, he said to himself: “Then this was possible.” And by a contradiction quite usual and common in all the difficulties of human discourse, he once again became indignant at being made capable of committing a crime, the hypothesis of which he had been savoring for some time. Then he returned to his purpose of gradually distancing himself from the cellar; And without sparing a moment’s memory of the orphan sheltered there, he considered what Uncle Mechelín and his wife, so kind, so down-to-earth, would judge of his behavior. To declare his motive would be to stab them in the heart; to conceal it would be to make himself guilty of a fault, at least a consequential one, in their affection and good friendship. And all this, why? Because two scoundrels from the fifth floor had thought of giving a noble and generous act an unjust interpretation. And was the peace of a clear conscience to be at the mercy of the judgments of two unbridled women? And was he to subordinate his legitimate tastes, his honorable pleasures, to the dictates of two slanderers? Never! Consequently, he would take the warning into account, yes; but he would not give the stinking family of Mocejón the unforgivable pleasure of submitting to their desires. He would take certain decent precautions to remove from the suspicious any pretext for gossip; he would frequent the cellar less than before; but he would return to it, oh yes, he would return! And let no one dare ask him “why!” Let some foul-mouthed person try to question his honesty, his loyalty, the nobility of his purposes!… He would be capable of doing and happening!… He would commit such an attack on the honor and peace of an honorable family!… And if they had put a Christ before him to swear that in all this he affirmed about himself there was not a hint of a lie, he would have sworn it enthusiastically. And he would have sworn the truth. And yet, digging deeply into his heart, how soon something would have been found hidden deep within him that would prove the unconscious falsity of the oath! Because the truth is that from the first time he returned to the cellar after having surrendered himself . to those meditations, although resolved to fight heroically against every evil thought the devil might suggest to him, and against the tempting aids of unexpected occasions, if his eyes often strayed from Sotileza, on the other hand, when they looked at her, how differently they saw her than before! Which demonstrates, for now, three things: That Andrés, thinking and acting thus, felt less honorably and nobly than he had on the esplanade of the Paredón when he heard Cleto’s confidences—the thesis of these last paragraphs. That in the conflict in which these confidences had placed him, the most discreet and least dangerous thing for himself and for the people in the cellar would have been to withdraw from it little by little and forever. And, finally, that Aunt Sidora was quite right when she affirmed that there had been a sudden change in Andrés. If only Uncle Mechelín’s wife had known what an effort of will this change required of the resolute young man, just when Sotileza was determined to attend to him and entertain him as never before! And so more time passed, and with him Sotileza reached the fullness of his development, and Andrés became a well-rounded, sturdy, and gallant young man; skillful, brave, and strong at sea, where he spent all his hours on strike, sometimes skimming with his _Céfiro_ (Zephyr) name from his skiff, assisted by Cole and Muergo, who ordinarily looked after him; sometimes fishing at the top of his game in Mechelín’s boat, whose _freight_ he paid scrupulously, to the obvious chagrin of the ailing sailor, whose conscience was burdened by receiving those monies from such hands. He enjoyed great prestige in both Town Councils; In both cases, her opinions were highly regarded, and the best boat captain would have gladly relinquished control of the vessel to her in times of need. Of all his catch, the best went to Don Venancio Liencres’s house; and of his own volition, he often sent it through Sotileza, who also took to the captain whatever Mechelín gave him at any given moment, and even to Don Venancio himself, at Andrés’s suggestion. For it is worth noting that, precisely from the moment he decided to take those “decorous precautions” in the hold on Calle Alta, he was seized with an urge, such as he had never felt before, that the exceptional qualities of the rosy-cheeked girl should be known and admired in his house and in Don Venancio Liencres’s. And it so happened that the captain actually told Andrés one day that if so-and-so ever set foot in her house again, she would do this and that to her; and that Tolín’s distinguished sister told him the same thing one night, for the same reason. And Andrés was like someone seeing a vision, because he couldn’t fathom the reason for such fuss. Because Andrés, despite these and other things, which made him faint, very easily carried the full weight of his obligations at the desk, and that of his duties of friendship and courtesy at the side of his companion Tolín. By then, Luisa was what she promised to be as a child: a very composed, refined young lady, very scrupulous in the ceremonial of her world. She was rather dull in speech; but not so much in the look of her large, black eyes, nor in the way her moist lips fell over her white, tight teeth. She took great pride in maintaining her class distance, like her august mother; but she made an exception with Andrés, with whose company she had become familiar since she was a child. She continued to be a tireless observer of this young man’s life and miracles. And as this was so contrary to her tastes and inclinations, they were rarely together without her teasing him. Andrés would occasionally get annoyed at these liberties; Luisa would fly into a rage at being denied her right to say what she wanted; but Tolín would intervene in the dispute and make peace between them; that is to say, he would get them to talk about something else, because what is truly peace could not be achieved, since, when the get-together broke up, Luisa would shut herself in her room in a hell of a temper, and Andrés would come out cursing. the impertinent and meddling one “who in the end would be the reason why he never came back there again.” And these were the only bad times the handsome young man had, who in every other respect was a golden bell, jingling happily as soon as it was shaken even a little… and even if it wasn’t. Cleto, in particular, had his brains sucked in ever since that handshake . He believed everything was possible in the world, except that the insulting supposition of his family could turn out to be true. Father Apolinar was drooling just seeing and listening to him; And since Andrés owned some money, because he earned more than enough at the desk to cover his needs, and he knew how the charitable friar used the alms he received, and was also a staunch believer, he couldn’t stop asking him to say masses to Saint Peter, and to the Martyrs, and to the Virgin: today so that Uncle Mechelín could get out of bed; tomorrow so that his father could arrive safely from the trip he was engaged in; another day so that he could avoid a setback on the fishing expedition he was planning to go out to sea… and so on; but masses even for a duro. Masses for a duro! And for Pae Polinar, who was tired of saying them for a peseta… and for two reales; and so grateful and happy! To think that he would spend his savings on the finery of society and parading!… If these places were intolerable to him when there were classes and ranks, what must they have seemed to him when, since the introduction of the steamships and the legion of Englishmen brought by Mould to Santander to undertake the railway works, a beardless lad could now walk out into the square wearing a top hat without fear of having it knocked off his head by blows? The sailors of the Berrona walked down the street, dressed as gentlemen, without the slightest external sign of what they had all been five years before; and Ligo and Sama and Madruga and others like them, although still sailors inside, and taking great pains not to reveal their true colors when they spoke, would walk around here at the Suizo to have a sorbet, after having strolled down the Alameda in a tight-fitting frock coat and top hat; and the street children would babble their English playing marbles with the rosy-cheeked lads of “proud Albion”; and the innkeepers of Becedo had fallen, and the house of Isidro Cortes, between the two Alamedas, was condemned, and the small basin was about to be terrafilled, and the Maruca was half-filled… and, finally, all flesh had already corrupted its way, and the town was, from end to end, an undignified mess of colorless jumbles and untranslatable confusion! All this would be left to his friend Tolín, who never missed a stroll in the Alamedas, wearing a tall hat, kid gloves, and a twisted whalebone walking stick, and who looked tenderly at all the daughters of the rich merchants; and even for his own father, Don Venancio Liencres, and others like him, who from those wealthy gatherings suffered such pressures of publicity and commercial eloquence that they neither stayed at home nor shut their mouths on God’s holy day. Yes, when things were so desperate, Andrés and another half dozen brave men, as attached as he to the tarry smell and maritime pleasures, were the only surviving examples of that race of amphibians that a few years before had filled everything in the town and had imprinted its character on its youth! Such were the people, things, and places of this timely story when Muergo and Mocejón’s son shook that morrás hand in the Sotileza doorway. Chapter 15. THE HANDKERCHIEF OF TEARS. Poor Cleto walked and walked, up and down the street; from the wall to the doorway, from the doorway to the wall, saying to himself at the beginning of each climb, “This time I’m going in,” and he would arrive at the door and not go in… and he would turn back toward the wall; and always with that rotten nail inside, which sank into the most painful part of his chest with every step he took. And that nail was Muergo, and he would consider that if he had to throw him out of the cellar forever by force of blows, with what Foolish and strong as the monster was, he had a long campaign ahead of him; and if at the end of it, supposing the campaign were to end, it turned out that they closed the door on him for the very reason he had tried to sweep it out in that way, how brilliant was the reward he would obtain for his efforts! If only he had friends to ask for advice! People of integrity and of his word, who would believe everything he told them about those things he felt while awake and dreaming, like a turmoil that came from his guts and broke like a northwesterly sea, as soon as he set his thoughts on Sotileza… and did not let her out of his memory for a moment; and that tingling sensation that came over him just thinking about what he would be, forever confined to the cellar, and what he feared he would become if, after having experienced something better, they didn’t quickly get him out of the fifth floor, or if he didn’t resolve to throw himself off the balcony one night! Things being so desperate, he couldn’t live without either one or the other. He remembered Andrés, whose influence with the people in the cellar he had also thought about on other occasions to help him out of his difficulties; but Andrés was Muergo’s protector, and wouldn’t lend himself to helping him in an endeavor that was detrimental to that beast. To go straight to those interested in his troubles was to take too much of a risk, because, despite not fully understanding the intentions of those people, he had little faith in his clumsiness of speech and the shortness of his temper to paint vividly the well-known “breaking” of their “jirvores,” and the force and significance of the other nagging sensations that tormented him. And thus, without realizing it, he was already walking down the Rua Mayor; and he arrived at the Pescadería, deserted at that hour; and he continued toward the Ribera… and there he found himself, jammed to the gills, right up against Father Apolinar. No one like that good gentleman to listen to him with charity and offer him good advice! He stopped him, saluting him, cap in hand, and begged him to listen to two words he had to say. “If there are only two of them,” said the friar, after a moment spent gathering the light from the nearest lantern with his hands, placed on their sides above his eyebrows, so that he could recognize the supplicant with his sick eyes, “you’re already telling me. If there are many of them, start letting them out as we go, or tell me when we get home, because I’m in a hurry and can’t waste time on the street. ” “Then I’ll tell him what I have to tell him at home,” replied Cleto, turning around and standing beside the friar. The latter was living at the time in one of the low houses on the Alameda de Becedo; so, following in his footsteps, Cleto had to cross the city by way of the Cuesta de la Ribera and Calle de San Francisco; precisely the artery most filled with the vital juices of Santander at that time. Swells of _lordship_, and shops and more shops full of things and light, to port and starboard. Cleto couldn’t remember having passed by there in all the days of his life; and he was so surprised by the noise and the wonders of the scene that he was on the point of forgetting his stirrings and tinglings. “You have to get used to everything, Cleto; to everything, to everything, son, to everything,” Father Apolinar would tell him, noticing how the lad was enthralled by what he was seeing and how he bumped into passersby. “But you’re beautiful from the sea; and as soon as you go out on land and find yourselves among rational, worldly people, you’re already out of breath. And the worst of it is that it sticks; because you must know that if I live another year on those steps on Calle de la Mar, being who I am and having associated with as many landowners as I’ve always associated, I’ll come out, damn it, as much of a dolphin as you.” Just with those children who were sent home to me to be treated at least as badly as possible, I was almost speechless! This isn’t to say that I’ve abandoned them, for some still go to my house; and they don’t go any further because the journey seems long to them, if it doesn’t frighten them as it does you. But at least they get some fresh air on it, and when they reach me, They don’t smell so bad anymore. I have earthlings too; for children of God are just like anyone else and are just as needy, like the most lost, of the bread of intelligence and the divine word. Gosh, what fish there are among them! But still, man: I have never had a disciple, nor do I expect to have one, no matter how long he lives, so dirty, so ugly , or so clumsy, as that Muergo… This word instantly brought Mocejón’s son out of the daze in which he was plunged. He shuddered all over, put on one of his most well-rounded suits; and feeling himself possessed, replete with all the resentments that ordinarily consumed him, he said with nervous vehemence: “Let’s row quickly, Pae Polinar, so that we can get there as soon as possible . ” “What’s come over you so quickly, I remember?” “That nonsense, cloth! That’s floating around in the hold.” Shortly after, poorly lit by the light of a match thrown by Father Polinar, they both climbed the stairs of his house; the old housekeeper of the ex-cloistered house opened the door for them, and finally , they shut themselves in a shabby study, on whose table, well known to the reader, the lazy flame of a candle stub, encased in a candlestick, also listed earlier , was beginning to glow, gradually widening and rising. When we found ourselves with Father Apolinar again, and after examining him for a moment from head to toe, we could easily say that not a day had passed for him. The same face and same habits; not one more wrinkle or scab, not one less stain or stitch. The same Father Polinar as always; with his raw eyelids, his bowed head, and his transparent, threadbare waistcoat. “Look, son, look.” “Look if you have eyes to see!” the friar suddenly exclaimed , pointing at some large books and some papers that were on a table, as his hands were busy removing his tile and cloak. “Look at him, and tell me if Pae Polinar, with that task in hand, will have plenty of time to wander the streets. ” And when Cleto looked at him demanding a more understandable explanation, the ex-cloistered man added: “That’s cinnamon, son… I mean, not cinnamon; it’s better than embers that consume my speech and my health and the little sight I have left. Because you must know now that this is a sermon that I have been assigned to give for the day of the Holy Martyrs, in the chapel of Miranda… On the day of the feast of the Lower Council!… as if I were saying nothing!… Throw me in there, gentlemen of the City Council; all the seafarers and half of Santander, with their mouths open, listening to Father Apolinar!” Do you think this is enough to make someone go to sleep and go to that professorship with whatever God may lay his hands on? Cleto happened to count off on his fingers the time remaining until August 30th; he saw that it was a good month and a half, and he told the friar so. The friar quickly turned to the simple youth, as he was tucking the sleeve of his jacket into his hat hair, to smooth it down a bit before putting him on the bed, and spoke to him thus: “Give me three… I have more than as much of what’s missing on this table, go ahead and give me books and ink… Give me four, they ‘ll be fine. So what? Do you think that writing a sermon for the Martyrs is like adding a leg to a tackle box? Here you see the men, Cleto! Here the most handsome ones sweat a pound… the most handsome, you little darling!” And if any preacher tells you anything different, he’s not telling you the truth, damn it! What a fine preacher he would be! Good, good, really good! Well, you’ll see for yourself that day if you go to the hermitage. “Me!” exclaimed Cleto with the most sincere astonishment. “If I don’t go to that!” “It’s true, you’re from the Upper Chapter… But others from the Lower Chapter will hear me, and you’ll find out if what I tell them can be learned in a couple of months… Those boys are born taught and with the word of God, Verbum Dei, on their lips! And now tell me: what’s broken in your gut? What do you want from me?” Why do you seek me, _et quare conturbas me_? Cleto, who was in a hurry, did not keep him waiting long for an answer, if that tidal wave of guttural sounds, obscure and disjointed phrases, withering interjections, rubbing of feet, swaying of back and head, and creaking of the chair could even be called an answer. “That’s all very well,” said Father Apolinar, a man very adept at deciphering such strange enigmas. “But why are you telling me this? ” “So that I can give you some advice, and, if necessary, lend a shoulder to the trouble,” replied Cleto. “Of course!” replied the friar, twisting inside his clothes. ” I already had that one here… as soon as you started talking… as soon as you sat down in that chair… as soon as you stopped me on the Ribera, damn it! Besides, what’s happening to you was bound to happen, because the hand of God reaches everywhere, and what’s done is paid for; and as soon as you have something to pay, I’m already, like the other guy who says so, loosening the peseta. I remember the lottery! And tell me, you idiot, why did you stick your face out of that house? What were you missing there? ” “She glued a button on me once… ” “Yes, yes; you’ve already told me about it, with everything that followed that glueing; but later, when you saw what was happening to you inside, why didn’t you do it _boot up to the band_?” Because I, finding you in the cellar some of the times I’ve been there, always understood that it was no more than a matter, on your part, of throwing in a few words, to pass that missing moment in your house. “That’s how it was at first; but then… Cloth!… haven’t I already told you how it was getting to me, getting to me on its own? ” “Well then, Cleto, that must have been the retreat, knowing, as you do, that between the fifth floor and the cellar there can be no arrangements or agreements!… But let’s see, does she know anything about what’s going on inside you? ” “I haven’t told her. ” “Does Mechelín know? ” “Not a chance. ” “Does his wife know?” “Same as her husband. ” “What face do they give you?” “The old folks, exactly; she… doesn’t seem so good to me… Cloth! It’s better to give it to Muergo; and this is what I’m undressing for.” –And in view of what you’re telling me, what do you want me to do? –Give me some advice. –Why? –So I can immediately tell her, as you know how to say it, that I want to marry her. –You nonsense! Well, if you take it for granted that’s how we’ll end up that way, what do you want advice for? –I think it’s for nothing. That’s what you’re going to do, and up in the air. –A gale to sweep you away! Do you know what you’re asking me for? Do you know who your father is? –Not at all. –Do you know who your mother is? –Better yet. –Do you know who your sister is? –Damn it! –Do you know what they did to me once? –Yes, I do. “Do you know that today is the day I dare not set foot on the Calle Alta if I catch a glimpse of them from the balcony, and that on two occasions, for not having distinguished them clearly, they gave me a bareback run down the length of the sidewalk? ” “That’s what I heard right after.” “Do you know that rather than see you married to that girl, they would set fire to the cellar, the house, and everyone in the neighborhood? ” “For lack of malice, I wouldn’t stay. ” “And knowing all these things, Cleto of the demons, you want to drag me into the dance? Don’t you see me already in martyrdom? Don’t you see me in a bind, with saliva on my face, gall in my mouth, and my flesh and skin in strips? Horn, either you love me badly, or you ‘re not in your right mind! ” “Fuck! But if you close the door, what am I going to do?” “And what are you telling me about that? Did Father Apolinar give birth to you, just in case? Does he owe you the bread he eats? The habits you wear?… Nothing, son… the same as always! The merrymaking and the sweet drinks, just for you; and as soon as there’s a feeling of discomfort or a setback, come and find me so I can cure your hiccups or bandage you up. Those are the things .” You will give me canonries. The luck of the people, damn it; luck, and nothing but luck! True, that is my duty, if you look closely… But it is also true that duties must be fulfilled with due account and reason; and what is now asked of me is much more than usual… and I will not do it; and no, and no. Do you want it even clearer, Cleto? Cleto shook his head, rose lazily from the chair, turned his cap over in his hands, and mumbled incomprehensible words under his breath. Suddenly, he straightened up angrily and said to Father Apolinar, who was pacing the room: “I don’t know what I will do on my own regarding her case; but what he is, what Muergo is, Pae Polinar, if he doesn’t finish with pure morra, must end in some other way, or he will remove me from there.” “Man,” replied the friar, standing at attention before Cleto, “if it weren’t a mortal sin, I’d tell you that you might be doing a charitable deed… Hail Mary Most Pure! What barbarities one can think of with these gibberish! Don’t pay attention, Cleto; don’t pay attention to these random things… But it’s your own fault, damn it!… So go; go little by little; don’t take these things so seriously; calm down; sleep… if you have somewhere to; watch out for good; leave that animal alone, for he can’t harm you in what you fear; forgive him… And who knows, man, who knows! Dawn will break at the darkest hour; and… anyway, I’ll take a few turns over there; I’ll feel the ground; and as I see it… prudently, that is, very prudently!… I’ll let you know when I need to let you know.” And you, meanwhile , keep your tongue and hands still; keep a close eye on me, a close eye! And by the way I look and the way you see it in the cellar, and by something I’ll point out to you when I have to point it out… Come on! I’ve told you enough. Now go and let me work a little, for I’ve wasted enough time for what we’re gaining, damn it! Cleto left, somewhat more animated, but not satisfied, and the friar leaned closer to the table. He sat down; and while he unfolded his manuscript, after having extracted it from the bowels of one of the large books, he murmured: “With these amusements and these preparations, do something of substance; look for Latin for the occasion, and dress up speeches that will stun your listeners!” Then he wiped the quill pen on the breast of his cassock; he tested the temper of its points on the nail of the thumb of his left hand; He made a screen with the books placed on their edges, to protect his eyes from the direct rays of light… And the housekeeper appeared before him to say: “There is Capuchín’s wife, from Prado de Viñas. ” “And what’s wrong with Capuchín’s wife?” replied the friar. “Her husband is much worse.” “Then let her tell the doctor, you jinojo! ” “She’s already told him, sir, and that’s why she’s come here. ” “Then she’d do better to go to the apothecary. ” “Even if she had something, she’d be a fool!” “And she’ll be capable of coming to me to give it to her! ” “She asks for alms. ” “Well, she knocks on a good door! I would ask for it, Ramona, if I weren’t so ashamed, damn it! ” “The worst of all is that in that house there’s nothing with which to give the sick man a cup of broth… not even a crumb of bread, sir!” “Hail Mary, Most Pure!” “Hail Mary, Most Pure!… And he has three children and a wife, and he’s a real man!” And while good old Pa Polinar was exclaiming thus, he felt his pockets and then plunged his hands into the table drawer. “What the hell could there be in here!” he murmured, still groping around. “Why, it doesn’t even have one, it hasn’t even had a lock for many years!… Nothing, Ramona, nothing… nothing! Tell that poor wretch to forgive me, for God’s sake, that I can’t help her. ” “So, what about this morning’s penny?” the servant dared to ask her . “What penny, woman of God? ” “The one for Don Andrés’s mass. ” “Yes… give him a greyhound. ” “Since this morning? ” “Since this morning!…” What things you have! How long was I supposed to last?… Well, until they asked me. They asked me.” This afternoon, as soon as I left the house, I was left without it. Damn! It seems to me that the thing couldn’t be more natural or more common. The maid was already leaving with the sad errand for Capuchín’s wife, when suddenly the friar called her. “Hey, Ramona,” he said, “before you go, and for whatever reason: what do we have for supper? ” “For you, meat with potatoes. ” “What do you mean ‘for you?'” “And for you? ” “For me, there are four sardines. ” “And since when have there been different delicacies for us here? ” “There’s so little meat, it’s not enough for both of us. ” “So little… And how is it? How is it, with those little potatoes? ” “Still half-cooked, sir.” “Half-cooked, half-cooked… Look, what a mess! Well , look, bring that meat right now, just as it is, with the stew and everything… ” “But, sir, if… ” “Bring it, damn it!” Old Ramona came out and returned in the air with a steaming stew in her hands, wrapped in a dirty knee. Father Polinar held it up to his nose; he eagerly inhaled those succulent and fragrant vapors; and immediately pushing the stew away from him, like someone fleeing from a bad temptation, he said to his maid: “Good, good, this stew is really good! But since I don’t feel like it tonight, let’s say it’s being given to Capuchín’s wife so that she can handle it in her house as God sees fit.” After some fruitless objections, the maid went off, ready to carry out her master’s command; who, sticking his head out of the closet, called out to her: “But tell her to give me back the napkin… if they don’t really need it. ” Then he returned to his armchair and his papers, murmuring as he fingered them: “I’ve actually read, I don’t know where, that to preserve one’s health while performing such strenuous work as I’m working on, there’s nothing better than going to bed hungry. Well, as for mine tonight, it’s a real show… a real show! It’s a real show!” Chapter 16. A DAY OF FISHING. Andrés got up earlier the next day than the sun and went to the first mass that Father Apolinar said at San Francisco for the fishermen of the Calle Alta. Muergo, who had gone to call him, was carrying the tackle and the basket with enough provisions for the whole day; provisions that the captain had prepared at night, as was her custom whenever her son went fishing. It was quite a sight to hear Don Pedro Colindres’s wife arrange each item in the basket in front of her son! “Two, four, seven… ten… I’ve given you exactly a dozen hard-boiled eggs . Will that be enough? In this paper wrapper are slices of fried hake: two and a half pounds. Of course, if you let those people stick their big hands in it, you won’t have any left to taste it… They wouldn’t eat spears! Son, I don’t know when you’ll lose that damned dangerous habit!” And all this, only to come back scorched by the sun and the wind, and the house stinking of that filth… And the worst part is that on the best day, if you don’t stay there, you’ll catch typhoid , which will kill you… Come on, don’t get upset, I’m telling you for your own good… Here’s a ham and chicken pie… These are sausages… three dozen. Make sure those hungry people fill up on them, so you’ll have more of the rest left. I’ve put enough for five. If there are more, because you’re always getting half the council, let them eat nails or make do with whatever they have. It’ll be a pleasure to see your friend Muergo sucking his fingers and licking his pig’s snouts!… You’ll learn good manners and good education at his side! Son, what rebellious tastes you have, and how angry it makes me that I can’t tear them out of you!… But it’s your father’s fault, he allows them, if not applauds them. Yes, yes, Andrés! I’m telling you how I feel; and you must hear me, because that’s the least you’re obliged to do… A good portion of guava paste, just for you; half a Flemish cheese and two pounds of sweet biscuits, for everyone… Six pounds of bread… How many bottles of wine shall I put in? Will four be enough ? Come on, I’ll give you six; because those people, they have a lot of money!… The fine napkin. Be careful not to let them wipe their big hands with it! That’s what these two large knees are for. The glass for you… and another for them… Forks, knives… Fortunately, the basket isn’t small, otherwise… You’ve already got the main thing covered… On the bed, I’ll put your sea dress and coat for you, in case the northeast wind gets cold… And, for God’s sake, my son! Don’t go out too far or come back late; because you don’t know how much I worry thinking about what might happen to you! What a three o’clock mass will be sung in San Francisco the day that this damned hobby ends for you… and things go where they must! Andrés, leaving mass, saw that Uncle Mechelín and Sotileza had also heard it; which proved to him that the two of them were going to be part of the party. This had happened on several occasions, because Sotileza was dying of it; and since she didn’t like other diversions and was extremely spoiled at home, and Andrés, when consulted on the matter, dismissed the request by highly emphasizing what pleased him, Aunt Sidora put no other obstacle to the beautiful girl’s desires than the condition that, for the sake of her good appearance, she would never go to those revels without the company of Uncle Mechelín. From then on, whenever the latter’s health permitted him to go fishing on his boat with Andrés, Sotileza accompanied them. How Cleto longed to send a memorial to the friendly lad so that he might be given a place on the boat, where so many things were going on that drew him there! For now, Sotileza, who was, so to speak, his very core; Then, Muergo, who neither deserved nor should have gone so close to the man he was riding with; and finally, that abundant and tasty feast that Andrés carried for everyone to feast on at midday. And his remembrance would have been well-delivered, surely; and I trust it was in keeping with Andrés’s intentions , on one occasion, to anticipate Cleto’s wishes. But Cleto was held back by the same reasons Aunt Sidora had given Andrés, so that he wouldn’t try to take him with him in the barge, the most hated thing in Mocejón’s house of all the cellar items, where there were so many things abhorrent to the women on the fifth floor. Cleto didn’t have the guts to brave the domestic storms that awaited him, sitting rowing in his neighbor’s barge; neither he nor the people in his house wanted to have any more arguments with those above him than the pending ones… and there were plenty of them! That’s why Cleto didn’t accompany Andrés in Uncle Mechelín’s boat, and was content to watch, from afar, the expeditionaries embark when Sotileza was among them. “Luckily, Andrés is going with her,” he would exclaim to himself on such occasions, if Muergo embarked as well. And that’s exactly what he did and said on that festive day, perched on top of Paredón, while old Mechelín, Muergo, Cole , and Sotileza embarked, just as the sun began to gild the contours of the beautiful panorama of the bay, and the light began to leap out in clusters of sparks as it broke on the smooth crystal of the waters. An absolute and somewhat sultry calm reigned over nature , and there were purple clouds on the horizon around the star. Although the sail was hoisted, it was useless for the time being due to lack of air. Muergo and Cole armed the oars; Uncle Mechelín, at the bow, also rigged his own, so that it would not be said that the poor man was no longer good for anything; and seeking the countercurrent, because the tide was beginning to turn at that moment, they rowed towards the mouth of the harbor. Andrés and Sotileza, sitting at the stern, arranged and rigged the rigging amidst these quite innocent and joyful bursts of laughter. For it must be noted that Sotileza, so sober with phrases and smiles on land, was very lively in these adventures at sea; and as it had been a long time since Andrés had followed that system of dissimulation to which he spontaneously condemned himself, because he was gradually persuading himself that which was unnecessary, since no one would remember the reasons advised to her, she did not waste these and other prodigalities that her friend’s most retiring and dry friend occasionally offered to her playful and cheerful disposition . The latter, with all her Sunday adventures, was not worth as much, although she believed otherwise, as with her short and scanty domestic rags; but, nevertheless, she looked very beautiful in the boat, with her red silk scarf over her tight black doublet; her dark blue skirt ; well shod, and with her profuse bun and half of her head hidden by the graceful scarf (a la cofia). Muergo sat two benches further forward than she, and leaned on the next one with his big black and calloused feet. His Herculean torso was covered by a tight, old white undershirt with blue stripes; and these colors gave extraordinary prominence to the bronzed hue of his gleaming skin . The same stupid smile as always was drawn between the two ridges of her lips, and through the strands of hair that hung in front of her, the crossed rays of her squinting eyes shone. Andrés took pleasure in comparing the fresh, fine, and youthful features of the pretty girl with the details of the rower’s big head. He was mentally admiring the contrast between their two faces when Sotileza whispered in his ear: “I’ve never seen him uglier than today! ” “He’s very ugly!” Andrés responded, agreeing with Sotileza in the same thought. “He’s a pleasure to look at!” the girl added, with a covetous expression, sinking at the same time the full force of her gaze into the dark, rugged features of Muergo’s face. He felt the stab of light deep within himself; he was moved all over; He whinnied like a wild colt, and charging at the oar with all his bestial vigor, he gave such a jolt, catching Cole off guard, that he changed the boat’s course. Then something like a flash of satisfied vanity flashed across Sotileza’s face , and at the same time Mechelín’s voice was heard shouting from the bow, behind the limp, limp sail: “What are you doing, animal? ” “None of his business,” Muergo responded, whinniing again. At this point Andrés and Sotileza cast out their respective tackles, each to his own side; and when the boat reached the promontory of San Martín, it had already loaded more than two pounds of fish, including panchos, mules, and lubinas, all tied up in the trot. There truly began the planned fun. The useless sail was lowered, and Andrés and Sotileza, with the boat stationary, cast the first haul beneath the Castle; because it is near the rocks and in the deepest part of the water where the durdos, the jarguetas, and other prized fish are caught. Afterwards they went to Isla de la Torre, and then to the opposite beach, because the barbels prefer sandy bottoms; and later to Peña Horadada; and so, from rock to rock, from beach to beach, catching whatever they caught, more porredanas, panchos, and black-mantled julias than the barbels the fishermen desired, they arrived, by virtue of the sea being like a mirror, at Isla de Mouro. Not without Mechelín, following the daily custom of the boat owners, saying, uncovering his head at the moment of leaving the port: “Praise be to God,” and praying and ordering a Creed to be recited. Sotileza, who had never gone out to sea, began to feel the effects of the almost invisible, but constant, ripples of the waters. Because of this unexpected mishap, the boat returned to the port, at whose mouth Mechelín exclaimed, also observing another custom never broken by the captains in such cases: “Jesus, and in!” After passing the promontory, the scythes were prepared; and allowing the boat to be carried by the current, the fishing began , or rather, the robbery of the maganos. Sotileza, although he had an admirable art for waving with the necessary softness and tact in the water that bundle of pins with the points turned upwards, lacked practice in the manner of to bring the hooked magano in without the jet of black ink that it spouts as soon as it feels out of its natural element crashing against the fisherman himself or those who are near him. So it was that with the first magano that she hooked on her scythe, she made Andrés feel as if he had been dipped in an inkwell. Sotileza bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the incident, which, for now, drew a rather strong interjection from Andrés; and she ended up laughing like a madwoman, when Andrés, having overcome the initial shock, also took the matter to laughter. Then Muergo, who had been watching them without blinking, resting his elbows on the idle oar, suddenly exclaimed, as the girl lowered her scythe again: “Fist! Now it’s mine, Sotileza!… Throw all the ink from that fish you catch, right in my face!… Ha, ha, ha!” Sotileza answered him with a glance that showed his intention of throwing as much ink as he could at him; and Muergo, laying down his oar, stood beside him ready to receive him. But the ink-stained man came out, spilled the ink, and it landed on Cole’s breast, who had no desire for it and no involvement in anything. “Good luck to you!” roared Muergo, annoyed. But he had hardly finished saying this when all the ink-stained man’s goo that Andrés had just scooped out was already on his face. “One isn’t the same as the other, you little fool!” exclaimed Muergo, spitting out the ink and throwing his chest out of the cauldron to wash his face, on which the black stains were barely visible. In these and other situations, time passed until well after noon: the tide was falling, the heat was stifling, and gusts of warm air blew from the south, barely rippling the surface of the bay, while its waters took on a very intense blue hue. “Let’s eat,” Andrés suddenly said. “Where?” asked Uncle Mechelín. “Where we always do: in the Ambojo grove. ” “It’s a bit far off,” replied the sailor. “Have you noticed that the south is already pointing, with signs of pressing hard? ” “So what?” observed Andrés. “Is there no guts left for so little? ” “I say it for you, Don Andrés, and for that girl, who might get her clothes soaked; as for me, these little shamblings of the bay don’t bother me at all… Isa, Cole!” And Cole, assisted by Muergo, hoisted the sail again, which flapped in the air until, its sheet being hemmed in by Andrés, who also took the tiller, it remained taut and motionless, while the boat began to glide slowly, for the wind was light, its prow pointed toward the peaks of Alisas. Half an hour later, it reached the coast it was seeking. The wind had increased slightly; and since the beach is flat, the surf invaded it for a good stretch between the open sand and the point where the boat had initially grounded. It was a matter of taking off its shoes to jump ashore for those who lacked the necessary stamina to clear the obstacle in a single bound, or of allowing the most scrupulous to be carried out by the strongest and least apprehensive. For now, it was agreed that Cole would remain in charge of the boat so that it wouldn’t run completely aground, which would happen if the matter of disembarking its crew and passengers took too long to resolve ; and Andrés took a generous ration of everything he had from the provision basket for him. Mechelín, taking advantage of his infirmities, agreed that Muergo would carry him until he was dry; and while Andrés was determined to do the same with Sotileza, who preferred to take off her shoes and was already preparing to do so, Muergo returned from the sand, grabbed her by the waist, and picked her up. She allowed herself to be carried, dying of laughter, while Andrés leaped, with a prodigious leap, from the bow of the boat to the dry part of the beach, sinking his feet up to his ankles in the sand. And Muergo, who was more than two fathoms ahead of him, continued running without letting go of his load, which seemed to give him strength rather than consume it; and he was almost touching the first edges of the paths that led away from those limits of the sand, and still gave no sign of coming to rest. a genteel girl, who, amid laughter and insults, was smacking his face and pulling at his hair. “Let her go, you beast!” Andrés shouted at him. “Let her go, you beast!” Uncle Mechelín repeated. As if they were silent. Muergo ran and ran, and seemed determined not to leave her until he reached the very grove, in whose shade Andrés longed for her to be eaten. Seeing that shaggy, copper-colored monster climb the rough alleys and among the bushes of bushes, clasping the rich forms of the graceful alleyway in his sinewy arms, one had to think of Polyphemus stealing Galatea, or even of Quasimodo running to hide Esmeralda in the labyrinths of his bell tower. At last, he returned alone, his squinting eyes flashing, and the twisted strands of his thick, bushy hair whipping around his massive head in the wind . Uncle Mechelín verbally abused him for this action, which would have seemed so unkind to those unfamiliar with the honest girl’s judgment, and Andrés also gave him a firm dressing-down. Muergo paid no heed to his uncle’s harsh remarks; but he uttered these words in Andrés’s ear, while rubbing his hands together and hiding all the blackness in his eyes in the depths of his respective tear ducts: “Fist… how nice these things are! ” To which the lad responded by kicking him in the stern, so far as to send him away more than two yards. Muergo received the treat with a beastly shudder, two strides in the air, and a whinny. Then he took the basket of provisions and a large empty jug that Uncle Mechelín was carrying, and they all continued toward the grove at whose entrance Sotileza was waiting, while Cole, after having unmoored the boat, not without much effort, and having anchored with the _rizon_ where it was in no danger of running aground again, began his private banquet, to the gentle lullaby of the surf and the sweet rocking of the boat on the soft backs of the waves slowly stirred by the wind. The meal for the four diners in the grove was extremely tasty, and well-prepared too ! And as for Muergo, he had to be kept in check, as was customary, because he was lacking in heat, especially when drinking. Andrés and Sotileza drank little more than the fresh water they had brought from the nearby spring; And, by mutual agreement, a good portion of the best food was saved for Aunt Sidora, much to Muergo’s chagrin, who would have devoured the scraps as well. Uncle Mechelín was deeply grateful for this affectionate attention bestowed on his wife, as he had been in other similar situations; and for this reason, besides feeling himself well comforted and under the salutary influence of the pleasantness of the place and the caresses of the air, his typical loquacity, which only the tyranny of age and ailments had been able to gradually lull, was reawakened in him, and he began to intone panegyrics of his old companion. He sang, one by one, her virtues and her abilities; then he went back in memory to the days of his own youth, and described his chaste loves and his joyful weddings; and then his happiness as a married man and his misfortunes as a fisherman. and then his adventures as a mature man; and, finally, the ailments of his old age, without noticing that from the middle of his story, which was very long, Muergo was snoring, lying face up, and Sotileza and Andrés were not listening, being more attentive to what the two young men were saying to each other in low voices and with great dissimulation than to his own words. Mechelín himself was gradually yielding to the assaults of sleep, and ended by lying on the ground and snoring as soundly as his nephew. Andrés and Sotileza looked at each other then, without knowing why; and perhaps without knowing the reason for it either, they then looked around the place they occupied, and saw everything deserted and without any other noise than those produced by the wind among the branches of the trees. Sotileza, with the heat of the afternoon and the fumes from the meal, was very flushed; and as has already been said, at the mercy of At such revelry, she was more animated and talkative than usual; this excess of animation was revealed in the light of her brave eyes and in the smile of her fresh mouth. With this and the fire in her cheeks, Andrés saw her, against the solitary and lulling background of that painting, as he had never seen her before. He remembered, with indignation, the aforementioned slander; and to correct it, he began to transform the half-words he had used while Uncle Mechelín recounted his adventures into decisive phrases. And those phrases were pure flirtations. And Sotileza, who had never heard them from such lips, between the surprise they produced in her and the other kind of effect they caused, couldn’t find the answer she wanted. This internal struggle leaped onto her face in an expression difficult for serene eyes to interpret; but not for Andrés’s, who, dazzled at that moment by the lightning of his internal tempest, transformed everything into substance. Thus deluded, he took with his right hand one of Sotileza’s hands, which he had left lying on her skirt, and with his left arm encircled her waist, while his mouth murmured thoughtful and fiery phrases. The girl then, as if entangled in the coils of a serpent, undid the soft grip that held Andrés with a sudden jerk, her eyes flashing at the same time, and the expression of her face changing so much that Andrés moved a good distance away from her, and he felt his enthusiasm dissipate, as if someone had just poured a jug of water over his head. “From there,” the indignant girl said fiercely, “whatever you want… except to speak to me as you have spoken to me… I’m not saying anything about you, since you are so high up; but I ought not to hear anything from my peers that couldn’t be said in front of that fortunate man,” and she pointed at Uncle Mechelín. Andrés felt the full force of this brusque lesson in his chest, and he responded to Sotileza: “You’re quite right. I’ve done something outrageous, because… I don’t know why! Forgive me.” But, although he expressed himself thus, another thought lingered within him. It is in such misadventures that the vanity of young men suffers most; and Andrés’s had been deeply wounded, both by the misadventure itself and by the fact that it came from a woman who, although determined to reject him, was obliged to do so in a less brutal way; and because her crude evasiveness did not easily reconcile with such a gallant youth, and the joy with which the evasive woman had shortly before allowed herself to be carried away into the arms of the monstrous Muergo. The allusion to the poor and honorable sailor asleep at his side had also touched him, not because it was undeserved, but because Sotileza’s idea must have occurred to him first. and thus he would have avoided being reminded of the lips of a rude sailor, which was the thing that was most gnawing at his conscience. In short, seeing himself thrown into that predicament, the work of circumstances, he thought and felt what any grandson of Adam, as honorable, as young, as healthy, and as thoughtless as he, would have felt and thought in the same situation. Meanwhile, Sotileza, no longer showing signs of anger, began to lift the tablecloths and arrange the provisions and leftovers from the meal in the basket. Along the way, he woke the sleeping people: the “lucky one,” gently shaking him; and Muergo, throwing the water that had been left in the jug on his head. The latter sat up with a bellow, while the other sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. And as the clouds were darkening and the south wind was pressing in, they all hurried and returned to the beach, well into the afternoon. No one had remembered Cole, who, as if he had been expecting it, had lain down to sleep, so handsomely, on the sail furled on the panel of the boat, at the bottom of which the morning’s catch was tossing and turning, half-floating in the water, intentionally dumped there. It took many loud voices from the beach to rouse Cole; but at last he woke up, pulled the harpoon in, and brought the boat ashore, which was not long, as the surf was greater than at the morning, because the wind was stronger and the tide was already rising. Since it wasn’t as easy to jump from the sandbank to the boat as it was from the boat to the sandbank, Andrés had no choice but to let himself be carried aboard in Muergo’s arms and resign himself to seeing once again among them, without a hint of protest, the one who had given him such a hard time for less pressure. Once everyone was aboard the boat, Uncle Mechelín claimed control of it for himself, as the oldest in the trade, and by virtue of “whatever might happen,” because the wind was increasing by the moment. Andrés submitted, without question, to the expert sailor’s commands; he sat in the stern; he took hold of the tiller, and, with the sail already hoisted, he adjusted the sheet to his liking. The canvas creaked, smooth and resonant as the drumhead of a tambourine, and the boat set off, rearing up over the waves that battered its bow, like a fiery horse that encounters a barrier in its path. As expected, the boat, coming close to the wind, turned sideways and began to sail close-hauled; but she was drifting heavily from being too close-hauled, and Mechelín curbed the drift by ordering the centerboard to be lowered to leeward, using a simple plank hanging from the helm. Andrés and Sotileza sat on the opposite side to better distribute the load of the boat, which was flying over the boiling surface. It attacked the waves with mad force; and upon crashing into them, it sent up jets of foam that broke them up. Andrés had thrown his waterproof cape over his back; but Sotileza carried his without any protection, because he had not allowed Uncle Mechelín, old and infirm, to give him the south-west wind, and the tarred jacket he wore to keep warm to avoid getting wet, which he had taken for fishing as a precaution. The two young sailors had no more clothing than what they had worn when they left home. So, in order not to get soaked or lose her _good dress_, already quite wet, Sotileza had no choice but to accept the half-cape that Andrés insistently offered her. The beautiful couple was seen sheltered under a single wrapping a few yards long, tightly covered at the head and sides ; for against the water that was constantly leaping on that side, all precautions were insufficient. Andrés, remembering what had happened, tried to disturb his companion as little as possible; but it was impossible to avoid leaning against her from some angle, because the cape didn’t allow for such luxury. Muergo and Cole constantly bailed out the water that was taking on board. Uncle Mechelín never took his eyes off the course and the rigging. And the boat, flying, ran over the waves, and fell into their breasts, and rose on their crests; and at times, only a point of its keel touched the foamy water. Streams of it ran down Cole’s and Muergo’s faces , and the strands of the latter’s hair dripped like a sleet after a sleet. Suddenly, Andrés said to Sotileza in a low voice: “My boat capsized right here one afternoon, in a wind like today’s. ” “What a consolation for me!” replied the other, in the same tone. “It’s just that I insisted on taking the full wind crosswise without moving the sheet… A barbarity. ” “And how did you get out? ” “A launch that was coming behind caught me and towed the boat too.” They fell silent again, both of them; until, when the boat was opposite the Nun and close to the first ships, Andrés said again, also in a low voice: “A gust of wind put the Zephyr up here. ” “And you?” asked Sotileza. “I held on, clinging to the lifeboat until someone from a ship grabbed me. That day I felt bad because I fell underneath; and besides, it was very cold. ” “Two dives… That’s quite enough for a young man like you. ” “Two, eh? And I’ve done seven too!… And I wish I could count eight today! ” “What an intention, Andrés! ” “It’s not as bad as you think, Sotileza; because I would like to find myself in a situation where you would give my arms as much courage… at least, at least, as Muergo’s. ” “Look at the verses he comes out with!” –Are you offended by them too? –Because they’re irrelevant. –Well, better ones will never come. –A sign that they’re not in the law. At this point, a waterfall flooded them, leaping aboard as the boat entered a veritable alley of anchored ships, where the wind was more impetuous and the waves stronger. Uncle Mechelín, in view of what this promised for the future, proposed to Andrés that they change course to disembark in the lee of the Paredón del Muelle Anaos wall, instead of continuing to the Calle Alta wall, as the former had desired. And so it was done, with masterful skill on the part of Mechelín and with the approval of everyone. Andrés said what fish from what he had caught that morning he wanted for his house and that of Don Venancio Liencres, leaving the rest for the benefit of the ship; he said goodbye to everyone in a very friendly manner, and to Sotileza, somewhere between affectionate and resentful; and headed home while the people from the boat stripped her of everything movable and edible, and after leaving her securely tied up, loaded her up and headed for Alta Street up Somorrostro Street… followed, in the distance, by the taciturn Cleto who had witnessed, unseen, the docking and disembarking, saying to the depths of his cellar: “As long as Andrés protects her, it doesn’t matter to me. ” Chapter 17. THE NIGHT OF THAT DAY. Andrés slept badly that night, very badly! In the imprudent step he had taken in the Ambojo grove, he had failed in many duties and committed many inconveniences at the same time. So many years in the intimacy of the poor family of the cellar! The honorable vanity he based on being the shoulder to cry on for the two old men, who had him in the very core of their hearts! That noble confidence with which the beautiful girl, ever since she was a careless child, had sheltered herself under his beneficent shadow, without fearing the judgment of the people, who could stain her good name, as the women on the fifth floor had already stained it, as they would continue to stain it! And the couple downstairs, and Sotileza herself, and even the surly Cleto, loved him, loved him, precisely because he was honest and a partisan; because he was humble, because he was generous… and because they believed him capable of sharing the best piece of bread with them, and of walking shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the street to defend the life or the good name of each and every one of them! What would Aunt Sidora say? What her husband, if in that dizzying moment they had seen him, or if in many others they had read on her forehead certain thoughts that crossed quickly behind her!… What would the naive Cleto judge if he suspected it! Cleto, who had seen him so indignant and so noble when she revealed to him the _calumnies_ with which the women of his house persecuted him!… And above all, what opinion would Sotileza have of him since she found herself in the hard need to throw him away from her side, haughty, hard, indignant, as one throws away that which offends, that which stains, that which dishonors! Because those gestures, those mannerisms, those words, meant all of that, and in no way were they feminine tricks, artificial resistances, or disguises for very different purposes. That had been a marble boulder placed before her impulses, so that they would crash against it; a terrible lesson. And he was given the gift of a coarse sailor, despite owing her so many favors and such favors! What must have been the magnitude of his imprudence, and how discredited he must have been in Sotileza’s eyes!… And what’s more, he was embarrassed; because men are embarrassed in such undertakings when they turn out as badly as his had turned out. If only the devil had tempted him and helped him emerge victorious and triumphant!… But to be left without the loot and with all the bruises of such an unjust battle!… In short, it was impossible to live peacefully in the situation he had had since the previous afternoon, calmly examined in the warmth of his pillow. Therefore, he would try to meet with Sotileza, face to face, as soon as the opportunity presented itself; He would speak to her about what had happened, slowly, coldly, and severely; he would blame his mistake on the temptations of the place, the cooing of the south wind, the smell of the sea… on anything; perhaps he would mislead her into thinking that his outburst had a hidden intention of testing the girl’s virtues… He would decide that in due time. The important thing was to remain as he should and where he should remain… If, by talking and talking, it turned out that his prestige was growing and expanding in the eyes of the young woman, and that she was taking his admiration to the extreme of… Then, then it would be an opportunity for the roles to be reversed and for Sotileza to receive the lesson he owed him!… Unless the very force of his determination and the obviousness of his will forced him to give in. But this way, things were different, because since it was not his fault, he was free of all responsibility. And all this, despite its many implications, wasn’t the only thing robbing him of sleep. When thoughts seem to merge into one another!… As soon as he arrived home from sea, without replying a word to the many words his mother, between loving and angry, had spoken to him about the risks he’d taken, the state she’d seen him in, the people he’d fallen in love with, and so much more besides, he shut himself in his study, shaved, dressed to his heart’s content, and dressed from head to toe in the fresh, Sunday-ready attire he found ready at his fingertips. The captain’s foresight, who adored that son, so noble, so gallant, so handsome… but so very Adam-like!… If she doesn’t give him the usual inspecting that night, she’ll be out on the street, wearing a bonnet and top hat; but without a tie. “Given your figure, the Lord hasn’t given you the skill to be a decent person that the devil has given you to outdo the most arrogant sailor!” Thus said the captain, while she tied his tie, which she herself had slipped under his shirt collar with the necessary skill to avoid creasing it. Then, while she straightened the tails of his jean jacket, adjusted the gussets of his shirtfront, brushed his shoulders, and smoothed the sagging of his legs over his patent-leather boots with crimson morocco shafts, she continued speaking thus: “If you were someone else, there would be no need for your mother to give you such a hard time every time you dressed as a gentleman ; “But you’re like that, so… Son, how you infuriate me sometimes!… I wish your father would finally get back from his voyage and start keeping his word never to set sail again!… Let’s see if, with a thousand devils, keeping you more in sight, he can get what I haven’t been able to get from you! Well , once in a while… but so, so much, and as if that were your profession!… What do you think? Look at those hands… even with calluses on the palms! Put on some gloves there!… Even to reciprocate the attention those gentlemen show you, you ought to be a little more considerate in certain things… Who would think, but you, of going fishing all day, knowing that tonight you’re invited to the theater with such a distinguished family? Well, we’ll see how you behave… And be careful not to leave in the middle of the performance: wait until it’s over, and accompany them home.” Give your arm to the lady, or to her daughter, when you leave the house to go to the theater, and the same when you go down the stairs to the boxes… Because from here you will go straight to find Tolín, who is waiting for you in his room. That’s what he told me this morning when I was leaving the eleven o’clock mass of the Company… There! You’re all set now… and quite handsome, by golly! Why shouldn’t it be said, if it’s true? Andrés was greatly annoyed by these incessant naggings of his mother; which, if they were quite right as far as the lad’s interests were concerned, were quite undeserved as far as everything else was concerned. The captain wanted him to be elegant and distinguished by dint of profiles, considerations, discretion, and refinements; that is to say, making him a slave to his clothes, his word, and four stupid laws imposed on salons and walks through a few dull places that are good for nothing better; and Andrés, with his natural gallantry, his manly ease , and his noble ingenuity, was precisely one of those few figures who fit in well everywhere, even if they don’t shine much anywhere. So he went to Tolín’s house in his best clothes; and as he crossed the hall toward his friend’s room, he found himself butting heads with Luisa, already decked out in all the trappings of the theater. It seemed to the fiery youth that she liked them very much, and he said so as a greeting, for he had more than enough confidence for it. “Well, you really look pretty, Luisilla!” he said to her. “And what does it matter to you?” Luisa responded, passing on. Andrés took everything literally, and that’s why Luisa’s dryness puzzled him greatly. So much so, and so deeply felt, that he complained about it to Tolín as soon as he got to his room. “I’m telling you, man, on the best of days I’ll let loose with a fresh one. Look at the real hatred I’m getting! ” “What kind of hatred can that be?” Tolín retorted, while he waxed the drooping ends of his sparse mustache. “Well, if it isn’t hatred, what is it? ” “A desire to have fun with you. There’s so much closeness between you two!” “Well, I like the fun! ” “Yes, man, yes; it’s nothing more than that… or some resentment he might have… “About what? ” “What do I know? In any case, it’s not worth a damn. ” “Not to you, but to me… ” “And to you, why?” ” It seems to me, Tolín, that entering a house every day where someone is received like that… Because, for some time now, something like this has happened to me every day .” “Well, that, if you look closely, even reveals affection and esteem… Well, if I wanted to throw you out on the street right away… the girl’s barely smart! ” “I can see it now! ” “What can you see, man, what can you see? What you should see is what she does to those who really get in her way. Look, it almost makes me feel sorry for that poor Calandrias. ” “Calandrias! Who is Calandrias? ” “Don’t you remember that we used to call Pachín Regatucos, the son of Don Juan de los Regatucos, that? Well, that elegant fellow is crazy about her, and he walks up and down the Muelle all day long .” And she gives him every sob, and every slam of the door!… and she makes such faces at him!… At the country dance on St. John’s Day, she refused to dance with him with such manners!… I tell you, I don’t know how that man has the humor… nor the shame to still be parading my sister around in the street. Well, there are several like him; because, as she is the daughter of Don Venancio Liencres… you can see! And he treats them all the same… More and more dry!… And the worst of it is that all their families are visitors from home… as if they are the best!… Mother is going crazy with those geniuses… And with absolute reason… Look at you, man, what better thing could she want, at her age, than so many good matches, to choose the one she likes the most! Well, nothing… like a rock… I’m telling you, like a rock… So now you complain… And of course, I’m telling you all these things only for your guidance and in the confidence of the friendship we share. Are you in? At this point, two sharp knocks were heard at the bedroom door, and Luisa’s voice saying: “We’re leaving!” Andrés opened it immediately; and since his friend had already finished his toilet duties, they both went out into the corridor, where Andrés had to greet Mrs. Don Venancio, who, although already old and rather stiff, was as elegant as her daughter, but much more tiresome. Don Venancio was holding forth at the Recreation Center and would be stopping by the theater at the last minute, if other more interesting matters didn’t interfere. Tolín went ahead and gave his arm to his mother to go down the stairs, and Andrés offered his to Luisa, very wary of receiving a slight. But fortunately, he didn’t receive her. However, at the price of a glance. of strained air, and these words, which left the poor boy dizzy and sweating: “But don’t tear my dress, like last time…” On the way, there was a knock at the door of Don Silverio Trigueras, a merchant well into the flour business; and there came down, putting on her gloves and with her head a tassel of shining flaps, the young lady of the house, the elegant Angustias, a famous beauty for whom the son of Don Venancio Liencres sighed in his solitude and waxed the ends of his moustache. He made a fool of himself with her with a series of greetings; the young woman received the usual ones from the other two ladies, and from Andrés the best that the poor young man knew how to muster, and they all continued together toward the theater. Once in the box, Tolín sat behind the young woman for whom he sighed. Andrés, very close to Luisa, to leave more space for his mother; And since he had risen earlier than the sun and worked so hard during the day, he slept through most of each act, and during the intervals went out to smoke in the corridors, of all that had happened there he only remembered that Don Venancio Liencres had arrived halfway through the performance , asking if it was in prose or verse. “I think it’s verse,” Andrés had answered; “I mean, no, it may be prose. ” “It’s all the same,” the eloquent Don Venancio had replied. “It’s so well done and all the juice that comes from it!… Then, the exit. He went back to offering his arm to Luisa, because Don Venancio had borne what was rightfully his, and no one would keep Tolín away, not even with boiling water, from the woman for whom he sighed deeply and waxed the ends of his mustache. Once on the street, there was the usual row of hand-held lanterns among the maidens who awaited their respective mistresses. Even at that time, despite the gas having been installed the previous year, there were still plenty of remnants of that age-old class vanity, expressed in a large lantern with four panes of glass, two of them very wide and all very tall, and three half-candles, if not four, between washers and under lambrequins, arches, or labyrinths of curled paper in twenty-five colors, for the wealthy to walk through the streets late at night. This observation about the lanterns wasn’t Andrés’s, who didn’t even notice them, being well accustomed to seeing them there in such situations. It’s my own, and I note it here because it doesn’t get in the way, as an expressive note of the picture of those times. What Andrés then observed was that the wind, which had been calm since he had left home to go to Don Venancio Liencres’s, had once again picked up a great deal; and since he knew that at the intersections of the Muelle it blew more strongly than in any other part of the town, he dared to advise Luisa to continue leaning on his arm until they reached home. This time, too, he was not disrespected; and the others, considering his opinion to be very reasonable, followed him to the letter. I mean to say that Don Venancio did not let go of his mistress, nor did Tolín of his amorous thoughts. Luisa and Andrés walked ahead of everyone, except for the papered lantern, which preceded them by a few yards, swaying on the right side of the housemaid’s hand. As they turned onto the Calle de los Mártires, the whistling of the wind began to be heard, tangled in the rigging of the dock’s rigging, and its furious roaring at the nearby crossroads. A few passing gusts arrived that made Luisa’s silk dress rustle, shaking the folds of her skirt, and then Luisa, terrified , grabbed Andrés’s arm, strong and motionless as the branch of an oak. “Hold on tight and without fear,” Andrés told her, “for it won’t carry me no matter how hard the wind blows.” And Luisa held on with both hands; and with such eagerness she leaned against the oak that Andrés, if he weren’t so much of a gentleman in certain situations, could have felt his friend’s heartbeat in his right arm ; especially during the not-so-brief time they remained at the Dock, while they opened the door at Don Silverio Trigueras’s house and Tolín was left without the gentle support of his lovely companion. Andrés, as soon as he found himself back in the relative peace of the back street, said to Luisa, as if to reassure her, and above all, to talk something: “If you push me a little, the wind was blowing harder this afternoon. ” To which Luisa responded immediately and without the slightest hint of joking: “Well, if I end up being wind this afternoon, you ‘ll be in for a real dive… I can assure you.” Andrés felt a wave of fire scorching his face. He remembered that he had said something very similar to Sotileza when the two of them were sheltering from the waves of the bay under the same cape. He wasn’t afraid that Luisa had heard him… but she could very well have seen him. “What a nerve, woman!” he responded, flustered, to his friend’s thrust . “You don’t have to be mean-spirited to do things like that, they’re necessary lessons… and even works of charity, if you ask me. ” “Learning!… works of charity!” exclaimed Andrés, more in control of himself now, because Luisa was leading him back to the terrain of the impertinences that bothered him so much. “So, what did I do wrong this afternoon? ” “Well,” Luisa responded resolutely, “I don’t know, because the sail covered half of the boat over there; and all I saw in the boat over here was three soaked, disgusting bundles. ” “I was steering the helm,” Andrés chimed in, resigned to passing for one of the “disgusting” bundles, as long as Luisa was convinced that he wasn’t occupying the invisible part of the boat where the contraband was carried. The disillusioned daughter of Don Venancio Liencres, without showing any visible sign of attention to these words, added: “But if you haven’t done it this afternoon, you did enough in the morning. ” “In the morning! ” “Yes, sir, in the morning! So what? Do you think they haven’t seen you up there in front of you, up and down, at the hours of God, with those sailors… and a big woman? ” “A big woman!” “That’s right: a big woman… Do you think that’s all right? What will the people who have noticed say? ” “And what will they say?” “Plagues, and it won’t be much. ” “And why do they look at it if it’s so bad? ” “And why do you stand with those things in the same place where one is looking? Because one looks there, because it’s right in front of one’s house, and one also has good binoculars to look at. ” “Yes, and a desire to meddle in things that don’t matter.” “In what doesn’t concern me!” exclaimed Luisa, with a shock that Andrés was in no position to appreciate, both from the anger that was already tickling her nerves, and from the blows and scrapes she received from the wind every moment. “In what doesn’t concern you, yes,” replied Andrés firmly, “since in that respect I offend no one, and in the rest I am doing my duty. ” “Well, it matters to me,” Luisa reiterated in a somewhat altered and nervous voice, “and it matters to me a great deal, because you are a friend of the house and a companion of my brother; and I don’t like people to say that Tolín has friends who are hanging around at all hours of the day with Zanguina’s men and with filthy and shameless sailors. For that reason, and no more than that.” And if you hurry me a little, I’ll tell Papa, so he can tell yours when he comes and get you out of that bad life… And now, I don’t want your arm anymore… not even for you to greet me. And immediately she detached hers from Andrés’s. It’s true that this happened after he had passed the last intersection in tow, and at the moment of approaching very close to the doorway of her house, while the maid, who had gone a few yards ahead, gave, for the second time, two tremendous knocks, which echoed in the stairwell and shook the iron bar fitted inside the door, the first of the three that held the merchant Don Venancio’s overflowing safe. The fresh memory of these events was the second topic of the ruminations that kept Andrés awake at night in the aforementioned night. Never had Tolín’s sister been so meddlesome, so impertinent, and so harsh. For the first time, he had heard her threaten to tell the tale to her own father, only to be told it later by the captain. And the spoiled and pampered young woman was quite capable of fulfilling her promise. The reportable case was certainly no small feat; but who knows how she would tell him, and what colors she would use in his eagerness to get her way! Don Venancio was a gentleman well accustomed to the formality and good looks of the people he met; his mistress’s temperaments were as evident as the captain’s way of thinking; and the captain was no longer that impressionable and cheerful Bitadura, whose indulgence could always be counted on, knowing how to tickle his unrepentant boyish weaknesses; He’d been in a bad mood lately , a little over half a century on his mind, he was fat and rich. All of which had soured his temper considerably. Andrés himself no longer had the strength to submit silently to certain capricious impositions, and he didn’t know to what extremes such a conspiracy, hatched by a nosy girl, against his honorable conduct might drag him. With such elements, what sauce couldn’t the devil make, stuck for a few days in the body of the stubborn daughter of Don Venancio Liencres! But, in the end, all this was a supposition: it remained to be seen, there was time; it could be seen coming, it could be fought from afar… The other thing, the other thing was serious, pressing, urgent for him!… And so he struggled until, after a few hours, he turned over and fell asleep. Chapter 18. GOING FOR WOOL… For the first time in his life, Andrés, with a perseverance that somewhat repulsed even him, was on the lookout for an opportunity to be alone with Sotileza; and also for the first time in his life, as soon as he had achieved his goals, he deceived Tolín with a fabricated pretext for missing two hours at his desk. This happened at mid-morning, on a day when Uncle Mechelín was busy with his boat, and Aunt Sidora was at the market. Sotileza was bustling around the cellar in her usual domestic attire: clean, short, and very light, as has been described elsewhere, and in which the sculptural luxury of the beautiful alleyway was more impressive than on Sundays . Andrés had a good idea of this. That’s why he was very happy to find her like this, although he had already expected it. “I have to talk to you,” she said as she entered, her voice not very sure of itself. The young woman noticed Andrés’s confusion and asked him, startled, “And why have you come at this hour and on this occasion?” “Because… because what I have to tell you should be heard by no one but you. Sit down and listen.” Andrés sat down on a chair and pulled another one up very close to it. But Sotileza refused to occupy it. She remained standing, resting her bare right arm, round and white, on the dresser, while her breast reflected the inner agitation that moved her, and she responded in a firm voice and with a brave look: “Remember what I told you on Sunday in the grove. ” “Well, that’s exactly what I’ve come to discuss. ” “I thought that point had been settled there. ” “Not entirely; and for what’s missing, I’ve come now. ” “Well, since then, we’ve seen each other more than once. Why have you kept quiet until today? ” “I’ve already told you: because it’s a matter to be discussed privately between the two of us.” “I’ve also told you that I don’t want to hear anything from you that can’t be said in the presence of respectable men. ” “Well, precisely because you’ve told me that, I have to talk to you. Sit here, Silda; sit down, for the love of God, for I promise not to be too excessive in deeds or words. With what I say to you, I only want to take away the bitterness left by others, and to take off myself a burden that tires me greatly. ” Sotileza, somewhat anxious and pale, mechanically folded her beautiful body onto the chair prepared by Andrés. The moment he had her at his side, so close that he could hear the sound of her breathing, he exclaimed: “And look, it takes all the strength of my resolve not to fail in them, seeing you so beautiful… and in the solitude we live in!” Silda abruptly rose from her chair and leaned back against the chest of drawers. “Don’t think I’m shocked,” she said at the same time, “to see myself alone with you; I have more than enough soul to bring to justice anyone who fails to do what he owes me. ” “Then,” asked the bewildered youth, “why are you going so far away? ” “Because I don’t want to hear from you up close things that paint a picture of you as I wouldn’t like to see you. ” “Well, it’s only to see me as you like, that’s why I’ve been waiting for this opportunity. Believe me, Silda: I swear by these crosses. ” “You were on the right path to begin with!” “All of this was nothing more than talk… A determination not to keep quiet about even a single thought, so that you might come to see my heart as if it were in the palm of my hand. But if such frank talk offends you, you will never hear it from my mouth again… I swear, Silda… And sit here again… and tie my hands, if you think I can offend you with it… And if after hearing me it seems to you that my words have offended you, tear out my tongue with which I say them… but sit here, and listen to me. ” Sotileza sat down again, but mechanically, very pale, and somewhere between fierce and moved; because in everything that was happening to her there was so much novelty and such strange interest for her that it overrode the bravery of her character. Andrés, who had always seen her cold and impassive, mistress and master of her impenetrable feelings, was astonished by this sudden and unexpected change of such strength, translated it to his liking, and saw that her resolve was also shaken. Mischievous human frailty!… But he had just sworn that his conduct would be honorable; and arming himself with the will to fulfill it, he began by speaking in this manner: “Silda, that afternoon I said things to you and did things that earned me a harsh, very harsh rebuke from you!… So suddenly, I confess that the mistake I committed deserved this punishment. I had not accustomed you, in all the years we have known each other, to suspecting my intentions because of a bad word or the signs of a bad thought. Everyone in this house, and you first and foremost , would have handed over your dormant honor for me to watch over. Would you do the same from that afternoon onwards?” “Tell me frankly, Silda. ” “No,” she replied without hesitation. “Well, that’s the nail I’ve had here ever since, Sotileza. It stings me deep inside, and robs me of sleep at night, and takes away my peace during the day! I don’t want anyone to distrust me in this house, where I’m accustomed to having every door opened to me like the sun at dawn. That’s what I want to return to, Silda: to your esteem and the trust of everyone. ” “You have lost neither my esteem nor anyone’s trust, Andrés. Everyone knows what they owe you, and I know what I owe you too; and there are no ungrateful people here. ” “I don’t want to be esteemed for the favors I do, but for my own worth; and I know that in your eyes I’m not worth today what I was worth a short time ago. ” “And if that’s what you were thinking, Andrés,” exclaimed Silda with a warmth of accent unusual for her, “why didn’t you throw it away at the time, so as not to do what you did? ” “In the answer to that question lies the very excuse for that act and those words; the only reason I can offer you for returning completely to your esteem and your confidence. And you see how I couldn’t give you this reason with witnesses, without discovering the cause of it; which would be a worse remedy than the illness itself. ” “I don’t know,” said Sotileza with the accent and expression of the crudest sincerity, “that there can be an excuse for such things, in men as high as you, with women as low as me.” Andrés felt the blow of this argument in the middle of his skull. “So what?” he responded, searching for the false effects of the voice and attitudes, the vigor that she couldn’t find in her reason, “Are you one of those who believe that when it comes to “those things” there are no distances or hierarchies that count? Your beauty wrapped in those four rags, clean as silver, is it not as beautiful as that which is adorned with silk and diamonds? What a rude and coarse youth experiences for you, can’t a man of my conditions experience, and even more strongly ?… What the pleasantness of the countryside and the influence of nature, in all its splendor, can make him feel in front of a woman like you, can’t they make me feel as well?… And since we’re talking about this situation, what would be strange if, the occasion being so propitious and the place so pleasant, I tried to take advantage of both advantages to test your virtue with a comedic assault? ” Silda responded to this tirade with a cold and mocking smile. “So you don’t believe me?” Andrés asked her, very annoyed. “No,” Silda responded firmly. “Why?” “Because what is a lie can be known from afar, even in the way it comes; and that, don’t tire yourself out, Andrés, that was the pure truth… That’s why I would have believed today more in the sorrow you describe, seeing you weeping with all your heart, than in protecting it with a lie. ” Andrés stood for a moment, not knowing what to reply to these crude and definitive words. Then he said, just for the sake of it: “It’s not enough, Silda, to affirm one thing: you have to give reasons… ” “I would gladly give you,” replied the girl, restraining her temper, “just one that would be worth many. ” “And why don’t you give it?” asked Andrés, not as brave as he seemed. “Because I’m afraid you’ll resent it.” “I promise not to resent you… Why was that true? ” “Because I knew the evil thoughts that sent it to you. ” “That you knew them!… From what? ” “From having read them many times in your eyes. ” “When? ” “For a long time. ” “Silda! ” “As I said, Andrés. Didn’t you want reasons? Well, now you have them. ” Andrés was disarmed, and wounded in the depths of his conscience. Sotileza recognized him and hastened to say to him: “You promised not to offend you with the reason I gave you. Keep your word. ” “And I will keep it,” said Andrés, more with his lips than with his heart, “and I won’t even insist on the deception of your eyes when they read mine. But tell me, Sotileza: when you thought you discovered those evil thoughts in me, why didn’t you tell me, at least because of how they offended you?” “Because, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, it was up to you to keep them out of this house, not me to throw them out.” Another stab to the chest. Andrés no longer knew which side to take in that struggle, which had no advantage for him. He resorted to the counsel of self-respect, which was what was complaining most loudly to him inside, and said to the tenacious aggressor: “So, didn’t these thoughts of mine frighten you? ” “I was afraid that they would be discovered by people who would have mourned them as a misfortune for everyone. ” “But you, for yourself, didn’t you fear them? ” “And why should I fear them? I was very sorry to see them where I saw them; but no more. ” “And why did you feel it?” “Because the time could come… and has already come… ” “The time to teach me a lesson like the one you’re teaching me?” “I don’t know enough for that, Andrés; and I’ll do enough to answer the case in order to defend myself, as is God’s law.” “But you yourself told me that, once my evil thoughts were discovered, it wasn’t up to you to throw them out of this house. ” “Yes, I did.” “Then I must throw them out; that is, leave here forever, since I’m taking them with me. ” “Or come without them, which isn’t the same thing. ” “And what must I do to make you think I don’t have them? ” “Not bring them. That’s enough.” Andrés, out of self-respect, didn’t want to lie by insisting that Sotileza was wrong about everything he said about his evil intentions. Since, from what he was hearing, these intentions were becoming too obvious to him, To insist on denying them was to lose face even more in the eyes of that rude virtue, which wanted him more as a repentant sinner than as a false virtuoso. But he considered, at the same time, that those evil ideas, so hated in him by Sotileza, perhaps wouldn’t have frightened him so much in another mind, and he even remembered the joy with which the scrupulous street vendor had allowed herself to be squeezed, on the beach at Ambojo, by the arms of the stupid Muergo; Muergo, in whose eyes, upon looking at Silda, he had read blunders of such magnitude that they couldn’t have gone unnoticed by her. So what in Muergo, dirty and ugly, wasn’t even a fault, in him, a gentle and cultured young man, was a crime that could have closed the doors of that house to him. Was he worth less in Sotileza’s eyes than that monstrous animal? This was incredible, and it would be truly foolish to express even a doubt about it there. But the fact of preference existed; which demonstrated that Sotileza scrupulously focused, more on the people who were moved by them than on thoughts of that kind. This phenomenon did not diminish Silda’s honesty in Andrés’s eyes, since he was aware of the influence the condition of the person who performs or consents to them has on the significance of certain acts. But in the false position he found himself in at that moment, the fact offered him a way out, and perhaps he could take advantage of it to escape at least from what Silda was presenting to him with her tremendous arguments. To leave through this door, that is, to adjust to Silda’s conditions, was to oblige himself to never return to the cellar, since, as a man who had sworn what he had, he had to sacrifice everything to the good name of the woman who complained of his evil intentions. and not returning to the cellar was beyond Andrés’s mental strength, especially since he had given reasons for it and had just convinced himself that the moral upheaval that had shocked him so much in Silda when he began to speak to her was not the reality of his long- cherished hopes that the two of them might exchange the roles of the passage he had taken in the Ambojo grove… And yet they were to ask him how he was doing in that moment of high and loyal thoughts! Not even those of Amadís on his rock that could have equaled them. The power of resentful self-esteem! All this, which takes so long to recount here (and hopefully has not turned out to be useless!), Andrés turned it over in his head in the few moments of silence that followed Sotileza’s last words . Taking a sideways look at him, then, by virtue of his mental reasoning, Andrés began to evoke, in a plaintive tone, the best years of his childhood and youth, spent for him in the sweet intimacy of the innocent orphan and her honorable protectors. Affection, self-denial, tranquility, peace, and noble trust: everything was sung in that idyll that would have made Don Quixote pale, except for the style that a handful of acorns in the goatherd’s hut had inspired. Suddenly, a faint blemish appears in the cheerful background of that picture; the wind of suspicion blows; the blemish becomes a cloud; the cloud spreads… and farewell to light, confidence, and joy! The friend of always, the shoulder to cry on for all, is now the bad man, from whom honest girls must be kept away, the friend of their childhood and youth… “And I cannot resign myself to this, Sotileza,” exclaimed Andrés, to finish his lamentations. “I cannot leave this house because of this suspicion, after having entered it as I did. ” “But who is throwing you out, Andrés!” said Sotileza in astonishment, after having listened impassively to his declamations. “You,” responded Andrés, “since you tell me… ” “I did not say that,” replied Silda firmly: “I told you not to return with those thoughts, which have come to light here because you wanted them to. Is this throwing you out of the house? Or who am I for such a thing? ” “Always those damned thoughts!” exclaimed the fiery youth, irritated at the zeal with which they were put before him in order to that it would crash into them. And then, allowing herself to be carried away by the impulses of resentful vanity, she added with great vehemence: “And if by chance you were right, Silda; if those evil thoughts had taken possession of me, what would be so surprising about it? Haven’t you looked in the mirror?… Don’t you know you’re beautiful?… And am I made of stone, just in case?” Sotileza, while Andrés was speaking thus, became agitated again; and, moving her chair half a yard away from the other, she said, in an accent and with an expression impossible to paint: “Andrés!… look, by amending it, you’re going to make it worse! ” “I don’t know how to put it, Silda,” exclaimed Andrés, beside himself: “what I know is that I have to tell you what I’m telling you, because it burns me up inside if I keep quiet. ” “Virgin! And with all this you dare to deny it!” “I neither deny nor affirm, Silda!” I put myself in every situation. You put yourself in it too! “Well, because I put myself in the one I must… you kill me with grief, Andrés!” And Andrés then saw in Sotileza’s eyes an expression, like a veil of dew, that he had never noticed in them before. “Am I killing you with grief!” he exclaimed, dazzled. “Why? ” “Because this is not how I want you to be so that I can appreciate you, but how you were before. ” “And why shouldn’t you appreciate me being as I am now?” asked Andrés, blinded by spite and vehemence. “Because, because…” And Silda, who did not take her eyes off Andrés’s, quickly rose from the chair. He stepped back two steps without letting go of her hand, and continued thus in an attitude that was imposed by the strange mixture of haughtiness and supplication that permeated it. “By the Virgin of Sorrows, Andrés, ask me no more of that… and listen to what I am forced to tell you! You know, as well as I do, that ever since you took me in off the street, they have given me in this house, out of charity, much more than I deserve. Helpless and alone I found myself, and here I have parents and protection… I can die, like the youngest; but they are already old, and it is legal that I shall be alone again in the world. To support myself in it, I have no other asset than my honor… For the love of God, Andrés! You who know its value, you who protected me when I was innocent, look after it more than anyone! ” “Stealing that treasure from you!” exclaimed Andrés, sincerely astonished at the suspicion. “Robbing her, no,” the street vendor responded immediately with gallant vigor. “That’s enough, neither you nor anyone else. But appearances are enough, for you know well what tongues are. ” Andrés was already stunned. His vehement thoughtlessness led him from one disaster to another; but his nature was noble, and his heart always responded to the most honorable calls. Besides, it was completely useless to try to impose himself with the force of spite on such indomitable integrity as that of that woman, a woman he had never known well enough to bear until then. “You conquer me in every way today, Sotileza,” he said to her in an attitude that suited the sweet and heartfelt tone of his words. “And you tell me such things and give such reasons that I am beginning to realize that, with the best of intentions, I have sometimes taken paths in this dispute not used by good men.” Remember what I swore to you when I came in here a little while ago: that’s the truth, that’s what I came for; the rest has been coming out because… because the devil confuses ideas and then pulls words as he pleases, to the ruin of people. Forget it, Silda… Forget it and forgive me! Then Andrés really spoke with his heart on his lips! What an impressionable boy! Sotileza, knowing him well, said, moving closer to him: “That’s speaking the truth! That’s taking justice into your own hands, Andrés! And, look, now that you are your own master; now that God has lifted the blindfold from your eyes, don’t wait for the devil to put it back on you… Go, and leave me alone as I was… and with that and nothing more, I will forgive you for those things with all my heart…” Andrés got up from his chair, determined to leave. The stinging pangs of self-esteem, once again irritated by the last words of the altera street, did not prevent him from knowing the weight of reason with which she wanted to remove him from there. “I’m going to please you,” he said to her. “But does your intention go so far as to close the door on me forever as soon as I leave? Because I won’t give in to that, Silda; and, now that I’ve met you, even less so than ever. ” “Don’t crowd around again, Andrés, by the Virgin of Carmen! I don’t want to close these doors on you forever, nor could I, even if I wanted to, because I have no control over them… You know what I want . The whole harm doesn’t lie in entering, but in the opportunity one seeks for it, because there are eyes and tongues that live only by doing harm. And if I, because of who I am, don’t seem good enough to you for you to look at yourself a little in that matter, do it for those poor old men, because the day I lose my good name they will die of shame.” “Silda,” Andrés exclaimed then, in the midst of one of those enthusiasms that so often assailed him, “I’m not worth what you deserve!” And without daring to look at her, because the orphan of Mules was truly tempting at that moment, he left the cellar as if he had shot out. He had entered there believing that the roles of that “paso” in the Ambojo grove were about to be exchanged! But where in the world had that surly and taciturn girl gotten that sensitivity and that spirit with which she had just taught him such a sovereign lesson? How was it possible that a woman of such balanced judgment and such lofty thoughts could be a wild bramble to him and to the people who loved her most, and a sweet flake of carded cotton to a stupid beast like the horrible Muergo! What phenomenal inclinations did those notorious preferences obey? What kind of clay was that woman made of? She didn’t have a single close friend in the whole street; she didn’t miss the company of anyone; she seemed unmoved by anything, and yet she was sensitive, intelligent, honorable, grateful, and spirited, and yet, at the same time, she had deposited the only sweetness voluntarily distilled from her heart in only a stinking, abominable being ? Thus Andrés had been rambling from the moment he placed the plant outside the cellar; and so absorbed was his discourse that his eyes failed to notice the sardine seller Carpia, who crossed paths with him ten paces further down the door; nor the glance she directed at him, half-turned, pausing for a moment. nor did these words reach her ears, which that fury uttered from her mouth, with the holy purpose of making the words that should be heard in the street: “Scary face!… If she’s going to smoke!… I believe it!… One at sea… The other in the square… The lady in her palace… And let the boats come!… And there goes the shame for these nonsense!… Ugh! For her, the huge swine… Ah, sharp face! If I’m ever home! But another time will come, that you’ll return to the bait that fattens you … I wanted to catch you in one like that, in the very light of the sun, so that your shame, however little you may have, may shine on your faces… Ugh!… indecent! Chapter 19. THE PARSLEY ON THE FOREHEAD. In all this, poor Cleto could not get over his troubles. Father Polinar had tried three times to keep his word to go and sound out the couple at the winery; but he never found his way clear of the obstacles that so frightened him. Always those devilish women on the balcony, or across the sidewalk, or shouting in the middle of the street! And thank goodness they didn’t guess his intentions when, to conceal his feelings, he hurriedly went up or down, as if his duties were far away. Cleto knocked almost every day at dusk on the door of the cloistered house, where he was toiling away inside, sweating profusely at the task he was engaged in, to ask: “Is there anything to it?” And Father Apolinar would tell him what had happened, encouraging him with good hopes for another day. Afterward, Cleto, crestfallen and sad, went to spend some time at the winery, where he found Sotileza somewhat stunned. and the old people as affectionate as ever. Nothing had been heard there, by the looks of it, of those _morrás_ that he and Muergo had in the darkness of the doorway. Since then they had only met once again, and that time inside the cellar and in front of people. They groaned softly and were horrified to see each other; but this didn’t attract anyone’s attention, because it wasn’t new to them. The last time he saw Pae Polinar, he said to him: “I wish, Cleto del jinojo, that you would take these things with less enthusiasm.” because your dilemmas are not appropriate for my tasks… I tell you, they are a real challenge!… a real challenge, damn it!… So, either temper the forge, or go on putting up with it the good way… It would be best if you put up with it the good way, because that is what you are going to need the most… Look, Cleto, either my eye is deceiving me greatly, or that fine bit is not for you. Jinojo, you aimed high! And with this, and with the respecz of your entire caste… I tell you, Cleto, I tell you that not even on his own intention would the devil himself have heaped so many inconveniences on top of the hiccups that are consuming you… And let me return to my books and my papers, for time flies, and the sermon is what there is to see… If I tell you it is one of the three-reeds, damn it! All these reflections were fuel for the fire that burned Cleto’s impatience; and he set out determined to do, on his own, whatever was within his strength and his capacity for thought. Walking toward the wine cellar, he met, at the turn onto Calle Alta, good old Colo. He thought highly of Colo because he was a young man of good character and better conduct, and also because of that little Latin he had studied years before. They were very good friends; and because of this, Colo had often entertained him with the story of his love affair with Pachuca, the youngest of the three daughters of his neighbor Chumbao, skipper of the launch he was riding in. If the first levy wasn’t enough, they would marry as soon as he got out. Everything was already arranged for that. Cleto heard these hallelujahs very often, and they made his mouth water. Who better than this friend, so serious and so expert in such matters, to listen affectionately and help him with advice? He approached him very proudly; but he made such an effort, to add insult to injury, to hold him up so long that the other, thinking he was speaking of things quite old and well-known, interrupted him in his story to ask, with the most lively interest: “Do you know what’s going on, Cleto? ” “What’s going on?” he asked, in turn, with lively curiosity, fearful that what was happening might have some connection with what he was telling his friend. “Well, then,” said Colo, “those from Below are going to provoke us with a regatta for Martyrs’ Day. ” “Well, let them provoke us, man!” exclaimed Cleto, stamping his foot angrily . “I thought it was something else!… We’ll talk about that later, man. Let me finish the story first. ” Colo did not agree to this, because he was in a very hurry, as he told his friend. “I’ve just come,” he said, “from La Zanguina, where the case was being discussed. For them, it’s already a done deal, if we didn’t. An ounce will have to be bargained for on behalf of the Town Councils. It seems the City Council is giving a good portion for a greased- up … He immediately thought of Andrés, determined to confide the secret of his heart to him; for, after fully examining the scruple that had prevented him from doing so before, it was not worth dwelling on. But Andrés did not go to the cellar that night. The next day he stood in the doorway of his office, and there he stood firm until he saw him come down. Andrés seemed like a different man since that conversation he’d had with Sotileza, one-on-one and alone in the cellar; I mean, he was less boisterous in his movements, less rattlesnapping in his words, and much more distracted in his expression. Sometimes he expelled the air from his lungs with the force of a gust from the south, making fierce tremolos and daring scales with his lips as he let it out, as if trying to dispel with this wintery music the bitter undertone his thoughts held, which were the work of the swellings in his chest. Cleto, who had enough to do with his own friend’s “jirvors,” without paying any attention to his wealthy friend’s new attitude, as soon as he had him at his side, remembering how badly his account had turned out after relating his thoughts to Colo at length, blurted them out in a few words and in the briefest of moments. A blow to Andrés’s shin with a club could not have produced such a sharp, deep, and sudden impression as Cleto’s declarations . He felt like showering him with insults and even slapping him twice. Such an animal would dare to put his ambitions as a pledge of such high value! And to expect, moreover, that he would help him achieve his unconscionable ambition!… Him, with what had happened to him!… with what was happening to him!… Didn’t it seem like a mockery of the rogue fate that was pursuing him? But he controlled himself, for many reasons compelled him to do so, to the point that all that was evident from his internal turmoil was the occasional flash of lightning that flickered in his eyes. The distressed seasick man thought this flashing was a sign of how great his undertaking seemed to the disinterested consideration of so good and wealthy a friend. This friend quickly confirmed his suspicions, painting such difficulties before him, presenting such enormous obstacles, telling him such things and using such harsh and harsh words , finally blocking all paths so tightly , and so confusing many of his arguments with threats that, compared to Andrés’s, Father Polinar’s opinion on the same case seemed like roses and marjoram to the unfortunate man. He left Andrés without saying goodbye, and his mind so burdened with fog that, seeing everything black and without an exit, he set out to windward through those hated lower seas, to distract himself a little from the burden of his grief, devising, in the process, a way to drop anchor as soon as possible, at least in the coveted harbor. And the poor lad was quite right in making that resolution, because while he was wandering around the dock, and behind the dock, and next to the Zanguina, and along the street of the Sea, and the Arches of Dóriga, and the street of the Holy Martyrs, and the Ribera, and the Fish Market, from which Aunt Sidora had just left, Muergo and Sotileza were alone in the hold, while Uncle Mechelín, returning from the tobacconist’s, was throwing a drag at the street door. Muergo had arrived there earlier than usual, because the news Colo had given Cleto was true in every way, and he wanted, as soon as it reached his ears with signs of formality, to bring it to the attention of his uncle. He asked Sotileza about him as soon as he entered the cellar. “He’s gone out to buy some tobacco,” said the girl. “Well, I’m glad, damn it!” replied Muergo. “And my aunt? ” “In the plaza. She’ll be back soon. ” “Well, I’m glad too. Hoo, ho! ” “Why, animal? ” “Hoo, because you’re alone like that, which is what I like… Hoo, ho! Do you know there’s going to be haggling? ” “When?” “On Martial Arts Day, if those here don’t slow down… Hoo! You’ll see what it’s like to pull on the oar and gobble up the ounce… An ounce, Sotileza!” Oh, if she were mine! I’d know what to buy you with her! Hoo, hoo! Oh, what a day that is! Besides that and the union of Miranda, with pae Polinar’s pediment, I’ll wear the whole dress for the first time, from head to toe. head; even with shoes and everything, fist! “Do you have the cap and jacket you were missing, Muergo?” the girl asked him with the interest of a mother who was losing sleep trying to dress her son. “Didn’t I tell you? You insisted so much, that in your power to get rich, and get rich, and get rich… ” “And that’s the only reason, Muergo? That’s the only reason you got rich? ” “Why, you? ” “Because I told you to? ” “Well, why do I do things, fist?” exclaimed the monster, shuddering from head to toe. “Why don’t I catch a coffee pot every day?” Why do I put up with what I put up with from Mordaguero?… Fist!… well, just to please yourself, Sotileza… And because you wanted it, I’m wearing fine cloth… Just for that, ha, ha!… Tonight I won’t dine with you. But you’ll give me the bread, eh? I have a big mouth, fist! A stranger thing than that girl! In the same place where she had tamed Andrés’s passionate impulses with her disillusioned words and her elusive demeanor, she listened to Muergo’s brutalities with a smile on her lips and joy in her eyes. “Well, listen,” he said to the big beast, whose hair and clothes were still glistening with the scales of the sardine he had just untangled in the boat on his way back from sea, “as soon as you put on your dress the day you wear it for the first time, come here at a run so I can fix it up for you, before people get all worked up about it. Because you don’t know about such niceties. Gosh, you must have something to see, Muergo! ” “Fist!” he exclaimed upon seeing Sotileza’s delighted expression . “More than the celebration of the Holy Martyrs, with the Chapter and all!… But not as much as you, Sotileza… Fist!… Because you must have more to see than all of Christendom in full regalia… If you only had some torrent handy too…” When Muergo bellowed like that, his wide, bare feet planted on the ground; His arms drooping, his elbows outward, his cap on his neck, and his hair falling over his eyes, it was beginning to get dark in the hold. For this reason, if he didn’t take it as a pretext, Sotileza left Muergo in that attitude, the word stuck in the hollow of his mouth, and went to light the lamp in the kitchen. As he left, he looked toward the entrance and saw Uncle Mechelín leaning against the street door. He called to him to tell him his nephew was looking for him. From Muergo’s large face and from a certain shake of his arched shoulders, it was clear that he was very upset by Sotileza’s return accompanied by his uncle. In other times, the news that Muergo gave him as soon as he saw him would have excited the cheerful sailor . But now, lacking the energy to fight personally in those noble battles between the two rival councils, and burdened by ailments that robbed him of his enthusiasm and even his curiosity, he gave little importance to the event announced by his nephew, although he did not fail to advise him not to participate in the bargaining if he valued his vanity as an oarsman, because it was a given that the street vendors would win. Muergo held his own in favor of those from Below, not caring a bit about the damage his brutal pronouncements were causing to that veteran of those from Above; but Sotileza intervened, and with two shocks of apostrophes and rebukes, made the savage companion of the Mordaguero’s launch softer than leather. He easily agreed with his uncle, greatly invigorated by the valiant support of that gentle creature, who was the warmth of his spirit, that the sailors from Below were stumbling blocks; and beginning to gnaw the lump of bread Sotileza had given him, he left the cellar for Zanguina to see how things were going. Then Aunt Sidora came in, already in the know about what had happened in the plaza; and more enthusiastic than her husband, or at least pretending to be, perhaps with the noble purpose of entertaining and cheering him up, she managed to get him to go for a while to Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, where she knew the matter was going to be discussed in front of the full council. Shortly after Uncle Mechelín left the cellar, Cleto came in, who didn’t meet Muergo on the way because, after going up Somorrostro Street, he took the steps of the Cathedral, while the other went down Rua Menor. But if not with Cleto, Muergo met Andrés; and I don’t know if, in need of meeting one of the two, he came out loser or winner in the encounter he had. Andrés, as soon as Cleto left him, needed more space than the latter to entertain and dominate the storm unleashed in his chest and mind. Because Cleto’s storm was muffled, deep-seated, relatively tame, and he could hold his sail, letting himself be carried here and there with no other concern than to escape the rocks along the coast; but Andrés’s was one of furious hurricanes that battered him around and carried him aloft, whipping him with their lashings of foam, bitter as gall. Fleeing in desperation, he wandered for an hour without knowing where he was or knowing anyone… And why all this? Because it occurred to him that Cleto was, strictly speaking, a good match for Sotileza; that Sotileza, or the people who protected her, might very well realize this when Cleto, or whoever had brought them the loving message, revealed his intentions and desires in the hold; and that, in conclusion, Cleto and Sotileza… Sotileza, so immaculate, so lovely, so gallant; the one who had made him fail in his duties as a friend… and even as an honorable man, and, with the harshness of inveterate disdain, crushed his thoughts in the very cauldron where they secretly sprouted from his will! Certainly, opposing Cleto’s plans, for the reasons that buzzed in his head, To work so that Sotileza would find herself alone in the world, abandoned by everyone, was a complete villainy; but was he sure that, digging a little deeper into his inner self, he would find nothing but foolish, thwarted desires because of those anguishes that consumed him? By pressing the tormenting yearnings a little harder, wouldn’t he be capable of pushing his efforts to the point where their legitimacy would forever shelter him from that lineage of contingencies? And to think that, with an abundance of generosity in his heart, had she received him meekly and affectionately, had she left the outcome of his inexplicable impulses to his noble discretion, he himself would have been capable of handing Sotileza, cleansed of all stain, to the first good man who deserved her! But would Sotileza deserve this sacrifice? Would the man he had imposed upon her when he swore to her even deserve what he swore to her in her house when he saw her alone? Cleto assured her that not a single word, not a single sign of intelligence, had yet been exchanged between them in his amorous endeavors; but Muergo… that stupid, horrible Muergo, in whose arms she had allowed herself to be carried, dying of laughter, on the beach at Ambojo!… And back again to the subject he so often examined and expressed, ever since he had promised Sotileza never to return to her with a bad thought between his hooves! There might not have been malice, perhaps, in those abandonments on the back street; but they were not fitting for an honorable girl who, for much lesser offenses, had left him at the street door. They would have to talk to her about this, at least once, alone and quickly; and to Muergo as well. And on that occasion it was that Muergo stood before him, as he was leaving one of the alleys near Zanguina. “Where are you from?” Andrés asked him. “From up there,” Muergo replied. “From Calle Alta? ” “Yes. ” “From your uncle’s cellar? ” “Yes. I went to put him in touch with the bargaining situation, in case he didn’t know. ” “And who was there? ” “Fist!” exclaimed Muergo, scratching his head with both hands. “When I came in, let’s assume it was glory itself… She’s a mess, man! ” “Who?” Andrés asked again, very anxiously. “Sotileness, fist!” ” So… Sotileness alone,” said Andrés, poorly concealing the irritation that tormented him. “Come on, what did you say to her? What did you say to her?” “What did she say? ” “Well, it’s nothing,” replied Muergo, shuddering; “because maybe she went to light the candle, and then my uncle came back. ” “So ‘maybe,'” Andrés emphasized, with an accent that sparkled. “That means something good has already happened to you. Isn’t that true, Muergo? Come on, man, say it frankly.” Muergo scratched his hair again; and after laughing in his own way, he said to the impatient Andrés: “Well, to say good, it wasn’t as good as it could have been; but it was good with everything, damn it! That little while between the two of us… Me telling her things, and things… and things… I didn’t even get a clue about what I would say, damn it, if I knew how to say it!” “And her?” Andrés pointed out almost with a roar. “Well, she is,” replied Muergo, rubbing his big hands together and almost curling into a ball. “Well, she is, Don Andrés, ha ha!… glory itself… pure honey to me! ” “Lie, idiot!” roared Andrés’s voice at the sailor’s remark. “The honey of a woman like that is not for beasts like you. I forbid you to say that to anyone, and that you yourself believe it… ” “Fist!” exclaimed the apostrophized man rudely. “And why should I not believe what is true? And who is anyone to command that I do not revel in it, if I like it? ” “I command you,” replied Andrés, fearing that he had revealed himself too much, “because I have an obligation to watch over the good reputation of Sotileza; and his good reputation is stained with praise from assumptions like yours. Do you understand me, barbarian?” That’s why I forbid you to boast to anyone about what you’ve boasted to me about, and it’s a pure lie. ” “It’s the pure truth, you little brat! ” “I say you’re lying, you swine! And now I add that if what I’m telling you isn’t enough to cure you of this vice of slandering an honorable girl, I’ll have the door of that house shut against you by whoever has more authority than I.” As Andrés vented his anger in this way, in a low but fierce and bewildered voice, a tingling sensation rose up Muergo’s chest; his hair began to bristle, and his squint eyes rolled around in their sockets. “Ah, fist!” he suddenly jumped up, clenching his own hands and roaring as well. “What bothers you isn’t my lying, but my telling the truth!” Andrés froze with shame at the thought that such a beast had revealed the mystery of his reckless tantrum. Muergo added: “Yes, fist! This is happening to me here, and the other thing that was happening and I thought was malicious intent, and something I saw myself… Fist, it all adds up!” “Another imposture, animal! ” “No, no… fist! Then you wouldn’t have sworn to me about this thing you never swore to me. Fist! How it stings!… Don Andrés, for you I’d throw myself headlong into the sea in other matters… but in this one, fist!” In this case, don’t cross me on the spot… because I’ll give you the boot to sink you… The only response Andrés could suddenly think of to this unexpected and even eloquent outburst from Muergo was a tremendous slap he knew how to deliver in very close quarters; but the street wasn’t deserted; and without it, the blow was going to have more resonance than he’d like. He warned the monstrous seaman about this so that he’d consider himself a response, that is, a slap; and fearful that the insubordinate animal’s retort would force him to carry out his threat, he hurriedly moved away from him. Every step he took in that unfortunate adventure was a blunder that cost him yet another setback. So the poor boy was fumbling along toward Calle de la Blanca, while his monstrous rival entered La Zanguina. Chapter 20. CLETO’S IDYLL. The next day the Montañesa entered the port, returning from her trip to Havana, and the captain disembarked, resolved to leave his job for the rest of his life. “It’s time, Pedro, it’s time!” the captain said to him, clasping him in her arms after hearing him swear that he would not would break those good resolutions. “What a pity you hadn’t done it a few years earlier! We have so few years left to spend our lives together, without the sorrows that have filled me with gray hair!” “Come on, don’t complain, ungrateful woman,” her husband responded, examining her with his eyes, from head to toe, after freeing himself from her arms, “for I have more, and my skin seems less polished, and with more damage to the hull. For now, let someone else work while I rest. We’ll see how Sama grows fat with the job I’m leaving her as an inheritance. She knows the road well. The worst thing is the ship, which is no longer up to many storms: the same as its captain. Fortune that, after so much struggle, has been extracted for vassalage and for one to take the final careening in safe harbor. At that time, Don Pedro Colindres was a fat, swarthy man with almost white hair and sideburns; and his wife, a beautiful matron, with a gray head and majestic bearing. She, continuing the conversation with her husband, who looked at her enraptured, ended up saying to him: “You were so, sorely needed for that, Pedro! ” “So what’s the matter with him, Andrea? ” “I don’t know; but for the last two weeks, he hasn’t been what he used to be; and in the last eight, I’ve missed him so much that it makes me sad. He doesn’t eat properly , he doesn’t sleep peacefully, and I don’t think he knows where he’s going. Last night he crept into the house very early, like a dazed pigeon, and no matter how much I pulled at his tongue, I couldn’t get a word out of him. How cheerful he was and how…” ” It’s your apprehensions, Andrea, your apprehensions; because women have a way of loving!” “I tell you, they’re not apprehensions, Pedro!” “Well, I saw him quite calm this morning, and I’d be damned if I noticed any change in him.” “Because he pretends not to look at you… Look, Pedro, I’d bet my head that they’ve turned his head in that damned house, from which he doesn’t come out dead or alive. ” “Which house, woman? ” “The one on Calle Alta. ” “Bah!
” “When I tell you so!” The captain didn’t want the matter to be discussed any further; and, whether he believed it or not, he assured his wife that there was nothing to fear on that front. At the same time that this was happening at Andrés’s house, Pachuca, Colo’s fiancée, was urging Sotileza to finish the new skirt they were sewing for him there that very day, which was a Saturday. But Sotileza, hard as he was at the sewing, doubted very much that Pachuca would succeed with the effort. She, sitting next to her friend and helping her with her eyes and even with certain involuntary movements of her hands, the work of the impatience that consumed her, talked and talked without closing her mouth. And talking and talking, she spoke of Colo, putting him, as expected , in the moon’s horns. “And when are you getting married?” Sotileza asked her. “I don’t know what to say to that, daughter,” Pachuca responded, sighing. “As for getting married, we would have gotten married a long time ago; he’s eager , and so am I; but it turns out he’s going to get a draft very soon. And you see: get married today and be a widow tomorrow… ” “You’re right, Pachuca. It’s better to wait for them to return. ” “If they return, the unfortunate ones!” “What will they have to do but return?” “Stay there, the poor.” “Oh, lucky ones!… Through those seas!… If God would have it, the number wouldn’t reach him… But he’s already so low!… It’ll be a miracle if it doesn’t reach him, no matter how small the levy is. I have a mass of 1 peseta that I would offer to Saint Peter, if it doesn’t touch him. ” “Well, look, Pachuca,” said Sotileza with that domineering tone that was natural to her, “that sooner or later they’ll have to take him into service, I would offer that mass so they’d take him now. ” “Why? ” “Because they come back from there very differently. They at least learn to walk upright and wash their faces every day. You would gain that advantage by marrying him after he returns from service. ” “And you, woman,” asked Pachuca bluntly, “when are you getting married?” “Me!” responded Sotileza, looking at her friend in astonishment, “with whom?” “Well, with whoever you want,” said Pachuca without hesitation. “Isn’t it yours?” the street from top to bottom? Is there a girl in it more handsome than you? “For the sake of health, it’s better to die, Pachuca. ” “You handsome girl! What do you want? Merchants from down there? ” “Who said that?” Sotileza exclaimed immediately, in a harsh voice and with an even harsher frown. “I’m just saying it, woman,” Pachuca responded, afraid that her friend had misinterpreted the joke. “The thing is, there are rumors, Pachuca,” Sotileza replied with ill- disguised anger, “that are more to be feared than slaps… because there are tongues that spread them like the plague; and you know very well that there are rumors in this street worse than scabies, and against what honors they seek support.”
Poor Pachuca, who had not thought of such rumors when saying what she had said to Sotileza, could not stop swearing to him so that he would not be offended. “If I don’t take offense at you, Pachuca,” the beautiful orphan told her, striving to give her face and voice all the gentleness she could. “I know very well that you don’t mean me any harm; but others can’t see me and they try to kill me; and from those blows, which hurt me, come these moans that I can’t help. Someone else, in my case, would keep quiet about it; I ‘ll sing it to you like this, because in that particular I don’t owe the devil a single bad idea. ” Speaking thus, old Aunt Ramona, Father Apolinar’s housekeeper, entered the cellar asking for Uncle Mechelín. “She’s on a roll and won’t be back until later,” Sotileza responded. “And Aunt Sidora?” the old woman asked again. “In the plaza.” “Well, I was looking for them to tell them that Pae Polinar wants the two of them to meet him at his house, without fail, at dusk. They already know why he can’t come here himself. So, will you tell them that as soon as you see them, pretty girl? ” “I will tell them,” replied the aforementioned, without stopping her sewing. “Blessed be God,” said Aunt Ramona in farewell, “what a plump and nice girl Her Divine Majesty made you, and how grateful you must be to her!” And she left dragging her slippers, while Pachuca, looking at Sotileza, laughed at the exclamations of the friar’s housekeeper, who was well known in that neighborhood. Sotileza, as soon as Pachuca left her alone and without the obligation to speak, even a little, used all the strength of her speech to guess the reason for the message brought by the friar’s housekeeper. He had never intended anything like that before; And, for some time now, very unusual things had been happening to her. Hours passed, and the couple from the bodega, dressed in their best attire because, after all, they had to cross one of the busiest parts of town, and consumed by the most devouring curiosity, kept their meeting with Father Apolinar. Cleto, in the dim light of twilight, saw them leave Uncle Sevilla’s tavern where he was sitting, hands in his pockets, his back awkwardly wedged between the counter and the wall, and his face half-submerged in the front of his elastic. He hadn’t slept a wink all last night, and had returned from sea without remembering what had happened to him there. Father Polinar did nothing for him, and Andrés closed every door on him. He had no choice but to open them by his own efforts. He was determined to do whatever God and his distress would tell him, and this was what he was thinking when he saw the old men from the bodega emerge into the street together. He suddenly rose from his seat; he waited for them to turn the corner of the Hospital Hill; then he looked at the balcony of his house and the length and breadth of the street; and, seeing everything clear of the enemy who was frightening him in the enterprise he was about to undertake, he reached the doorway in two strides and slipped resolutely into the bodega. Sotileza continued sewing Pachuca’s skirt by the light of the lamp she had just hung on the wall. Seeing Cleto standing before her, she felt the difficulty he was already facing, despite his firm resolve. The word, the damned word, that was always denied to him when he needed it most! “I was passing,” she stammered, trembling with embarrassment, “I was passing… up ahead… and as I passed like that, I said: ‘I’m going to go into the cellar for a while;’ and that’s why I went in… Cloth! Good skirt! Is it for you, Sotileza?” Sotileza told her no; and, out of courtesy, ordered her to sit down. Cleto sat down quite apart from her; and looking at her, looking at her in silence for a long time, as if trying to intoxicate himself with his eyes in order to break through the stifles of his tongue, he managed to say: “Sotileza: you once glued a button on me… out there… do you remember?” Sotileza smiled a little without raising her eyes from her work, and answered Cleto: “Well, it’s been a long time since then!” “Well, for me,” said Cleto, more animated, “I count it yesterday. ” “Well,” replied Sotileza, “what’s the matter with that?” “Well, here’s the matter,” continued Cleto, “that after that button, which had a handle, and I still have him in these other pants… look at him here!… After that button, I went entering, entering this house… because I can’t stay in mine, Sotileza. You know it well, dude! That’s not a house, nor are those women, nor is that man a man! Well, well: I didn’t know of anything better than that… and because I didn’t know, I once kicked you… do you remember? Dude! If you could see how that blow hurt me right after here!” Sotileza, beginning to be astonished at what he was hearing, because he had never heard anything like it or anything similar from such lips, fixed his eyes on Cleto’s; with which he not only stopped the poor lad from speaking, but even from breathing. He then said to him: “But why are you telling me these things now?” “Because they must be told, Sotileza,” Cleto ventured to reply; “for that very reason, and because no one has wanted to come and tell you them for me… gosh! It seems to me that I’m not offending anyone in this… Because you’ll see, Sotileza; you’ll see what happens to me. I didn’t notice it all at once, and I let myself get carried away, carried away by those swells I was taking on as I came in here; and you, you’re growing so much… Gosh, what a lot of wood you were putting up day after day, Sotileza! I wasn’t offending anyone by looking at that… it seems to me; nor was it to cheer my heart with the recreation of this hold, now and then.” Above, none of that: a lot of gloom… the honor of the people below on the balcony; lawlessness among one another… Gosh, this creates bad blood… even if one has it of sugar!… And that’s why I gave you that kick, Sotileza; otherwise, I wouldn’t have given it to you; and I know it, because if someone told me here: “Cleto, throw yourself headfirst into the wall,” I ‘d throw myself into the wall, Sotileza, if you consider it good enough for me, although nothing else would do me any good but throwing myself off the cliff… Well, well: I knew nothing about these feelings, Sotileza; I learned them here, without asking about them and without anyone’s offense… You see, it wasn’t my fault… I liked them, gosh! I liked them a lot, they tasted like pure honey to me; It’s as if I’d never seen myself in any other place, Sotileza!… And I was fed up, fed up with them… until they took me into the ark… And then, grave here, grave there, like seasickness inside; little sleep and a knot in the pannier… Look, Sotileza: I thought there was no evil like the sorrows of my house… Well, I slept better with them than with these feelings here below… Just so you know, darling! It seems to me that in this too I wasn’t offending anyone, was it, Sotileza?… Because at the same time that this was happening to me, I was loving you better and better every day, and I looked at you with more respect, and I was more eager to see your will in your eyes, to serve it to you without you ordering me with your tongue. And he goes on like this, months and months, and one year after another, with the ajogo in the ark and without knowing how to get out! Because, you see, Sotileza: one thing is the feeling of a man, and another is to relate it to him, without words, like me. Then, what you are… what I am: the same barreúra, compared to you!… But I couldn’t stand it any longer, Sotileza, and I went to men who understand, so that they would speak for me; but since it didn’t bother them , cloth! they slammed the door on my mouth. Look at you… Lack of charity! Because in this there was no harm done to anyone, nor was anyone insulted… Do you fully understand, Sotileza, what I’m telling you? Well, since no one has wanted to tell you on my behalf, I’ve come to tell you, dude! Sotileza, to whom Cleto’s loving feelings, which she had read to her quite clearly, were not surprised by this disjointed tale, given what she discovered; but she was surprised by the unexpected boldness of the narrator. She looked at him very calmly and said: “It’s true that there’s no harm in all that you’re telling me, Cleto; but why are you telling me now? ” “Dude!” replied Cleto, very surprised, “why are such things always told? So that they may be known. ” “Well, I already know, Cleto, I already know. ” “You know!… You couldn’t!” But that’s not enough, Sotileza. “What more do you want? ” “What more do I want! Cloth!… I want to be a man like so many I know; I want to find a life other than the one I lead, with this light that you yourself have kindled in me here inside; I want to live as one lives in this cellar; I want to work for you, and be clean, and inquisitive, and well-spoken, like you; I want to sweep the floor for you wherever you go, and, when you ask me, bring you to the serene sea, which no one has ever seen.” Does that seem like little to you, Sotileza? Cleto was truly transfigured at this moment, and Sotileza was amazed by it. “I’ve never seen you so spirited as you are now, Cleto,” he said, “nor with so many words. ” “The wave just broke, Sotileza,” Cleto responded, more excitedly, “and I myself believe that I am not what I was before. I even thought I was a fool! ” And cloth! Now I swear I’m not, with what I feel here, and it’s forcing me to speak… And if this miracle is yours without you insisting on it, what miracles wouldn’t you perform for me if you did? Look, Sotileza, I have no vices; I’m dedicated to work; I don’t know how to dislike anyone; I’m made of little; in the best of life, I’ve never known anything but sadness and grief… Seeing something very different here, you know how I regard it and who’s to blame for it; this house needs a man… Are you getting it, Sotileza? Sotileza was getting it too much; and that’s why he answered Cleto, rather curtly: “Yes; but what’s the point in my finding out? ” “Again, dude!” said Cleto, exasperated. “Or is that giving me the polite no?” “Look, Cleto,” Sotileza responded coldly, “I’m under no obligation to answer all the questions asked of me about these matters: that’s why I stay at home without telling anyone what to say . I don’t think anything of you, and I know very well what you’re worth; but I have my own way of feeling, and I want to keep it to myself for now. ” “As I said, Sotileza,” Cleto exclaimed, discouraged, “that’s a real risk for me to go down the drain. ” “It’s not as much as that,” Sotileza replied. “But put yourself in this situation, Cleto: if instead of the no you fear, I were to give you the yes you’re looking for, what would that gain you? If to enter this house, just to pass the time, you have to hide from the people in your house, what would that mean if what you want were to happen? ” “Exactly!… the same thing the others told me!… Damn it!” “That’s not the law!… I didn’t choose the family I have!” “But who told you the same thing I did, Cleto?” asked Sotileza, without noticing the poor lad’s exclamations. “Father Polinar, first of all. ” “Father Polinar!… And who else? ” Don Andrés. “Was that the person you went to with the story, you beast!… And what did he tell you? ” “A thousand indigenas, Sotileza… He left me dead! ” “You see!… And when did it happen?” “Yesterday afternoon… ” “You deserve it! Why are you going to anyone with those songs? ” “Man, I told you! I was playing with my hiccups… I lacked the courage to talk to you about it, and I was looking for people who would do it for me… I wouldn’t look for them today, man, since I’ve already started talking!” But that’s not the case, Sotileza. –What else? –That because they are bad up above, I bear the brunt. –I won’t give them to you, Cleto. –You’ve given me enough, damn it! If you close the door on me because of my own people. –I didn’t even go that far, Cleto. You didn’t mean to run slowly! I put you in a position. Do you understand now? –I’m afraid so, by the life of my fate!… But tell me straight, that’s why I came here!… Don’t let fear make you shrink, Sotileza… –Don’t make me talk!… –It’s worse if you keep quiet, look… for as I am! Come on, Sotileza… do I seem little to you?… Well, say how you love me: I’ll do my part , no matter how dear it costs. Is another one worth more, just in case? I’ll be more than him if you persist… –How stubborn, man! –If my life depends on it, Sotileza!… Would I risk it if not, damn it!… Look, it’s all it takes to have a little tenderness in your gut, and then the matter will take care of itself… You’ll tell me: “This is the way to go,” and I’ll go there happily… I’ll hinder you little: a little corner is enough for me, somewhere far away… Worse than the one I have now!… I’ll eat what you leave of what I earn for you so you can live in the shade… If I live on nothing, Sotileza! Look, just as God is in heaven, what makes me fat is a little law, a little charity, and a little joy for the waterer… Damn, how nice that will be!… So, you see what I’m asking for… It’s not to offend anyone, is it?… Because you don’t ask for the impossible. Sotileza finally smiled upon hearing the poor boy. He insisted in vain to extract a definitive answer from her. The persistence once again made her uncomfortable; and Cleto, restless and sullen, finally spoke thus: “Well, at least tell me that what I’m telling you doesn’t matter to you if you hear it from someone else. ” “And what does it matter to you, beast?” Sotileza burst out in a harsh, angry voice that froze the blood in Cleto’s veins. “Who are you to ask me for such accounts? ” “No one, Sotileza, no one! It’s just rubbish… and not even that much!” cried the poor boy, recognizing the blunder he had committed. “I was blinded by grief, and I spoke without thinking. Look, I didn’t do anything else… I swear by these. ” “Leave me alone. ” “But don’t take a dislike to me!” –Get out of the way, I’ve put up with you for too long. –Fuck, what bad luck! Won’t you forgive me? –Not if you don’t leave. –Well, I’m already walking. And so Cleto left the cellar that time, gloomy and sorrowful, when he thought he had been halfway to emerging triumphant and crowned. Chapter 21. MISCELLANEOUS MATTERS AND A GALA DEAD. It would be an insult to the reader’s perspicacity, however clever we may suppose it to be , and I will not suppose such a thing, to declare here, as important news, that Pae Polinar called the couple from the cellar on Calle Alta to his house to speak to them about the matter Cleto had entrusted to him. The poor friar, with the anxiety caused by the sermon he had been carrying on his mind, and the fear instilled in him by the women of Mocejón’s house, took that course in order to waste less time and avoid finding himself in a predicament that he so feared. He carried out his task with little enthusiasm, and even with the warning that he would neither enter nor leave, and the condition that, if the matter came to fruition, not a single fly in the air would know that his tongue had moved, not even for the little he said in service to the stubborn boy. “Cleto is a good person,” he said to the last of them. “On the one hand, he would be good for helping the house. He wouldn’t cause trouble there; but others would, just to see him there so at peace… You know who I’m talking about. Do you remember, Miguel? Do you remember, Sidora?… What people, damn it! What people!… On the other hand, although the girl is beautiful and truly honorable, and therefore only deserves a marquis, since marquises don’t seek out sailors to marry, Silda, sooner or later , will have to put up with a street urchin of the trade; And this street urchin, with a thick hair and a thick beard, will go there in fur and literature with Mocejón’s son after he’s clean and shorn. Do you understand what I’m saying?… Well, once the interested party’s wishes are known, let’s weigh the green and the green of this matter together as a family… and to hell with it, children; I’m neither coming in nor going out… and God save me from it, jinjo! The same green and ripe ones that Father Apolinar saw in the matter between Aunt Sidora and her husband, with the only difference that the former found a remedy for every evil; while for the latter, even the best seemed very bad as soon as he began to compare the polished gold of Sotileza with the rusty copper of the man who courted her . It is true that for Uncle Mechelín no gallant had been born into the world, nor would he be born so soon, that he would rightly deserve her. Sotileza had understood, from everything Cleto had told him after the message given to him by Father Apolinar’s maid, that the same point that had just been aired in the cellar had been discussed in the latter’s house. So, halfway through Aunt Sidora’s speech, after agreeing with her husband that it was almost a duty of conscience to consult, without losing a moment, the will of the interested party, she came out to meet him to relate what had happened to her with Cleto. “It’s better for us,” said Aunt Sidora, “because you’ll save us a lot of trouble by knowing it now. ” “Goodness me!” confirmed Uncle Mechelín, mechanically stamping one of his feet on the floor . Silda remained silent and sewed. Aunt Sidora added, after a moment of silence: “So you’ll say it, son of a bitch. ” “What do you want me to say? ” “Whatever you think about the case. ” “She keeps quiet because it’s known. ” “It’s not much to say. ” ” And there’s no need for more.” “I wish, son of a bitch, that you’d put your mind to the case… Today you’ve got nothing left, thank God; but tomorrow or the next… you see… we’re mortal, and old too, and in poor health… you’ll have to find yourself alone… and maybe very soon!… The caste is bad… bad!… it can’t be worse; “But he’s a lucky fellow, as noble as bread… With a bit of tidiness and a good dress, he’ll be a great man, because he’s a handsome man in himself… I’m not urging you so much to get your attention, but because this is a case where things should be put right, so that when you decide, you don’t fool yourself. ” “Grape!” said Mechelín, shifting from foot to stamp the ground. Since Sotileza wasn’t giving any insight, Aunt Sidora, somewhat stung by this, added immediately: “But, damn it, answer us something, for the love of God, so that someone knows your feelings!… If you’re afraid of fooling yourself, do you want us to ask Don Andrés for advice, for the case may be? ” “They won’t even lie to him!” the girl immediately jumped in. “There’s no need for that advice, nor anyone else’s either; for I know very well what’s best for me .” “Well, that’s what we want to know, son of a bitch: what’s best for you at the present time. ” “Grape! ” “It’s better for me to be left alone about these matters; that no more talk be said to me about them, because I don’t need it, because everyone understands each other, and I have plenty of tongue to say ‘this is what I want’ when necessary. I’m comfortable like this… and God will decide tomorrow. Do you understand me now?” And so, for that matter, for the time being, the matter remained. A very different one was being discussed with much more heat in all the gatherings and kitchens of the street, since the night before. This matter was the bargaining proposed by the Lower Council, and accepted by acclamation—by the full Senate—in Uncle Sevilla’s tavern. At that time, the seafaring Santanderians hadn’t even thought of getting involved in adventures other than those of the trade; and an endeavor of such nature stirred the enthusiasm of the young people in both Councils and heated the blood in the numb bodies of the veterans. Because this wasn’t just a private dispute between two rival boats, but an event that assumed all the solemnity of the great conflicts between two neighboring towns. It wasn’t a few rowers from the Lower Town Council challenging a few others from the Upper Town Council, nor was it a matter of winning, in an open competition, a prize offered by a private individual or the City Council; disputes in which rigging is possible to divide the prize among the competitors, and self-respect is barely affected; this was very different: it was a Town Council en masse challenging the other Town Council, No less than on the day of the challenger’s patron saints, patrons, at the same time, of the Bishopric, a very solemn festival in Santander; at high tide in the afternoon, around three-thirty; with the dock crowded with curious onlookers; and they were haggling over an ounce, taken from the very depths of the contenders’ treasure; and the sailors from Down Under were vain because there were so many of them compared to those from Up Above… In short, for them in particular, the event was a truly international issue; and therefore, it is not surprising that even the cats and dogs of Calle Alta were interested in it. For this reason, Uncle Mechelín’s bodega was busier than usual at night; Since he neither liked nor felt comfortable going out to the tavern, where the matter was much discussed, the comrades who truly loved him, and there were quite a few, would occasionally come to cheer him up with the gossip from the tavern, or to ask for his authoritative opinion, whenever necessary. All this greatly annoyed Andrés, because it kept him away from those places at the very time he felt the need to frequent them most, until he could obtain even a quarter of an hour of freedom to warn Silda, so jealous of her honor when it came to him, how exposed she was in the mouth of the savage Muergo. In this, he didn’t break his word, because when he pledged it, he hadn’t taken into account what he heard later from that beast. And even if in Silda’s opinion he had broken it, so what? If she was deceiving him, he would be a fool to keep such undeserved considerations: if Muergo was lying, it was almost his duty of conscience to warn her. But this coming and going of strangers , with what had already been said about him during his visits to the winery… and his father’s attitude, so different from that of other times; what he warned him about, what he watched over him… Luisa’s threats , which could be carried out at any unexpected hour… and amidst so many setbacks, spurred on at the same time by the impulses of his impatient and fiery character, he came up with the most absurd thoughts, and sometimes took his plans to the most dangerous extremes. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even surprised by it. Everything seemed fine to him, as long as he got his way. Everyone knew: thoughts crammed into Andrés’s head, a crazy resolution. On the other hand, Cleto was pleased, in his own way, with this unusual increase in the number of guests at the winery, because it made him go more unnoticed there. He entered like one of many, and Sotileza had no excuse to even accuse him of being stubborn. To observe without being observed; to see without being seen, as they say. This was achieved there at the time, and it suited him since Pae Polinar had told him he had the goodwill of the two old men on his side. How well the news went! With what he had told Sotileza and what they would add to it, his business could be arranged at any time . In the meantime, he had to be very careful and very prudent. And so he conducted himself, his chest full of hope. Muergo returned to the cellar two nights after his altercation with Andrés. With the nail that this incident left inside him, the pending issue between both Councils and half a jug of liquor that he was carrying, he caused a stir in the gathering, and his uncle forbade him from setting foot there again while these exceptional circumstances lasted, due to which tempers were very frayed in both Councils. The Upper One asked the Lower One, who was the challenger, how far he wanted the bargaining to go, and from where: he agreed to everything. The Lower One replied that it would go as far as Peña de los Ratones, from the ladder of Los Bolados, as usual. That same day, preparations began Above and Below. For now, they scrape the bilges and gills of the boats until they are smoother than silk; then they strengthen the benches, painters, and oarlocks; and then they do the fine careening until not a drop of water passes through; and tar comes that covers and does not weigh; and paints the sides, and finally, gives tallow to the bilges, or soap, if needed He feared the tallow would stick too much. The upper boat was painted white with a red ribbon; the lower boat, blue with a white ribbon. Cleto and Colo were part of the crew chosen for the first; Cole and Guarín for the second. Muergo was left without a place because he was unreliable in such a delicate endeavor; not for lack of drive, but for his brutal informality. He felt the slight in his own way; but he consoled himself with the thought that that day he would wear a new dress, shoes and all, and with the intention of testing the greased pole after the bargaining. And so August 30th arrived, to the rejoicing of so many people, and the laughter of Father Apolinar, who barely slept a wink the entire previous week, determined to commit to memory everything he had scribbled on paper for three full months. At dawn, Muergo was already on the Long Ramp, rubbing his big head and big legs with the seawater. Then, letting them dry on their own while he went back to his house to put on his new dress, he would run his cap over his face and comb his hair with his fingers. An hour later, joyfully fulfilling Sotileza’s wishes and request, he walked up to Calle Alta, bursting at the seams in his brand-new attire and slipping with every step on the sidewalks, because he couldn’t manage those shoes with their slightly convex, highly polished soles, which he had just worn for the first time. It seemed incredible to those who watched him how his ugliness stood out wrapped in fine cloth and a clean shirt. What a gleam of skin! What a mane of hair falling from under the wide cap with its corded tassel! What a sweep of his arms! What a smile of pleasure!… and what a gait those were! Sotileza crossed herself three times as soon as she saw him, and then she joined her hands and opened her eyes wide, as if she were amazed that nature’s jokes could go to such extremes. “Hold on like that, Muergo,” she said enthusiastically. “Let me cheer you up a bit from a distance. Praise the Lord! ” “Do you like me, my boy?” exclaimed the other, stopping sprawling in the middle of the little room. “Do I look good to you in this garb? Hoo, ho!… Where is my uncle?” ” They’re both at mass… Don’t leave until they get back… I want them to see you like this. ” “No need for them, my boy!… So that they’ll kick me out again… It’s for you that I come, Sotileza… because I offered it to you; And what’s more, I have something to tell you that I really hate. I’m coming in here, my dear! ” Well, look,” the girl responded with a resolute gesture, “if you ever talk to me about anything I didn’t ask you about, I’ll put you at the end of the street and you’ll never come back in. Do you hear that right? ” “My dear! You too? But if I have an idea, what’s the harm in throwing it out? ” “When the time comes. ” “It’s coming now, my dear! ” “I’m telling you no… and don’t be an idiot! Mother of God! What a way of dressing! Come here, you beast!” Muergo took two steps toward Sotileza. After looking him up and down, she undid the ill-made knot of his black silk cravat ; she tied it again properly; She stretched the pleats of his shirtfront and arranged the long, dangling ends of his silk marl handkerchief over it. Muergo let her do it, not even daring to breathe. He felt the impression of those gentle touches on his chest, and he trembled from head to toe. “What a mess of hair!” exclaimed the girl after she had finished with the cravat. “Why haven’t they sheared you a little, Arlot? Isn’t there even a comb in the whole Lower Council? ” And with that, she snatched the cap from his head and began to ruffle his hair with her fingers. “Virgin Mary, this is a dense forest! Wait until I fix it up a bit before I put the comb in.” And at the same time as she said this, Sotileza plunged her hands into the thicket. Muergo uttered muffled roars from his chest, and Sotileza, far from being intimidated by them, tugged here and there, the more he snored, the more eagerly she sank her fingers into the roughness. Suddenly Muergo let out a real bellow. “Does it hurt?” asked Sotileza, unwavering in his determination. “No, fist!” replied the barbarian, lowering his head further. “Pull me harder… harder!… I really like it!… Harder, Sotileza! Fist!… Like that, like that… Pull harder!… Harder!… Ouch!… Sotileza then jumped back because she felt Muergo’s huge hands around her waist. “Not that!” she shouted at the same time. “Yes, fist!” roared the monster. “What did you think?” And he advanced toward her, trembling and bristling, untamed, terrifying. In the corner of the living room there was a stick that Aunt Sidora had used to shake the wool off her mattress a few days before. Sotileza rushed at it; And before Muergo could touch the hair on his garment, two blows with his cane were already upon his soul, drawing out blasphemies. Muergo stopped there, roaring and eager. Sotileza dealt him another pair of blows with her cane. “Back!… further back!” she shouted, fierce and determined at the same time. Muergo retreated three steps. “Further back!” insisted Sotileza, brandishing the cane. “There… I stopped her!” And only when Muergo pressed his back against her did Sotileza abandon his threatening attitude. Muergo was panting, and Sotileza almost less so. She then spoke to him thus, as if she wanted to nail him to the wall with her words: “That’s your place, and this is mine. Do you understand? For the day you make another mistake will be the last time I look you in the face. Are you content?” “Yes, fist!” replied the other, as if bellowing a wild beast curled up in the corner of its cage. “Now take the cap,” said Sotileza with great serenity, after having lifted it from the ground. Muergo stretched out his hand. “First, comb your hair a little,” admonished the resolute girl, meanwhile very affectionately shaking the dust off the cap. Muergo obeyed without a word. “Now lower your head.” Muergo obeyed as well. Then Sotileza, with his own hands, put the cap on the man as it should be. “Don’t touch it,” he said after the other man straightened up, in whose chest a buzzing sound could be heard, like distant breakers. “Are you happy? ” “Well, look at me like other times,” replied Muergo. “Like that… like that! Oh, fist, what health that gives!” Sotileza burst out laughing, and immediately said: “Tell me now what you had to tell me.” Muergo, awakened by these words from the stupor into which the recent scene had plunged him, was about to tell Sotileza about the encounter he had with Andrés in the vicinity of the Zanguina; but Aunt Sidora and her husband, returning from mass, entered the hold , and the story was left unfinished. “Praise be to the Most Holy Name of God!” exclaimed the sailor woman, looking at her nephew. “In his lifetime, Satan himself imagined a picture like the one you have today! ” “Wow, you look like a bunting!” added Uncle Mechelín, crossing himself. With this and what had happened to him shortly before, Muergo’s patience ran out ; who, with two curses and a brutal interjection for good-bye, left there determined not to stop until Miranda, over whose hermitage the flag of the Cabildo of San Martín de Abajo had been waving since dawn, and the sonorous bell rang, delighting in all this the eyes and ears of the dizzying devotees who, step by step, were approaching there by the shortcuts of the short, deep valley in between. Chapter 22. THOSE ABOVE AND THOSE BELOW. El Sardinero, on whose solitudes a single building had been erected in a few days , destined to be an inn and lodging house, had once again become deserted and abandoned by all, due to a lamentable event3 that had occurred on its beaches. Summers passed, and only the occasional covered country wagon, which served as a vehicle and a tent for someone in need of the tonic battering of the waves, was seen there from time to time; The country dances, so famous here later, were at that time in a hurry, and they did not even take off. In all of them; it was beginning to be less in bad taste among wealthy families than it had become the habit of spending the summer in the village; a trip to Madrid was a three-day undertaking, and you could count on the fingers of the Santander residents who had seen the capital of France by sight ; we were visited for half a week by the distinguished herpeticians of Ontaneda, or at least the common among the rheumatics of Las Caldas or Viesgo, at the end of their seasons, as well as by a few families “from the interior” who, out of absolute necessity, came to soak their lamparones on the beaches of San Martín; and as for the lesser people, who didn’t have steamboats to the Shipyard, or trains to Bóo, or urban trams, or dancing societies for the sake of refinement, or other recreations that are so abundant now; Neither were the thoughts of some absorbed by difficult social problems, nor were the others kept awake by the cares of imitating the customs and attire of the ladies with pompadours, he would have a snack at the _Verdoso_ or at Pronillo, or would play so beautifully at the Reganche or in the meadows of San Roque, with variations of walks in the markets of the Muelle, when the weather did not allow the Sunday rags to be displayed in the open air. 3 The death of Brigadier Buenaga, on a day of great hangover. What I want to say with all this, and what I’m omitting so as not to repeat what I’ve already said in I don’t know how many books and on other occasions, is that if among local sailors the event of a regatta, in the times to which I’m referring, still caused the aforementioned impressions, it also aroused no small amount of interest among the land-based population, particularly if, as happened in this case, the day was very important, and the extravaganza added by the Municipality gave the spectacle a certain appearance of a maritime festival. Each Cabildo had its supporters in the city; and in contests of that nature, each partisan vigorously demonstrated his inclinations. The fact was that, although there was a pilgrimage in the meadows of Miranda, and the sun was shining brightly, by two in the afternoon the first line of curious onlookers was already standing firm on the very edge of the Muelle, from the Merlón inclusive, up to near the Harbor Master’s Office. Shortly after, the second line formed; and then the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, always pushing those behind the ones before them and weaving among all the young men, and the first never losing her poise, nor a spectator diving into the bay. How this miracle is worked, no one knows; but the miracle is a fact here at every moment. Behind the curtains stretched over the balcony railings, the ladies were already beginning to arrange themselves in tight clusters, those from the house giving preference to the guests from outside. In the background, bearded faces. Then the curtains gradually disappeared , and in their place appeared parasols and umbrellas of every imaginable color; so that each balcony offered the appearance of an enormous flowerpot with colossal flowers. On the pier, between the last row of curious onlookers and the houses, looking for holes or cracks through which to slip, the bewildered family of the apothecary of Villalón; explaining the intricacies of the regatta, which they have never seen before, to their respective and dolled-up wives, the traditional flour miller from Medina del Campo, or the withered magistrate from Valladolid; giggling with her sweetheart, the plump servant, and the syrupy chickens, not as puny as the cream of the crop today, waddling while they throw pieces of heart at the balconies with arrows of lifeless glances. From time to time, rockets are fired into the air from the Recreation Center and the rear of the Captaincy. Suddenly, the music of La Caridad resounds in the distance; then closer, and then closer still… until those with the least hearing can notice that a paso doble is playing, with very intermittent vigor. The crowds stir toward the Bolados staircase , a short distance from the Merlón, and the beardless musicians descend it ; and then, from boat to boat, from boat to boat and as God and their agility give them to understand, they manage to climb onto the The bridge of a ketch with a greased pole for a bowsprit: the City Hall’s greased pole. And the poor boys blow there again … And more rockets from there as well. The launches and boats surrounding the ketch and extending in a wide strip to the north and south, with other launches and boats opposite, also full of people, form a spacious street, at one end of which, the ladder end, two launches are anchored in a single line, parallel to the pier; and at the opposite end, another with a flag in the bow bearing the colors of Santander’s registry, fluttering from a short pine strip. That flag will be the credential of triumph when it is caught by the first launch returning from Peña de los Ratones, three miles south of the bay. A light breeze is blowing from the northeast; And taking advantage of this, the luxury skiffs, all their canvas and scallops, are whizzing around in the background of this lively and picturesque scene . The _Céfiro_ is not missing, skillfully steered by Andrés, accompanied by his friends; but not Tolín, who is on the balcony of his house, very close to the daughter of the merchant Don Silverio Trigueras. Halfway between the prize-flag launch and the ketch-marine in the greased perch, is, in the front row, Mechelín’s small boat with all the people from the hold and a few extras, most of them out of friendship, and few to help the veteran from Arriba with the oars. Pachuca, in her new skirt, and Sotileza, a frightful young woman, occupy the preferred place, that is, the center of the strip facing the open alley. By a cruel twist of fate, Mocejón’s family, filthy, nagging, and solitary, is in their filthy little boat, two boats back from Mechelín’s. Suddenly, a murmur rises among the people on board and those on land, drowning out the sad wails of the music, and a white launch with a red band appears like a whirlwind, to the south of La Monja and amid swirling foam, loaded with rowers eight abreast, barefoot and wearing tight white singlets with horizontal stripes, all fully clothed from the waist up. Almost at the same time, and on the opposite course, another blue one with a white band appears, ahead of the Merlón, also rowing lightly and manned in the same manner. Both are steered by oars by their respective skippers, standing on the stern . The two pass each other like two flashes of lightning, opposite the companionway, amid the joyful shouts of the crew; and they glide and fly, and mark their gull-like courses, graceful curves of white and ebullient wake. Either of the two would be capable of writing the name of their Council with their keels. Then, the rowing is slow: just a few more strokes with the oarsman’s blade… and then they fly again, only to suddenly remain with their wings extended in the air, rocking to the gentle sway of the turbulent waters. In these movements, they seem like fiery steeds worked by their riders to tame their impatience before entering the tournament arena. And there is something of this in the beautiful jousting of the boats before the race, since the rowers do it to warm up. Warm up like that! And with half of that, a strong fellow would have enough to keep him going for four days! Anyway, the tide is at its peak; the music sounds again; People of both stripes, that is, the sailor and the landman, descend into the two boats of respect next to the ladder; the two boats of the regatta enter the alley from the stern; each of them docks with another of the jury’s boats; they are held there by two judges, called _señores de tierra_, while the crews get in order and prepare for the lists; the agreed signal is given… and there it goes! The one from the Upper Council, that is, the white one, goes on the right. At the second _estropada_, it is in front of Mechelín’s boat; and then, amid the creaking of oarlocks and oarlocks, the creaking of oars on the painters, the murmur of the whirlwind stirred by the boats and the shouts of the rowers, the voice of Cleto stands out, rowing at the bow, throwing these resonant words into the air: “For you, Sotileza!” And Sotileza saw him stretch his sturdy trunk backward, and, with the strength of his arms, arch the thick palm oar, as if it were a Toledo steel. The rosy-cheeked street girl replied nothing with her lips, because the emotion felt by the event had overwhelmed her tongue; and she would have gladly said something, not for Cleto alone, although she did not cease to value his courtesy, for the piece of lobbyist honor that was at stake in the endeavor; but, on the other hand, old Mechelín, returned to the heat of his enthusiasm for the fire of those things, waved his Sunday cap in the air, and shouted with the voice of his best times: “Hurrah for you, brave one… and for everyone up there!” And the two boats pass by, as if propelled by a mysterious hurricane; and in three seconds they pass beyond the flag of honor that flutters in greeting; and the two wakes merge into one; and the tips of the enemy oars sometimes touch; and their blades fall and rise without ceasing, and as in time as if a single arm were moving them; and the trunks of the rowers bend and rise with unaltered rhythm: so that men, oars, and boat compose, in the dazzled eyes of the spectator, a single body governed by a single will. And so they go on moving away, without the most subtle eye being able to notice half a foot of advantage on either side. On such occasions, the outcome of the fight is usually decided by a stratagem; something like a timely trip-up; a surprise docking, for example, when the course of the most spirited cannot, in all fairness, be cut off; But in this case, the game is fair and square. Halfway across, they can already be seen further apart, gaining space on the right, because the ebb tide will soon begin, and they must reckon with the drift that would take them off course if they were now to head for the rock by the bow. Two minutes later, the naked eye cannot appreciate the difference between their colors; and a little farther on, they are two colorless, almost shapeless shapes, and the flapping of the oars is barely distinguishable except by the scintillation of the sun in the jets of liquid crystals that, as they rise, distill from their blades. Finally, one boat disappears behind the islet, and immediately the other… and both reappear to the east of the rock, the first maintaining the same advantage as when they both set. But which of them is the one coming first? Many spectators are in doubt: those who look through watchtower telescopes or theater glasses maintain that the street is changing; And, according to their opinions, their advantage is such that they have already won the game if they simply do not slacken their oars, even if the other redouble her efforts. Little by little, the two figures begin to take shape and increase in size , and movements and colors become apparent… Even the most inexperienced eyes can now measure the distance separating the two boats; and when the tall boat is on the bank of the Brigantine, the blue boat is more than a cable and a half aft. Neither of them, however, slackens their efforts: both are rowed with the same courage as at the beginning. If only one is to win, let the masters assess the merits of the less fortunate one. The tall boat advances like lightning and reaches the mouth of the wide channel; and from there, with the oars now akimbo, steered by its skillful skipper, it docks alongside the flag boat. Cleto snatches it with a jerk, amidst the cheers and applause of the people; and without losing her momentum, the victor reaches the Mechelín barchy; and there Cleto, disheveled, glistening with sweat, like all his comrades, says in his strong voice, trembling with enthusiasm: “Take it yourself, Sotileza!… so that you can nail it yourself with your hands!” And with the applause of all, companions and bystanders, he hands over the flag, which at that moment was the honor of the Upper Town Council, to the beautiful callealtera, who ties it with her own hands, as Cleto requested, to the peak of the cutwater of the triumphant launch. –Many rockets in the Recreation Center and in the Captaincy, and many trumpet blasts and rockets also in the ketch. While Aunt Sidora and her husband, mad with joy, embrace Cleto, and also Colo who leans closer to receive the applause of an enthusiastic Pachuca, a chorus of curses rises in Mocejón’s boat for the “shameless” feat of his son, and reaches near the mouth of the canal, to immediately change course and disappear behind the Merlón, the blue launch of the Lower Council. The callealtera had traveled six miles in twenty-five minutes. When this first part of the festivities ended, the contenders with the greasy pole were already on the deck of the ketch, naked except for the area covered by a picturesque loincloth. Muergo was one of them, and he was driven mad because he had just witnessed the episode with the barquia from there when the defeat of his Council’s launch was most distressing to him. He planned to take revenge on Cleto by offering Sotileza the greasy pole flag. As the people saw him appear at the mast, an exclamation of astonishment was heard advancing in waves from the crowd at the dock to those surrounding the ketch. He looked like an Australian barbarian, or a Polynesian savage. After two steps on the pole, his feet gave way; he lost his balance and fell into the water, tumbling and flailing in the air. At that time, he was considered something like a chimpanzee, shot down from the top of a tree in the virgin forests of Africa. Snorting in the greenish water, diving and rolling in it as if it were its natural element , a spotted whale calf. He resembled everything except a man of European race. And since he took the mockery for applause for his wit, with each attempt at assaulting the greased pole he committed greater atrocities. From the very first, Sotileza was eager to get away ; and since Aunt Sidora felt the same way and Uncle Mechelín wasn’t particularly amused, the boat’s oars were rigged, and it slowly moved toward Calle Alta. The reader and I will also distance ourselves from that spectacle, which, with or without Muergos, soon tires even the most patient spectators. Chapter 23. THE FEMALES OF MOCEJÓN. At night, the Zanguina was packed with customers, and the remaining passengers barely fit in the outer arches. The greased pole’s coins had been split among those fighting for them; and even so, a trap, arranged by someone who could have avoided it, was necessary to reach the end of the perch without diving. Unable to find his shoes upon leaving, after having painstakingly scraped off the grease that had stuck to his skin during the struggle and despite his soakings, he had decided to invest his profit in a stomach ache and a white handkerchief to give to Sotileza. Although the loss of the shoes caused him a tantrum at first, he later considered that they would be of no use to him since he couldn’t manage to walk in them, and ended up forgetting them. So, while the entire council was bustling around him, loudly discussing the afternoon’s events, he, silent and careless, stuffed his body with fried food and fresh bread, with long intermissions of red wine, especially when the devil was heaping on his memory the incident with the flag after the regatta; the flashes of green in the morning, when he was dreaming of something quite different, and even his nocturnal encounter with Andrés, a story he hadn’t been able to tell Sotileza… Andrés!… Many times that same afternoon he saw him circling the street barge with his boat! And what eyes the rascal had on something that was in it! To kill this little bug, a double lash; and thus he was weathering the storm so handsomely. In a group of those outside, Father Apolinar was chatting, very sulphurous. Taking aim at everyone, he had learned that his panegyric on the Holy Martyrs of Calahorra had not pleased the Chapter at all, and even that, in the opinion of some scrupulous person, the sermon was not worth anything. This indignity had the holy man disconcerted. “Horn with the doctors from the southeast!” exclaimed the friar. “Well, what are they accustomed to, jinojo? ” “About that, Pae Polinar,” replied a boat owner, very measured in his speech, “and without offending anyone, only since the year forty-nine when we alone built that chapel, because we were thrown out of Puntida to build those large houses that are there now; Only since those times, not counting those of the past, have first-rate things been said, motivated by the Holy Martiles, by men of many words and fine knowledge… the truth in advance, for Polinar, without offense to anyone. –First-rate things! First-rate things, jinojo!… What things! Plus or minus, always the same. That they cut off their heads in Calahorra, that the executioners threw them into the Ebro… and a lot of “oh!” this way, “ah!” that way… and a lot of nonsense at the end, jinojo!… Nonsense and nothing but nonsense. Did you know about the stone ship? –Who would be capable of not knowing it here, for Polinar? –Of course, man, of course. But how did I tell it?… How was the ship coming?… What course was it heading?… What weather and what seas were attacking it?… How did it reach this port?… Why didn’t it reach others before?… Have those golden-beaked men ever told you anything about it, with such skill and design? Did they know it, just in case, as I know it?… Did the Council itself know about the Rock of the Martyrs… the Horadada, as others call it? “Something was known about that, Pae Polinar. ” “Something, something! Knowing something is the same as knowing nothing about such important matters, damn it! Well, now you know it in every detail. You know that this admirable arch formed by the rock was made by the miraculous ship when it stumbled upon it and passed through it. And from whom do you know it?… Do you know it from the mouths of those vulgar preachers?” Well, you know it from having heard it from me this morning; from me, this poor friar of the convent of Ajo, who, despite teaching you so much in a sermon lasting three months of fatigue and more than fifteen texts in the best Latin, failed to please you… Daisies to pigs, children; daisies to pigs!… But later on you will see another; and this will be the best punishment that the gossip of those fanfares deserves, horn! And I will say no more, jinojo! because the garlic of this afternoon stings you very much, and I do not want you to think that I am happy about it, to take it as punishment from God… that I could well, horn! that I could well take it by that band without sin of vanity. Phew!… Tongues, tongues; _linguae corruptae_, wretched flesh, concupiscent flesh!… And goodbye, boys, I’m off to my chores… Of course, it goes without saying that one thing doesn’t negate the other. Father Apolinar’s door won’t be closed to anyone for that. But be careful not to knock on it, all the days of your life, on matters pertaining to the Chair of the Holy Spirit!… because then I won’t answer even if you knock it down… even if you knock it down, damn it! And he went off to Polinar, less angry than he himself believed. Meanwhile, he couldn’t stay on Calle Alta. Singing in the tavern, conversations from balconies to windows, merrymaking on the sidewalks , and dancing in the middle of the stream. The whole neighborhood was wild with joy… everything, except for Mocejón’s family, who, shut up in their cave, couldn’t stop cursing Cleto for the disgrace he had brought upon the house by doing what he did to the “fly downstairs” after the bargaining. And to further fuel the two furies, the incident was discussed in the street with general applause, because there was no trace of shame in the street, and it was common knowledge that no girl was more deserving than Sotileza of what was done to her , thanks to Cleto’s most gallant idea; and there had even been talked about whether or not they were copulating; about whether or not there were mutual and transcendental purposes between them, and if there weren’t, there ought to be… And much of this had been heard from the fifth floor; and in order not to hear it, the balcony doors had been closed and walled up to the cracks, Mocejón’s women preferring this expedient to giving free rein to their poisonous anger on such a compromising occasion for them. Because they had more than enough will, tongue, and skill to set the whole street in a frenzy in half a quarter of an hour. They had done it so many times!… But the occasion, the excuse, were lacking; a little, no more, of motive, of his appearance only; And as soon as they had him, and they would have him, because they were after him tirelessly… oh, then, then so-and-so in the cellar downstairs would pay for it all together, and she would learn what that wicked son, the infamous brother, the indecent, the animal, the scoundrel, the thug Cleto didn’t know! And they didn’t shut their mouths while Mocejón buzzed like a gadfly in the corner of the room, and the riddled lad savored the sweetest memories of his latest feat in Uncle Sevilla’s tavern, completely oblivious to the fervor of enthusiasm that surrounded him, and in placid repose. Mechelín’s cellar was overflowing with people when Andrés arrived. Because Andrés thought it was absolutely necessary to stop by to congratulate the veteran and have a few small chats with the family on such a momentous occasion. Aunt Sidora was bursting at the seams; her husband seemed to have shed twenty years from his shoulders. Sotileza, after the excitement of the afternoon, was back to his usual poise. The well-dressed fisherman, concluding his long haggling, said to Andrés: “Look here, man, that damned boy’s warning was well-founded! You’d see for yourself, he wasn’t far off… I’m talking about the flag he gave Sotileza so she could tie it to the boat herself. I’m telling you not to believe him! And I liked the message. Why would you deny it? And you too, Sidora, who were even making a face out of sheer satisfaction… and even this little angel of God, whose color sank and his hands trembled… and everyone in the street, man, who is talking nonsense about the whole thing!” “Would you believe, Don Andrés,” added Aunt Sidora, “that the boy is now acting as if he had committed a mortal sin with us? Could that creature be a blessing in God?… Just imagine! Others, in his case, would have pointed the idea out. ” “Great!” confirmed Uncle Mechelín. To ask Andrés if he had noticed the incident, when he hadn’t missed the slightest detail of it!… To commend Cleto’s idea, and Cleto’s merits, and even Sotileza’s gratitude , when he had it all together, in a lump, stuck in his throat a few hours before!” But how could the honorable couple have suspected, even if they had known about the Ambojo grove and what followed in the cellar, that a young man of Andrés’s apparent talent could develop the obsession of not enduring even flies tangling in the waves of Sotileza’s hair without his permission? Sotileza knew better; and to find out, with a quick glance she read on Andrés’s face the negative effect her praise of poor Cleto’s gallantry was having on him . Therefore, she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but she couldn’t. Uncle Mechelín, assisted by his wife and the guests, among whom were Pachuca and Colo, persisted in his subject; and since he saw everything in a rosy light at that time, and wanted everyone happy and contented at his side, he ended his congratulations and eulogies by saying: “Tomorrow will be Sunday for you too, Sotileza!” Since you love amusement so much, you’re coming with me on the boat at mid- morning. We’ll be back a little after mid-afternoon. “There’s a lot of unfinished sewing,” Sotileza replied. “It can’t be tomorrow,” said Aunt Sidora, “because I have to be in the Plaza all day. He’ll be there another time. Nordá, you son of a bitch? ” “By the life of the unborn!” exclaimed Mechelín. “Another day I might not be in such a good mood as I’ll be tomorrow. But, anyway, I’ll try to be. Nordá, you little salt of God?” When Andrés left the cellar, very soon after this conversation, while he was walking down the street toward the Cathedral, he swore he had an importunate horsefly in each ear that was constantly buzzing the same words. A little further on, these words, which sounded in his ears, were the seeds of thoughts that were swirling around in his head; as he walked on, these thoughts engendered resolutions; and these resolutions filled his memory with memories; and these memories produced extremely violent struggles; and the struggles, serious reasonings. and the reasonings, dazzling sophistries; and the sophistries, purposes again; and these purposes, tumults and waves in her chest. Thus she arrived home, and thus she spent the night, and thus she woke up the next day, and thus she went to the study; and that’s why she deceived Tolín at mid-morning and, for the second time in her life, with another ill-forged pretext, to neglect all her duties. As she turned, a quarter of an hour later, onto Calle Alta by way of Cuesta del Hospital, not without first passing by the Fish Market and seeing Aunt Sidora from afar under her canvas awning, Carpia, who was leaving her house, suddenly retreated; she went into the doorway, went up the stairs, and lay in wait on the landing of the second flight. From there, trying not to be seen, she saw Andrés enter the cellar. She then
flew up to the fifth floor; spoke a few words with her mother, and went back out onto the stairs; She went down to the doorway without making a sound; and on tiptoe, holding her breath, like a fox raiding a henhouse, she approached the cellar door. Craning her neck, but taking great care not to poke her head through the gap in the wide-open door, she learned from the whispers that reached her subtle ear that the “scoundrels” were not opposite the carriage, but at the other end of the small room. She listened more and heard isolated words that sounded to her like recriminations from Sotileza and excuses and impassioned lamentations from Andrés… No matter how hard she strained her ear, which was already sharp, she couldn’t catch a single sentence that would reflect the truth of what was happening there. “And what do I care about the truth of what might happen between them?” she said to herself, realizing the futility of her curiosity. “What matters is that people believe the worst.” And that’s what he’s going to believe right now. And immediately he buried his disheveled head in the doorway; he looked at the keyhole of the door, which was against the wall of the alley; he saw that the key, as he suspected, was on the outside, which greatly simplified his work; he advanced two steps quietly, very quietly; he stretched out his arm and brought the door towards him, very carefully so that the hinges wouldn’t creak; he began to lock it little by little, very slowly, while the murmur of conversation grew inside; and when he had thus turned the bolt of the lock, he removed the key and put it in his petticoat pocket. He immediately
went out of the doorway onto the sidewalk; he called his mother from there; and as soon as Sergeant answered on the balcony, he said in a serene tone, as if it were a common, everyday matter : “Now!” Here, a few bars of silence. There are few people on the street; a few sailors mending underwear on balconies, or leaning out of a mezzanine window, or murmuring in a doorway. Carpia is outside her house, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Dirty children are rolling here and there. Suddenly, Sargüeta’s voice is heard: “Carpia! ” “Lady! ” “What are you doing? ” “You’re not thinking about it. ” “Get up here with a thousand thunderbolts.” “I don’t feel like it. ” “I’ve already told you never to stop where you are… and you know very well.” You, why!… What a fine house you have, where I can relax without disturbing anyone!… Upstairs, I tell you again! –Caraspia, I don’t feel like it! Do you hear? –Come up, Carpia, and don’t ruin my patience!… You have nothing to do where you are! –I have a lot to do, Mother, a lot!… More than you are sure of, Caraspia!… I am keeping up the honor of the staircase, yes! and the honor of the whole neighborhood. From today on, everyone must know who each one is!… Why is my face burned by the holy empires, and why are others so white and polished! Caraspia, this cannot be borne! In one’s own eyes!… In the very light of the day! Is this shameful, Mother? Is this shameful? Well, I’m here now to throw it in her face… so that this can be over once and for all, and the people of honor can stay in their houses, and the filth can go to the cleaners! That’s what it’s for… The fly! The indecent!… –But, woman, what’s this? What’s going on, Carpia? –That the…ink and the lady, alone, the poor people of God, are in the cellar with the doors closed!… and this house, from the portal up, isn’t one of those dealings, caraspia! Here the kids are already approaching Sargüeta’s daughter; passersby are stopping; balconies that were closed are opening, and women who had previously been sitting between doors are leaning on the railings . And Sargüeta retorts from the balcony to her daughter, who is wriggling on the sidewalk in front of the doorway: “And this astonishes you? And that’s why you’re suffocating, innocent of God? Well, it was plain to see! It was right before your eyes! But even so, keep your suffocation, for some who are listening to us may ask you to account for what you say… Because there wouldn’t be any people of ill repute here if there weren’t scoundrels to cover them up, daggers! And before the face of God, she who sells herself for a piece of shit is as much a scoundrel as she who embodies it… And there are many of these cover-ups here, daggers! And those are the ones who trick the children of families to get them into these perditions and to insult good people! Those, those! And for what they suck up!” And what they stick to!… And what they’re worth!… That’s how I am without a son!… That’s how they tricked me!… Scoundrels!… He didn’t even remember her! He lived at peace in his own house!… Suddenly Sargüeta notices a neighbor across the street, who was staring at her. What are you doing here, you idiot?… Does what I say sting you?… Does it sting your conscience? “Shut up, you slanderer, you loose tongue!” says the aforementioned, who hadn’t even thought of getting into a fight, but who doesn’t refuse it since it’s so close at hand. “What have I got to do in your house if not my health, just by looking at her? ” Carpia from below: “Leave her, mother, leave her, because with that she’ll stain even the garbage she throws in her face!” “I should leave her!” exclaims Sargüeta, untying the knot on her headscarf only to do it again with hands trembling with rage. “I should leave her!… I’d leave her without a hair on her bun, daggers! If I had her closer! ” “You with me?” says the one across from her, starting to get nervous. “You sycophant!… a sucker’s mouth! ” “You, yes, gossip!… cover-up girl!… And also that other sycophant who’s provoking you against me! ” The “other sycophant,” from her balcony: “Get out, get out, Suleiman, with that devil’s big mouth, you sycophant!… scandalous woman!… drunkard!” Carpia, from below, without silencing those above: “Scandalous!…” Ask her, mother, why her husband skinned her the other night… And if she doesn’t dare sing it, let her neighbor’s witch sing it, because she’s running her balls so far up her throat, caraspia! The “witch” from the mezzanine, without silencing those above: “I would skin anyone! Shameless woman!… sneering!… envious!… Did she tell you just in case?” “I was told by someone who saw it with her own eyes… and she won’t let me be a liar at this time… because hearing it is fine.” Near here, look out the window, for the record… Faceless woman, don’t pretend, everyone knows I’m speaking for you! The one at the window, amidst the clamor of all the others: “For me to say those things to you, it would be necessary for me to lower myself to exchange a word with you and to remember indecent scarecrows like that other one… And you, sycophantic bitch, why do you pull someone’s tongue when you’re a sack of wickedness, like the mother who gave birth to you? You’re misgoverning… you sleep like coffee pots on the balcony for lack of a bed!… you filthy pigs!… The “indecent scarecrow:” ” What more would you want, skinless, shirtless one, than for me to allow you to take my name in your mouth?” The one at the window: “Puaa!” There goes your name right now!… Go down and pick it up in the street garbage, it’s staining it!… And here I cut the sample from the cloth of the procedures by which Mocejón’s women go about engaging each other in the fight, and at the same time subdividing it into many others and for just as many different reasons; so that in less than a quarter of an hour the whole street is, as Don Quixote would say, just as if the discord from the field of Agramante had been transferred to it, because “there they fight for the sword, here for the harness, there for the eagle, over there for the helmet, and everyone fights and everyone doesn’t understand each other.” Shouts are being shouted at the top of their lungs, and words are vomited out whose crudeness cannot be represented by signs of any kind, because there are none to depict their character, liquor-soaked, torn, and malodorous all at the same time. All the brawlers shout at once, and it’s no longer a question of responding to one disgusting attack with another more ragged one, but of expelling, at the top of their lungs, all the insults, all the clumsiness, all the stench that occurs to them with each of their furies. For the success of these purposes, the human voice, however loud, is not enough in the midst of the infernal uproar, and gymnastics is called in, because simple vulgar mimicry wouldn’t suffice either. That’s why a woman stamps her feet here, her hands on her hips; and there another twists and turns, tying and untying her headscarf ten times in succession; and another rises and falls further away, her eyes dazzled and the veins on her neck popping; someone beats her hips wildly with closed fists, or spanks her bottom with open hands; Another throws her trunk over the balustrade, and with her hair over her eyes and her doublet untied, brandishes both arms in the air; and others, finally, like the women of Mocejón, do it all in an instant, and even more so, without giving peace or rest to their throats, or a moment’s respite to their cursing tongues. This spectacle was nothing new on Calle Alta; and since it was not, passersby gave it little importance when they noticed it; but when they asked the first spectator, leaning against a wall or sprawling in the middle of the sidewalk, about the reason, they heard mention of the supposed engata from Mechelín’s cellar, which was why Carpia was there, more intent on spreading these rumors through the street than on defending her ground in the battle, especially since it had reached the desired ardor and movement. And passersby and curious onlookers of all kinds were gathering closer and closer, one by one and little by little, until they formed a thick and wide group in front of the door. As the questions continued, names and surnames were announced, curiosity was heightened, and the usual comments ensued. From time to time, the cellar door rattled from within; and then Carpia’s mouth contained bloody jokes about the rogues who were thus pretending to be locked together against their will. The honest reader will easily understand the situation of those unfortunate people. Subtlety, in the heat of the profound displeasure caused by the sudden arrival of Andrés, discouraged, confused , and stammering, a sign of the absurdity of her resolution; attentive She had only harshly reproached him for his reckless behavior, but had not heard the tiny noise the cellar door made when Carpia closed it, or had attributed it, if she had noticed it at all, to causes quite different from the real one; and as for Andrés, not even a cannon shot could have distracted him from the bewilderment that Sotileza’s resolute attitude had placed him in . Nor did the first, and to her, confused voices of Carpia addressing his mother attract her attention , since the women on the fifth floor had grown accustomed to hearing them converse much more loudly from the balcony overlooking the street. But when the crowd began to ruffle and the shouting became more resonant, the very seriousness of the situation in which the poor girl found herself excited her curiosity; And, interrupting her harsh recriminations to Andrés, who found no reply on his lips, she turned away from him to observe what was happening outside from the same small room. As soon as she saw the closed door at the other end of the alley, she rushed up to it; and upon discovering that it was unlocked and the bolt of the lock was loose, she exclaimed in terror, bringing her clasped and convulsing hands close to her mouth: “Our Lady of Sorrows!… what they’ve done to me!” Then she looked through the keyhole and saw Carpia standing by the street door, and around her, some curious people questioning her and then looking toward the cellar. She felt a deadly chill in her heart, and she lacked the breath even to call Andrés, who, stunned and motionless, was watching her from the small room. Finally, she called him with a sign. Andrés approached. Sotileza, with the color of death on her face, her beautiful eyes wide open, and trembling from head to toe, said to her: “Do you hear the shouting well? Well, now look what we see over here.” Andrés looked for a moment through the keyhole, and after that, he didn’t say a word, nor did he dare to look into Sotileza’s eyes, while she questioned him thus, between anguish and anger: “Do you know what this is? Do you know why this door is closed?” Andrés didn’t know what to reply. Sotileza continued: “Well, all this has been done to destroy my honor. Look, look how they’re trampling on it in the street! Virgin of Solitude! And it’s your fault, Andrés! You, it’s your fault! Do you see how what I feared has now come to pass?” “Are you happy now?” “But where is the key?” Andrew roared, his dejection suddenly turning into despair. “Where is the key! Don’t you suspect it? In the hands or in the purse of that scoundrel who locked us up… because she’s been plotting something like this for a long time to ruin me! And she’d see you come in here; and so that you and I would be clearly seen leaving the cellar together, she and her mother must have started that quarrel… because they have that as a profession. Are you getting it, Andrew? Are you getting it right now, how much harm you’ve done me today!” Andrew, as his only reply to these heartfelt exclamations from the unfortunate girl, rushed to the door and in vain added to the strength of his arms all that desperation lent him to force the lock. Then he beat on the blackened planks with his iron fists. He got nowhere. “Give me a crowbar, Silda… a stick… anything!” he shouted immediately . “I need to open this door right now, because I have to strangle someone with my hands! ” “Don’t worry,” Sotileza told him with an air of bitter resignation, “it will open in due time, that’s why it was locked. ” Andrés left the door and ran to the living room, remembering the window there. But the window had a thick iron grille. There was no point in moving it. He saw the stick Sotileza had used to dust Muergo off the day before, and tried to pry the lock off by levering one end of it against the door frame; but the lock was held in place by thick nails riveted on the outside. He stuck the stick under the door and pulled upwards; and the stick broke instantly. Then he stuck his Her own fingers, on her knees, he pulled with all his might… and nothing: not even a splinter of those planks of hard oak. Meanwhile, the commotion outside grew, and the group of onlookers in front of the doorway thickened; and Sotileza, feverish and restless, often applied her eyes and ears to the keyhole and learned everything. She saw the anxiety about the scandal painted on the faces turned toward the cellar, and heard the infamous words spewed against her honor from the infernal mouth of the sardine seller; and every moment she ran, unable to escape that shameful prison, she felt on her face the pain of a new thorn, one of the many that the scourge of shame was driving into her. What would the honest and affectionate sailor say if, upon returning from the square, she found the street in that state and learned what was happening before she could tell him the truth! And the old sailor! Virgin Mary! What a blow for the unfortunate man when he returned that evening so proud and joyful! These considerations were the main tormentors of the unfortunate Silda; and in the vehemence of her desire to get out as soon as possible to settle the dispute over her honor before the neighbors, she also began to bang on the door, utter threats, and vent her despair loudly through every crevice. As soon as Andrés became convinced that there was no way out by force, he fell again into a profound depression, which frightened him to the point of covering his ears to avoid hearing the uproar outside, and of begging Silda not to overwhelm him any further with the weight of her most just reproaches. Then he saw with perfect clarity the senselessness and criminality of the endeavor he was engaged in, and the terrifying impact his unforgivable folly would have on everyone around him. At one of these moments, as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and Sotileza stood in the middle of the room, her fists on her hips, her gaze lost in the accumulation of her thoughts, her mouth half-open, her face pale, and her high chest heaving, Andrés suddenly said, raising his handsome head: “Silda, whoever does wrong, pays for it; and if this is the law even in matters of little or no consequence, in disputes of honor it must be even more so. I am now tarnishing your good name… ” “What do you want to tell me?” Sotileza asked harshly, breaking out of his painful abstractions. “I will wash away the stains that fall on your honor because of me, as good men do.” Sotileza bit her lip, and fixing her clouded eyes on Andrés , she said immediately : “Wash away the stains on my honor!… You’ll do enough to clean up _down there_ the ones that are now falling on top of yours! ” “That’s not answering fairly, Sotileza. ” “But it is speaking the truth about what I feel. Oh, Andrés! If you were counting on that idea to care so little about doing me this great harm, what a pity you didn’t warn me! ” “Why, Silda? ” “Because you could have excused me by telling you that I would never take the remedy you’re offering me. ” “That you would never take it? ” “Never. ” “And why? ” “Because… because not. ” “Well, what more can you ask of me, Sotileza?… What is it you want? ” “Nothing from you, Andrés… or from anyone.” “What I want now,” said Sotileza, turning erect, impatient and convulsed towards the mouth of the alley, “is for that door to be opened… so that I can get out into the street as soon as possible and look the people face to face! That ‘s what I need, Andrés; that’s what I want; because with every moment I spend in this dead-end dungeon, something inside me burns . ” “And what do you plan to do when we get out?” asked Andrés, dejected again by considering this ordeal. “You don’t ask that of a woman like me,” said Sotileza, who was growing increasingly angry by the second. “But where do I get out, my God? And I want to get out! I’m suffocating in these tight quarters! Virgin!” María… what a pity! Andrés, deeply moved by the desperate young woman’s situation, left the parlor, determined to make another attempt at the cellar door. As he approached, his feet tripped over an object that clanged as it slid across the floorboards. He picked it up and saw that it was a key. Who had put it there? And what did it matter? Andrés was so afraid of going out in the middle of the storm that continued to rage in the street that he hesitated to hide the discovery from Sotileza. “What are you doing, Andrés?” she asked, watching him from the parlor. Andrés ran up to her and showed her the key, explaining where he had found it. Sotileza let out a roar of ferocious joy. “Ah… the infamous one!” he said immediately. “She threw it under the door!… Right on!” so that we can open it from the inside and make it believe what she wants… Well, we’ll see if the trick works for you, you scoundrel!… Sotileza said all this, trembling with emotion, as she rushed to the key and recognized it with a burning glance, after snatching it from Andrés’s hand. He, momentarily forgetting the extremely difficult situation in which he found himself, contemplated with astonishment the transformation that was taking place in that creature, incomprehensible to him. She was no longer the cold-faced woman, of serene reason and harmonious speech; she was not the discreet girl who extinguished fiery and crafted reasoning with the ice of a massive reflection; nor the provocative beauty who raised storms in hardened hearts with the sparkle of a single glance; nor the gallant beauty who, to be a distinguished lady, in the opinion of the bewildered Andrés, only needed a change of clothes and abode; Nor, finally, the modest maiden who had been weeping, moments before, for the risks to her good reputation. She was now the savage woman; she now showed the streak of the vagabond from Muelle Anaos and the beaches of Baja Mar; her eyes now had bloodshot streaks, and her voice, usually so harmonious and pleasant, had hints of a sardine seller, like those that at that time filled every corner of the street. Thus he saw her move away from him like a whirlwind, reach the door, open it with a trembling hand, step out into the doorway, and throw herself into the middle of the group blocking the adjacent sidewalk. Meanwhile , he didn’t even find the strength in his legs to hold her fainting body upright. But he considered such an attitude the best testimony to his imagined delinquency; and he suddenly recovered and emerged from his hiding place behind Sotileza, determined to do anything, though with no other plan than to protect her. Peeking out of the doorway, Sotileza saw the image of the hated Carpia amidst the thickest part of the group. She didn’t even hesitate. She rushed at her with the courage of a hunted beast, pushing aside the crowd, who didn’t try to block her way; and placing both hands on her shoulders, she said, piercing her eyes with the steel of her gaze: “Raise that rotten head and look me in the face! Do you see me, you rogue? Do you see me clearly, you scoundrel? Do you see me as you like now? ” Carpia, being what she was, didn’t dare at that moment even to protest against Sotileza’s shaking of her face to bring it closer to hers. She was so fascinated by the fierce gaze and the resolute attitude of that wounded lioness, if only the weight of her sin didn’t also influence her unusual shrinking! Subtleza, growing more excited as the other grew more intimidated, added, without letting her escape from her grasp: “And did you think it was enough for a scoundrel like you to dishonor a respectable woman like me to get away with it ? When did you ever dream of it, you scoundrel! You kept my door closed like a treacherous vixen, and when you saw an honest man enter my house, who enters it every day before God’s face, you locked us in there, thinking that when you both left with the key you slipped under the door, you were going to insult me in front of the neighbors you and your scoundrel of a mother have amassed here, with one of those scandals you know how to raise whenever you feel like it.” “Well, I’m here! You’ve got me out on the street! So what? Do you think there’s anyone there, no matter how God-forsaken they are, who would dare to think of me what you want?” As Sotileza continued shouting, the arguments calmed down as if by magic: all eyes turned toward her, and all minds remained suspended by her words and gestures. Sargüeta retreated from her balcony hastily, like a reptile hides in its hole upon hearing nearby noises; and Carpia thought her world would fall apart when she found herself in the middle of that silent crowd, alone with her implacable enemy, and so burdened with iniquities. “See?” continued Sotileza, without letting go of Carpia and looking bravely at the groups and balconies. “She doesn’t even dare to deny the wickedness I accuse her of! Is the infamous woman truly forsaken by God!” Look, you envious and heartless woman! I left the prison in which you held me, with the intention of dragging you along the ground: so blinded was I by rage! But now I see that for your punishment, besides what is giving you conscience, this is enough. And he spat in her face. Immediately, with a strong shove, he pushed her away from him. There was hardly anyone in the street who did not have some grievance to avenge at the tongue of that unfortunate woman; and so, when in a fit of fury, seeing herself thus affronted, she tried to launch herself at the undaunted Sotileza, a chorus of insults frightened her, and a wave of people carried her more than ten yards up the street. A young girl then approached the triumphant Silda and said to her in a very loud voice: “I saw her, from right there in front of me, lock the cellar door.” “And I put the key from underneath, halfway around the corner, which she gave beforehand discreetly,” added an old man with a sniffle hanging from his nose. “I should have said it myself first, because I am a man of truth; but one must be very careful with a villainous dog , as long as it is not chained. ” “I couldn’t have been mistaken myself… because it couldn’t have been anything else!” exclaimed Sotileza, congratulating himself on these two unexpected testimonies . “But it’s good that someone saw it… and God grant that you dare to speak out loud somewhere else, if the person who can punish these infamies with the law asks you!” The unfortunate woman could bear it no longer: a sob choked her voice in her throat; she put both hands to her eyes and ran to hide her grief in the most remote corner of the cellar. There she shed oceans of tears, surrounded by the loving compassion of Pachuca and other neighbors, who let her weep, because only crying could soothe a heart filled with such bitter sorrows. And Andrés? What a role he played… and what a punishment for his carelessness! He never went beyond the doorway. From there, he observed that everyone’s curiosity was being satiated by what Sotileza was doing and saying, and that she didn’t remember him at all. And as soon as the group in front of him turned to overwhelm Carpia, and drew the gaze of the people on the street behind him, convinced, moreover, that the victim of his imprudence was no longer in any material danger, he left the doorway and slid, as if unnoticed, down the sidewalk until he reached the slope of the Hospital, where he breathed deeply, stamped his feet twice , clenched his fists, and accelerated his pace, as if sharp hooks were chasing him to stop him. Going down to Ribera over the bridge, he saw Aunt Sidora, who was coming up Somorrostro Street with another sailor, suddenly stop and burst out laughing, her chest and stomach trembling. That laugh was a lash on Andrés’s face and a clamp on his conscience. He quickened his pace even more, and walked like that, without knowing where, until lunchtime; and then he went into his house, not daring to measure with his imagination all the resonance that that event could have, whose details, seared into his memory, made his face redden with shame. Chapter 24. FRUITS OF THAT SCANDAL. If the case had resonance! How could it not have with that apparatus, at that hour, with Andrés being who he was, and his accomplice so famous in the neighborhood, and even outside the neighborhood, and the city still so small! Everything was known, everything, and much more; because the imagination of the common people is extremely fertile in suppositions, and the freshness of the people is imperturbable in accrediting them with great semblance of truth; and it was said… who is capable of knowing what was said, and how the snowball was rolling, and growing, growing, until the blindest could see it and the deafest could perceive its creaking? Don Pedro Colindres frequented many places whose crumb was the tarry smell. There the entire gathering of tertulianos were people of his profession; and among these people, with more enthusiasm than among others, circulated the true and the imagined about the very fresh event on Alta Street. No one was so imprudent as to relate the story in detail to the father of the protagonist of the story; but the captain, with the waste of so many conversations on the same subject, cut short when he approached the narrators, gradually accumulated misgivings that, combined with the precedents he already had, instilled by his wife, came to cause him very serious concerns. The captain found them unbearable before he did; because the friends who approached her, newly saturated with such news, were less prudent than the captain’s friends, and left her, with the sting of presumptions, two fingers from the truth. The little that was missing until finding her, Andrés had written in his nervous confusion, in his distracted air, in his alarming unease. When, barely after dark, he entered the house in the same state in which, to their surprise, they had seen him at the time of sitting down at the table, his father called him to the study where he had just had a long conference with his wife. Andrés answered the summons without even attempting to hide the moral martyrdom in which he found himself. He entered the study as a courageous prisoner enters the chapel: with agony in his spirit, but not indomitable or desperate. Don Pedro Colindres, seeing him thus, noticed that his indignation was turning to deep sorrow, and he said to him: “In all fairness, you cannot consider me, Andrés, a hard- hearted father; you cannot say that I have enslaved you to my whims, an intractable man; that I have not given you all the freedom you have asked for; that I have not done everything possible to win your submission with affection, and not with harshness.” “Because I have not desired fear in you, but rather respect, and, in everything compatible with what you owe me, trust. ” “It is the pure truth,” responded Andrés. “Well, as proof that you believe it and that you are not ungrateful, you are going to declare right here, right now, what is happening to you, what happened to you this morning.” Andrés felt his body bathed in a cold, deadly sweat; the strength he had counted on failed him, and he sank into a chair next to which he was standing. His mother was alarmed to see him so pale and jumped up from the sofa where she was sitting to him. The captain also approached, but not alarmed, for he knew better than his wife the cause of his son’s faintness. “What is the matter, Andrés?… my son!” exclaimed the captain, taking his head in her hands. “Nothing,” responded Andrés, straightening up and trying to smile with a great effort of will. “Of course it’s nothing,” Don Pedro observed to reassure his wife. Then, bending his body until he was between her and his son, he spoke to him thus, softening the natural harshness of his accent as much as he could: “I know well how difficult the situation I’m putting you in with my demands is; but what a devil! We men endure tougher storms , with our spirits down, yes, but with a calm face… You see, we must set an example… With a little willpower, and a clear head , son… Do you have any qualms about speaking in front of your mother… about certain things that will be involved?… Do you want her to leave?” from here?… Do you have more confidence in her and want me to leave ?… Frankly, man, whatever you want!… Whatever you want, son, as long as you then get us out of these anxieties that are suffocating us! “I don’t want anyone to leave,” responded Andrés, “because nothing I have to say is to affront me for what it was in itself, although, by my manner, it may have seemed that way to some. ” “Well, now we are listening to you,” said the captain. “So she speaks; but without hiding from us even an iota of the truth.” Here Andrés began to relate the case with the greatest accuracy, and even with embellishments of his own making, to give it more color and interest, with the holy end of highlighting, in the greatest possible light, the iniquity of the women of Mocejón. The captain covered her eyes with her hands as her son described the shouts of the brawlers and the eagerness of the curious while he was locked in the hold, and when she came out to the door behind Sotileza, like a storm, and later rushed out into the street, seeing flashes in her eyes and her feet stepping on fire. “What shame, Holy Virgin, for you… and for all of us, Andrés!” exclaimed the captain as her son finished the story. The captain let out a tarred swearword, although half-sail’d; and, looking at his son with a harsh frown, he spoke thus: “The story isn’t badly told; and I say this because, just hearing it from you, I could have sworn my whole face was turning red. But the most interesting part is yet to come, and I hope you’ll tell us about it with the same accuracy with which you’ve told us the rest. ” “Well, there’s nothing left to tell,” said Andrés, with very little sincerity. “There is,” his father exclaimed. “Now you have to tell us why you were going to that cellar on Calle Alta. ” “Well, I was going,” Andrés replied, very hesitant and bewildered, “to pick up some gear that…” “That’s a lie , Andrés, a lie!” his father interrupted him in a very angry voice and gestures. “That’s the only reason, since it could have happened at any other time of the day or night, you haven’t missed your duties at your desk, as you did this morning. Tell us the truth, Andrés! ” “I’ve already confessed it. ” “I repeat, you’re lying! ” “But what do you want me to tell you?” Andrés asked, in an accent that blended quite obvious annoyance and poorly concealed anger. “The truth, nothing but the truth,” his father insisted. “What intentions brought you to that house at such an hour?” “The ones that have taken me so many times,” Andrés responded reluctantly . “I’m beginning to suspect as much,” said the captain in a terrible voice. “But at least on those other occasions there was someone other than that woman in the house; you didn’t fail in your duties… the strength of your inclinations could excuse you… Now there’s nothing to excuse you, Andrés, nothing; nothing of what this event throws up: it all condemns you… And if you remain silent, what are we to believe?” Andrés remained for a few moments with his head bowed, his gaze uncertain, and his hand nervously twisting one of the strands of his mustache. Then he rose from his chair and began to take short, agitated walks around the study. While he stood there, his mother never took her yearning eyes off him , and the captain persisted in his question: “What are we to believe, Andrés? ” Andrés, once again at a dead end, replied curtly and brutally: “Whatever you think.” “Do you see, Pedro, do you see? Do you see how exactly what I feared turned out?” the captain immediately exclaimed. “ Those bad companies have already borne fruit! They have already ruined everything for us! Tell me now that I see visions and that I am an impertinent mother! ” “Leave me alone with two hundred thousand devils, Andrea, this is not the time to air such things!” the captain retorted to his wife in a hurricane of a voice; and then, turning to Andrés, he said, trembling with anger: “The only answer that was appropriate to what you have just told me was a slap that would leave your teeth without teeth.” You fool! But everything will come to an end, if you insist on it. I assure you… What are you looking for with these answers, after what has happened to you? Do you want to kill, by trampling on your parents’ affection, the shame that comes from remembering what you have done, or are you trying to deceive us with the truth itself? Well, understand that I take you at your word and that I believe what I think, and that what seems to me is the worst of what I can believe. Do you understand clearly? “Yes, sir,” responded Andrés, insensitive and gloomy. “Common,” added his father, clenching his fists and biting his lip in anger. “Well, now we have another matter to discuss here, and one of greater importance than all the others.” Poor Andrea could not stop for a moment from shifting her anguished gaze from her husband’s face to Andrés’s. “In this morning’s incident, you were not the only one embarrassed , nor the only one giving rise to the gossip of the entire neighborhood and half the city. Considering that… because you must have considered it well, what ideas are going through your head now? With what tackle do you intend to use to brave the storm? ” “With whatever is necessary,” Andrés responded without hesitation. “That’s not enough to answer! ” “Well, I can’t answer any more. ” “Don’t test my patience, Andrés! ” “Then show me some charity!” Andrea then looked at her husband with an expression that clearly reflected Andrés’s wishes. “Charity!” replied the captain, paying little attention to his wife’s looks. “So you have it out for your father? Don’t you presume that every answer of yours is a stab in the back of us? And I won’t let go of your hand, no, no, even if you cry out loud.” Because the blows of your words hurt me much more! With them, you have shown me that my question has reached you to the quick; and I was aiming to hit you to the quick, Andrés; and that quick is very serious; and it is known by how you tremble and by what you keep quiet, more than by what you say… Speak, son, but honestly and clearly, without lies or beating around the bush! Your mother and I must know the extent of these adventures, the direction of your intentions. Look, we fear they are very bad; because, if they were good, you would have told us already! To tell Andrés that his intentions were very bad, assuming they were directed toward washing away the stains he himself had cast on Sotileza’s honor, was to drive the fiery youth crazy. The thought that his father feared did not cross his mind, mature and seasoned as he was at least, And he didn’t cross like that, because Subtleza herself had disdained him upon meeting him, at a very critical moment for the poor girl. But why, supposing she existed, was she mistreated in such a way? Why shouldn’t the honor of the orphan of Mules, capable of such noble selflessness, be as worthy of respect as that of the most haughty lady? And these considerations, made in an instant by Andrés, disconcerted him to such an extent that he translated them into the words he spoke in response to his father’s commands and warnings . The captain had to interpose herself between her husband and Andrés, to prevent the former from carrying out the threat he had previously made to the latter. Don Pedro Colindres was not a man capable of disdaining the honor of another simply because he saw her in humble habits; But Andrés’s response , so clumsy, so disrespectful, so in short, so ill-advised, had led her to believe that it was merely a matter of childish whim, of dangerous youthfulness, of a flare of passion that had to be extinguished at all costs and without losing a single moment. And
if the suspicion wasn’t strong enough on its own, the captain, who had been astonished by her son’s declarations , reinforced it with these vibrant words that came out of her mouth: “And after hearing this, Pedro, don’t you realize the rest? Isn’t it clear that the confinement in the hold and the The scandal in the street was nothing more than a ruse by that scoundrel to better trap this innocent man? “That assumption is false!” responded the fiery lad angrily, forgetting the respect he owed his mother at the great injustice being committed against the honest street urchin. “That much, Andrés, that much!” rebuked his father, flashing lightning from his eyes. “You even trample on the affection and respect for your mother to get your way! That much have they corrupted your heart! That much have they blinded your eyes! ” “I don’t trample on such things, Father!” responded Andrés, half-suffocated. “But I’m not a hard rock, and certain blows hurt me a great deal. Don’t let them hit me! ” “And the ones you’re giving us now, my dear son, do you think they don’t hurt?” said his mother, tears in her eyes. “Bah!” exclaimed Don Pedro Colindres with fierce irony. “What do these blows matter? I’m already a wreck; you’re on your way to it… Days sooner, days later, what does it matter? And with us, it’s well served. What matters now is that he doesn’t suffer any bad distress, and that the Marchioness of the rag doesn’t lose any sleep… Wrath of God! This can’t be borne, and I wasn’t counting on it… because neither your mother nor I deserve it, Andrés, you ingrate! You wicked son!” “Lord!” murmured Andrés hoarsely, suffocated by the effect of these words that fell on his heart like drops of molten lead. “Pedro, for the love of God! Calm down a bit,” said the captain, weeping, “and he’ll speak and tell us what we want.” “Isn’t it true, Andrés, that you’re going to say… what ought to be said… because you haven’t said anything calmly up until now?” “After what you’ve confessed to us,” interrupted the captain , giving no respite to his anger, “you can’t tell me anything that isn’t just another piece of nonsense, or a lie that I won’t swallow.” “You can hear it now,” said Andrés to his mother: “I’m superfluous here; because if I’m asked, I won’t fail to answer according to what I feel. ” “Well, that’s why,” the captain burst out, reaching the limits of his exasperation, “because I know the poor quality of what you feel, I don’t want to hear another word from you; that’s why you’re superfluous here; that’s why I want you to get out of my sight… and why I don’t see you in front of me again until you start thinking differently… Do you understand? You fool! You ungrateful one!” “I won’t forget it,” Andrés replied curtly. And he hurried out of the office. Don Pedro Colindres remained there pacing back and forth, like a tiger in its cage. The captain followed him in his bewildered movements, her eyes full of tears and some thoughts on her lips, which never came out. A good while passed like this. Suddenly, the captain said, still moving: “Give me your hat, Andrea.” “Where do you want to go? ” “To Alta Street right now. It’s necessary to study this point on the spot, and not waste a moment or information to ward off evil, whatever the cost.” The captain thought the idea was a good one; almost as good as another one that had been on her mind since Andrés’s first answers. Don Pedro Colindres hadn’t reached the door when his wife was already hurriedly putting on her mantilla. Minutes later, she was walking toward Don Venancio Liencres’s house. Andrés had gone out into the street a while ago. Chapter 25. OTHER CONSEQUENCES. In a few hours, how the interior of Uncle Mechelín’s cellar had changed in appearance! What a sad picture it presented as Don Pedro Colindres took his steps toward it! Silda, faint, tired of crying, and with no tears left in her reddened eyes, sat on a stool, leaning her beautiful bust against the dresser on the side facing the bedroom, whose curtains were drawn back to their respective ends. She gave no other signs of life than some broken sigh that she wanted to devour, but could not, deep in her heart, and the glances sad words that she would occasionally direct toward the bed in the alcove on which the old sailor lay fully clothed. Aunt Sidora, sitting halfway between the two, suffering from their sorrows as much as her own, only ceased to console Sotileza to come with her words, of ill-formed encouragement, to raise the dejected spirits of her husband. And meanwhile, how the tears trickled, drop by drop at first, and then thread by thread, down his noble face! Mechelín recognized it in the trembling of his poor companion’s voice, because the light from the candle did not give enough; and wanting to repay her for her efforts with something that would save them, she would say from her bed, with the sad rhythm of the dying: “It’s a trifle, woman; a trifling thing!… Except that one is so pressed for safety, so distressed about the depths, that touching a scuttlefish causes damage to them… Take stock of that… One came from the sea with a bit of laughter in one’s heart, because one still had yesterday’s stockpile left… and one even thought of getting by with it… at least this week. Later, God would say… And rowing like this, one hears this saying and the other at the end of the street; and one asks, and learns much more… and one enters the house with the water half full of the hold, and finds a sigh here and tears there; and one ends up sinking without being able to help it… because one is not used to that, and one is not made of living rock!… But the man returns to the water again; and even if he pulls out a broken rib… or a very bitter mouth… this happens; Time heals… one way or another… and off we go again, Sidora… And this is the case; for I am no worse off than yesterday, although it may seem otherwise to you: I am a little out of sorts, due to what you know; my body was asking for this little bit of rest, and I wanted to give it to it. And there is no more. “And it seems little to you, Miguel… it seems little to you!” his wife retorted. “Little, Sidora, little,” the sailor repeated; “and it would seem even less so to me now, if that little angel of God did not grieve so much and considered that he has no faults to be ashamed of, not even a trace of guilt in what has happened. ” “That’s what I say, Miguel, that’s what I say; and to that he answers me that what good is the truth if no one believes it? ” “God who saw her, you son of a bitch!” “God has seen her!” Mechelín then exclaimed from his bed. “And with that witness in your favor, what does the whole world against you matter? ” “Well, he doesn’t even have that enemy, Miguel; because he has seen the whole street come in here to commiserate over his misfortune and to put those responsible in the right place they deserve… But, help me in the most holy Name of Jesus!… What devilish things are those souls of Satan made of?… Why are they so black?… What pleasure do they get from causing so much evil to creatures who do not deserve it?” How can they live for an hour with such a corrupted gut?… “Those, those!” exclaimed Silda then, revived for a moment by the sting of her piercing memories. “Those are the ones who have stabbed me here… here, in the middle of my heart!… And will there be no justice to punish them in the world before God gives them what they deserve there?” “That’s also what it will be about, son of a bitch; there are ways to get hold of them, so the story goes,” replied Aunt Sidora. “And if our hand isn’t enough for that end, there will be others that are more powerful and very interesting in the matter. You’ve already been told. Remember that you weren’t the only one who offended them. ” “Grape, grape!” said Uncle Mechelín. “Just because I remember it, my punishment is doubled,” replied Silda with an intention that Aunt Sidora and her husband were far from understanding. “It is true,” said she, “that with respect to that other particular, the stain could not have fallen on a cloth we esteemed more… How can it be, you son of a bitch!… evil never comes alone… But God is in heaven, and He will make sure that person does not take offense at those who are not guilty of his harm. He came on his own feet, no one called him; and the message he carried could easily have been brought to him on a less dangerous occasion… Risk, I say! How could even that heart of his have been suspicious of him?” gold!… And as for the people of his house, they will also come to their senses so as not to believe that we repay them with insults for the favors they have sown here. Don’t you realize this, son of a bitch?… Sotileza bit her lip and closed her eyes, squeezing them shut , as if tormented by sinister internal visions. Uncle Mechelín let out an anguished groan and tossed and turned in his bed. “Do you want me to change your mind, Miguel?” Aunt Sidora asked him, hurrying up to the head of the bed. “There’s no need for you to tire yourself out for now,” Mechelín responded after a deep sigh; and he added in a low voice, bringing his head as close as he could to his wife’s: “Work to ease the pain of that little angel of God, and don’t remember me, for with the care of this rest I am feeling so well.” But Silda, although she was very grateful for them, was already mortified by such consolations. She had heard so many since noon! Aunt Sidora recognized him; she fell silent, and silence reigned again in the hold. Thus the scene was when knocks were heard at the door, which was locked from the inside. The sailor woman went to open it, after drying her eyes with her apron, and found herself face to face with Don Pedro Colindres, whose angry attitude frightened the poor woman. Fearing the worst, she would have gladly asked him for a little charity for the distress and suffering of that house; but she didn’t dare go that far; and Don Pedro, after very brief and dry words, entered the parlor before Aunt Sidora. Sotileza, seeing him before her, suddenly stood up with her blood running cold; and Uncle Mechelín, recognizing the captain’s voice, threw himself out of bed onto the floor. But his will deceived him, and he only managed to reach the bedroom door, whose frame he grabbed to keep from collapsing. “What is that, Miguel?” Colindres asked him, surprised by the appearance of the poor sailor, so pale, faint, and haggard. “A small thing, Señor Don Pedro; a small thing,” the man questioned responded anxiously, though trying to smile. “I wanted to receive you with the honors due you here, and the rigging failed me… well, I was mistaken. ” And as the poor man grew fainter as he spoke thus, the captain himself took him in his arms and, assisted by the two women, returned him to bed. “I’m a man again, Señor Don Pedro,” said Mechelín a moment after he was lying on the bed. “It’s clear that by giving his body this kind of treatment, he asks for nothing greater… by this means.” When the captain turned to the two women who had left the bedroom, he noticed they were weeping silently. The old sailor’s heart, although wrapped in rough bark, was, as is well known, soft and compassionate. It is no wonder, then, that Andrés’s father, when the time came to unleash those tempests that battered his brain as he left his house, didn’t know where to begin, or how to manage to explain the reason for his presence in the midst of that sad scene. Finally, wanting to appear more composed than he was, he said to the anguished women: “What the hell is going on here? Let’s see… Because Miguel’s situation isn’t so sniveling. ” “Oh, sir!” responded the sailor between stifled sobs, “that, after that!… ” And what’s that other thing, woman?” “That other thing!… Well, I thought that’s why you were the only one who came. ” “Oh!” said Uncle Miguel from his bed. The captain’s mind was filled with all the memories of his recent meeting with Andrés; and the bitterness that Andrés’s imprudence had caused him forced him, suddenly bursting into laughter, to say with great excitement: “It’s true, Sidora: that ‘s why I came here alone. Does that seem like a sufficient reason for the journey ?” “And more than half of it, sir,” replied the poor , timid woman. Silda, unable to stand, sat down again in the same corner where we had seen her before. The captain, facing her, said rather curtly: “It is necessary that I know, from your own mouth, what happened here this morning. Do you have the courage to relate it, but without taking away an iota of the truth, nor adding an accent that distorts it? ” “Yes, sir,” the questioned woman responded with fortitude. “Of course, Miguel,” added Don Pedro Colindres, turning toward the bedroom, “assuming that the story does not serve as bait for your troubles; because, although the case is pressing, it is not a rogue’s stab. I will return at another time… ” “No, Señor Don Pedro,” Mechelín hastened to respond, “there is no need to bother you further; because, quickly, relate this, for even hearing it makes me fat. And do not be alarmed by it; “which is that the more they repeat the case to me, the more I get used to it and the less it hurts me here inside… Tell, tell, you little codger of God, without hesitation , so that Señor Don Pedro is fully informed. ” “And you may well believe the lucky one,” added Aunt Sidora; “that, for his pleasure, nothing else was talked about during the whole of God’s holy day in this house.” With these statements and Silda’s well-known goodwill , she began to relate the incident with the same details that Andrés had told her at home. “Exactly,” said the captain, as soon as Sotileza finished his story. “The same as I knew up to where you left off. But, after that, what else happened? ” “Sir… I don’t know exactly, and I can’t answer you any further.” “It seems, and from what the neighbors who are coming in here are telling us,” said Aunt Sidora, “the evil enemy who turned on him from below found himself about to be dragged by the people by the hair. For before this fortune had even left its prison, they had already tormented the whole street with insults and wickedness… If only they could gain from nothing else, sir!” Afterwards, the one from below went upstairs and shut herself in the house with the other, not daring to open the balcony doors, because they had sown many grievances, and, however bad they were, they had to regret the deed on their consciences… at least out of fear… Then the father and son arrived from the sea: she tells us that it was night and day; and they report that there was a storm in the house, because one, leaning against the rogues with evil intentions, thought nothing of it; And the other lucky fellow’s heart broke and his face fell with shame. I believe he mistreated his sister, and was almost spared blows to his mother. He’s come down here… I don’t know how many times: he doesn’t go further than that one; and there he is, huddled against the wall, with his hands in his pockets, his eye angry, and his hair hanging down. He doesn’t say _just_ or _muste_, no matter how much he is encouraged to see that sins of his caste are not being charged against him… and he returns just as he came in… There are those who say that, with witnesses, what those devils of women said and trafficked for the ruin of this house can be confirmed ; and that so many misdeeds must not go unpunished… And this is all we can tell you, Señor Don Pedro, from what we’ve been told of what has happened during these hours that we’ve been cornered in this sad solitude… As for poor Miguel, you can imagine: he’s old, he’s very sickly; this is what he found when he got home… he, who had come out of it all in a complete shambles!… and he collapsed; well, collapsed like an old woman… So it’s no wonder anyone that this misfortune and I shed a tear from time to time. You’ve seen so few of the walls of this house, Señor Don Pedro! He wasn’t far from contributing one more to those already shed there when the distressed sailor woman finished her story amid sobs , because her son had a good reason to respond to many of her hunches of character; But he overcame the difficulty well, and resolved to fulfill his purpose of examining that terrain thoroughly, since he was on it and could, with a little prudence, do so without disturbing anyone, he continued his investigations thus: “That is not precisely what I was trying to find out, Sidora, although I am glad to know it. ” “You tell me, sir.” –I wanted you to tell me what impression the event has made on them… –Well, it’s quite obvious, sir… –It’s not that either… I didn’t ask the question properly. What are your intentions after what happened? Who do you blame?… –Blame!… Who should we blame? Whom they should blame: those scoundrels upstairs… This disgrace has also made it quite clear… –Yes, yes; I’ve heard that. But it often happens, when family cases like the one we’re dealing with are discussed, that some people say that “if it hadn’t been for this, that other thing wouldn’t have happened,” and that “if you,” and that “if I,” and that “if that guy over there…” well, you know what I mean. Then comes the settling of scores, so to speak. and what Juan owes, and what Petra owes… and what should happen… and what will happen… and what is expected… and what is feared… “What is expected!… what is feared!” repeated the poor woman, staring fixedly at the captain. “Tell her, Sidora, tell her, now is the time!” shouted Mechelín from her bed. “And what is she going to tell me?” asked Don Pedro Colindres, turning with a frown toward the bedroom. “Well, what she knows is now relevant,” replied the sailor. “Come on, Sidora, since you have him so close at hand! Cheer up, woman, he’s good by his own standards! ” “Yes, son, yes. Why shouldn’t I say it?” replied Aunt Sidora. ” It’s not some mortal sin.” The captain was on tenterhooks, and Sotileza was like an ice sculpture in his corner of the bureau. “You must know, Señor Don Pedro,” said Aunt Sidora, “that apart from the bitterness of the case, for what it is in itself, there is no other pious thing to torment us here than not knowing what awaits us in relation to Don Andrés. ” “Let’s see, let’s see!” murmured the captain, adjusting himself more comfortably in his chair in order to redouble his attention. If he had focused even a little on Sotileza’s face at that moment, what a bitter smile he would have seen on his mouth, and what a spark of anger in his eyes! “Senor Don Andrés,” continued Aunt Sidora, “entered here as if he were in his own house, because we ought to open it wide to him. He deserved to have this done to him in the very palaces of the Queen of Spain.” and because he deserved it so much, he had nothing but hearts here that rejoiced in seeing him so partial and easy-going with people who weren’t even who he was, not even enough to clean the soles of his shoes… You know well , sir, that if today we have bread to put in our mouths, we owe it to his heart and to the charity of his family. To avoid causing him grief and not giving it to his parents, one of us would have torn out rocks with his teeth, if it had been necessary to tear rocks with our teeth for that purpose… But there are souls of Satan, sir, who are sickened by the health of their neighbor… and you know what happened this morning… The blow was aimed at the honor of this misfortune; but its goal reached Don Andrés, who was at home at the time, as anyone else could have been. As far as it pains us, we take out the pain that he will feel, and the grief and anger of his entire family… It is just and natural that it should be so; But, for the love of God, Señor Don Pedro! Look at things with a sincere heart, and remove the burden of the sorrow that is choking us by forgiving what we gave you, with no more part in it than the devil took for us. ” “Grape, Señor Don Pedro, grape!” added Mechelín from inside. “That’s what we ask, that’s what we want… for it’s nothing less in the law of justice and goodwill! ” “And that’s all you can think of?” asked the captain, breathing more easily than before. “Is that all you want, as far as I’m concerned … as far as this event may matter to me… as far as my son’s share of it is concerned? ” “And it seems little to you!” exclaimed Aunt Sidora and her husband almost at the same time. The captain uttered, deep in his chest, one of the fattest interjection, due to certain bitterness of conscience that he was beginning to feel in front of the candid disinterest of that man. an honorable marriage; and to better conceal them, he spoke thus: “That’s understood, Sidora: in my house there is no one so inconsiderate that, no matter how much what happened pains him—and look how it pains us greatly!—he tries to hold you responsible for damages you have not caused… But it had occurred to me that you might desire, and it would be very natural for you to desire, something quite different: something… like, for example, the punishment of those two scoundrels by means of human justice; and that I would help you in the endeavor, because I had more power than you. ” “Grape, grape!” Mechelín’s voice sounded from inside the bedroom. “Something of that has also been discussed, sir,” said Aunt Sidora, much revived by the attitude the captain was assuming. “But there were ups and downs on the matter. There are those who say that it is better to leave it at that, because those matters touching honor should not be handled too much; and there are those who think that punishing the perpetrators makes the truth more evident. “Grape, grape!…” “By the looks of it,” said the captain, “are you in favor of this being carried out, Miguel? ” “Yes, sir,” he replied, “and full sail! ” “And you, girl?” Don Pedro asked Sotileza; “you, who are the most interested. ” “Also!” the woman addressed responded bravely. “Well, if you think it’s advisable,” added Aunt Sidora, before her will was consulted, “let it not be up to me. I’m not vindictive, sir; but the truth is that one cannot live a peaceful life where those women are, and if they remain triumphant with this wickedness now, as they always have been, I don’t know what will happen here tomorrow.” “Well, we’ll do everything possible to ensure that they get what they deserve this time,” concluded the captain, who felt that the punishment of Mocejón’s women would also remove certain obstacles from Andrés’s position in the public eye. Shortly after this, he stood up to leave. Sotileza also rose ; and, with a visible effort of will, overcoming the reluctance that was fighting her, she said to him, without moving from the chest of drawers on whose table she was leaning with one hand: “Señor Don Pedro, you have come to this house for nothing that has been discussed here . ” “What are you saying, girl!” exclaimed the captain, looking at her in astonishment. “The pure truth,” responded Silda valiantly. “And because it’s the truth, I say it without meaning to offend anyone with it… and because I want you to go confident of taking with you through peace what you thought you would take from here through war.” “Holy crap!” exclaimed Aunt Sidora, frightened. Mechelín sat up in bed, and Don Pedro Colindres did not conceal the slightest bit of the anxiety that these decisive statements from Sotileza caused him. She continued: “I want you to know, heard from my own mouth, that I have never allowed myself to be tempted by cubicia, nor have I been dizzy with the fumes of lordship; that I value Andrés for what he is worth, but not for what he is worth to me; and that if, in order to save my good name now, there were no other remedy than that he would give me by taking me to be his lady by his side, I would settle with my honor in question rather than bear such a heavy cross upon myself. ” “By the life of that same fool!” responded the captain, looking at the brave young woman with a gesture that was as bitter as it was sweet, “I don’t know where you’re going down that road.” “I thought half of what I said was unnecessary for you to be fully understood ,” replied Sotileza. “Well, imagine I haven’t understood a bit of your intentions, and I want you to put them in the palm of my hand. ” Sotileza continued: “I know Andrés well, because I’ve been in contact with him for many years; and for that reason, and because of something he said to me this morning when he saw me here agonizing with shame, and because of the air you had when you entered this house, I can well believe that you have repeated to your father what I didn’t want to leave without a suitable response.” Don Pedro Colindres, interpreting Silda’s last words in a sense that was very disgraceful to Andrés, stung his honor and replied harshly: “Well, if he told you what I presume, what more could you possibly want? Are we at this point now, after so many exertions of humility?” With this, it was Sotileza who felt her pride wounded; and to finish first and to her liking that obstinacy that bothered her, but which she had to sustain because it was in her interest, she concluded thus: “I haven’t said anything now that contradicts what I said before. I thought it was unnecessary to talk like this so that only you could understand me; but since the calculation went wrong, I’ll say it more clearly. I live here out of charity, and with these four rags I’m worth the little people hold in me. Dressed in silk and loaded with diamonds, I’d be a slob and my feet would slip on the shining floors. Bad for those who had to put up with me, and worse for me, who would find myself out of my mind. I’m used to this poverty, and I’m fine in it, without wishing for anything better.” This isn’t virtue, Señor Don Pedro; it’s just that I’m made of that stuff. That’s why I told Andrés what he knows well; and I need you to know me, because I only want to answer for my faults… nor do I want to be outdone in cases like this; for no matter how humble one may be, it still hurts to be beaten down by pretensions that were never intended. With this, you’ve already taken more than you came looking for, and I’m left with one less concern… And please forgive me now for the libertà with which I speak to you, if only because everyone’s peace of mind demands it. Truly, Sotileza gave Don Pedro Colindres much more than he had come to seek at the bodega on Calle Alta; but the captain shouldn’t confess it there, because he understood that the confession would not greatly enhance the quality of the thoughts that generated that step. That’s why he said to Sotileza, as the only comment on her statements: “Although I applaud that honorable modesty that suits you so well, I want you to know that this time you have erred in my direction by being malicious… And let’s not speak of the matter any more, if you please. Forget everything; count on me as always, and even better than ever… and take good care of yourself, Miguel. Goodbye, Sidora… Goodbye, beautiful girl.” And Don Pedro Colindres left there, fully convinced that if the scandal in question continued to stir in his house, it would not be the work of the Mechelín family. This greatly simplified the conflict that had thrown him into the street; and believing this, he returned to the captain’s side considerably calmer than when he had left her. Meanwhile, Silda, resorting to the spell her voice had on the astonished couple, spoke as she pleased, giving her words directed at the captain the most distant meaning . Were the poor old men deceived? It seemed so, for the prostration into which the grieving sailor fell again could not have been taken as a sign to the contrary, as the women had scarcely left him alone , one of them preparing a new remedy and the other preparing a bowl of broth with Nava wine; nor could the strange expression that had remained imprinted on Aunt Sidora’s face. Given the emotions of the unexpected scene, both could be explained, without taking them as signs of renewed grief. Chapter 26. FURTHER CONSEQUENCES. Andrés left his house because he needed the air, the noise, and the movement of the street to keep from suffocating in the narrowness of his study, and from going mad with the battle of his thoughts. Besides, his father had thrown him out and condemned him to never see him again while the same thoughts that had produced that storm in the bosom of the family germinated in his head. And Andrew, who, having then tasted the first bitterness of life’s setbacks, took events at their full potential, found neither the strength in his will to give his ideas a new direction, nor the boldness in his youthful enthusiasm sufficient to disarm his father’s anger with a lie. He left home, then, to change his surroundings and places; to escape from what was most closely pursuing him, and to ask chance for the noise, From the crowds and the mysteries of the night, a verdict, or at least a respite, that neither the solitude of his room nor the sadness of those walls, heated for him by his family’s anger , could give him . So he wandered and wandered, with no fixed course; and, to top off his troubles, the night, on whose dew he counted to cool the furnace of his thoughts, was calm, black, and sultry, the warm atmosphere weighed heavily, and even in the light of the street lamps, the wandering youth found the torture of the heat that inflamed the blood in his veins. And he, who was longing for the Hyperborean cold and the sound of a storm! Even the elements seemed to conspire to harm him! And he believed it in good faith. He left the streets of the center because he was suffocating there, and headed toward the suburbs. When he arrived at the giant plane trees of Becedo, he remembered that Father Apolinar lived just a stone’s throw away. He was sorely tempted to go up to his house and tell him everything that was happening to him… But what good would that accomplish? What did the poor friar know about the things that were happening to him? What prestige did he have with a man like Don Pedro Colindres, to calm his outbursts and bring him to reason?… To reason! But did Andrés himself know where he should begin his defense of his lawsuit, or if the lawsuit was tenable, or if it was even a lawsuit? What was the substance of it? A supposition that he was trying to impose on his family as a duty of honor, and his father’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge it. Were serious mediators possible in such a dispute? And even if there were, was it credible that anyone would lend themselves to supporting the son’s cause against the authority of his angry parents? And even if he had agreed, how could they have given up, if declaring it would have humiliated and discredited their undisputed rights as their masters and lords? Moreover, considering his current situation, it didn’t even stem directly from this disagreement, but from the altercation it produced; from his own stubbornness in not declaring what his father intended, and from the harshness with which his father reproached him for his unusual rebellion. This was the case; and for its final resolution, he saw no other agent than time, whose fatal and unalterable march erases the great impressions of the soul, calms the battles of the mind, changes the face of things, and hones human discourse. By then, the poor lad was only fit to feel and suffer. Finally, exhausted from wandering around that avenue, he sat down on the most secluded and shady bench. But there, with implacable fury, the memories of Alta Street assaulted him. What had happened in the poor cellar since he had come down to the city after the great scandal? What effect had this had on the honorable old men, each of them returning from their chores? What would they think of him! What would Silda have said to them!… And her words, in response to his noble offer, so disdainful, so crude, the two of them finding themselves in the thick of the conflict!… And linking this memory with the memory of everything that had happened to him since then, and the consideration of what was happening to him, the storm in his head grew more and more inflamed; he thought he might go mad under the din of that struggle of incongruous ideas and desperate conclusions, and he got up nervous and agitated; and he started moving from one side to the other again; and he walked and walked, without knowing where, until at the end of a good hour, he noticed that he was at the other end of the city and two steps from the Zanguina. The seasick people of Abajo were swarming around her; and for this reason alone, she tried to get away from there. People she knew frightened her. But where was she going now? She looked at her gold-plated watch and saw that it said half past ten. He was accustomed to going home at ten every night. His mother would surely miss him, and perhaps be dying of anguish remembering how he had gone out into the street… But to return home in the state of mind he was in! where he was, and having to appear before his father, who had thrown him out with a strict prohibition against approaching him while he continued to think the way he did!… And the next day, it was back to the same old thing; and on top of that, the prison cell at the office, where everything that was happening to him would already be known!… What an infernal complication of setbacks for the fiery and deluded boy! While his discourse was dizzyingly running through these spaces, with great signs of opting for the least sane course, he felt a tap on his back and a voice saying to him: “Struck on a rock, Don Andrés!” He turned around, startled, thinking that someone was busy reading his thoughts, if he hadn’t been thinking out loud himself, and he recognized good old Reñales, one of the most formal and sensible boat owners in the Cabildo de Abajo. “Why are you telling me this?” Andrés asked him. “Don’t you see how these poor people wander around here, like a flock in the sight of the wolf? ” “And why is that?” “I thought you knew, Don Andrés… Well, they’re motivated to be drafted. ” “It was to be expected… And what’s she like? ” “Well, son, a street sweeper… I don’t remember her being older. This afternoon the Commandery notified us… There aren’t a single lad left in either Council… From the Lower Council, only, there are four from the second campaign because there aren’t enough of the first… so you can be sure !
” “That’s sad, Reñales; but they’re the burdens of the job. ” “The job’s fine, Don Andrés!… We haven’t been to sea for two days. ” “Well, how is it? ” “Don’t you see the weather? ” “It’s quite calm. ” “Yes; but a treacherous calm… Who trusts it, Don Andrés?” “Three days have gone by like this, and nothing has happened. ” “I see that… But that’s a given. ” “The south wind isn’t malicious now: it’s a seasonal wind. ” “We’re already aware of it; and because of that, and much because of what the need is pressing, we plan to leave tomorrow. These poor people will be in good spirits with the gale that’s blown down on them from above!” Andrés thought for a few moments, and then asked the skipper: “Are you saying the boats will go to sea tomorrow? ” “God willing and the weather doesn’t worsen. ” “What’s your boat going for, Uncle Reñales? ” “For hake. ” “I’m glad, because I’m going in it. ” “You, Don Andrés? ” “I am. What’s so special about it? ” “It’s nothing special, for you’re well accustomed to it, and the sea knows you well. ” “Well then…” “I said that because you could wait for a better opportunity.” “What better occasion than this?” “There are better ones, Don Andrés, better: whenever the weather is northeasterly. ” “Well, I prefer the south when it’s seasonal, like now. ” “It’s one pleasure like any other, Don Andrés; although you won’t find a single seasick person who’s equal to it. I’ll comply by saying what I think. ” “And I thank you for your good wishes… So that’s all there is to it. ” “Of course you’d like someone to send word at home? ” “Not at all! There’s no need to stir up the neighborhood. I ‘ll be here, or at the Rampa, at the appropriate time; and if I’m not, you can leave without waiting for me. In the meantime, keep this between the two of you, and don’t say a word about my plans… I might not go; and there’s no need to attribute the situation to something that isn’t true.” –Hee hee!… Come on, that means you’re not very sure that at the last minute… –Exactly… He might not have been so cheerful then… –And you’re afraid they’ll take you for a bit of a shrinking spirit… –That’s right. –Well, no one who knows you would believe it, Don Andrés. –Who knows!… Just in case, a period in your mouth, and that’s it. –Mine never knew how to speak enough to uncover secrets. –Until tomorrow, Reñales. –God willing, Don Andrés. His calculations hadn’t been far off when he figured out that to be free, by any means, from difficulties like his, there was no other There was no other choice but to surrender to the decrees of blind chance. The chance that had led him to La Zanguina and brought him closer to the prudent Reñales at the critical moment of resolving, on his own advice, the only truly serious conflict he had found himself in that night, placing between his lips the sweetness of an old and vehement desire, shattered all his hesitations and threw him into the tangles of a new folly. To return home after his father had thrown him out so wantonly ! Let him grieve, let him grieve a little for his untimely harshness! That would teach him not to be so unjust and so violent again. As for his mother… But what had she done to defend her troubled son? Hadn’t she thrown her due bundle into the fire of his father’s anger by slandering the generous intentions of the innocent Silda? Well, let him suffer a little too… he was suffering much more… But even if, to spare his parents such trouble, he were to decide to return that night to their abandoned home, what would this self-denial on his part resolve, leaving the discord standing and flaring up again the next day, perhaps amidst the torment of unbearable mediators?… Nothing, nothing: a stony ear to the voices of his heart, which advised him something quite different… and on with his plan! This resolved everything at once. A bad night would soon be over; and on the other hand, the next day, no indigestible faces, no impertinent words, no mocking glances; And instead of the swarming of the streets, the stench of the crowds, the dust of the garbage, and the torment of conversation, there came the immensity of space, the grandeur of the sea, the salty air, the swaying of the waves, and the oblivion of the land infested with the plague of men. Meanwhile, the hours would pass, opinions would exchange… and he who passes a moment, passes a world. In this way, Andrés strengthened his will with the resolution that his chance encounter with Reñales had inspired, even believing in good faith that what seemed like chance could be Providence, when the truth was that he had clung to that handhold as he might the wings of a fly, only to fall on the side he was leaning toward at the moment of deciding either to return home, as was the sensible and convenient thing to do, or to declare open rebellion against all his duties, which was the crazy thing to do. But we already know what hardships like that are like in young minds like Andrés’s, and it’s no wonder he opted for the worst when faced with the need to choose between two things that seemed utterly bad to him. And so firm was his sudden resolve that, to avoid, as far as possible, any risk of its failure, he had barely said goodbye to Reñales before leaving the vicinity of La Zanguina to discuss as he pleased without arousing anyone’s curiosity. Because there remained another, very interesting point to be elucidated. Where and how was he going to spend the remaining hours until dawn the following day? There was no need to think about inns or hostels, where the least of the risks was that he would be well known to innkeepers and innkeepers; nor should he be thinking about staying in the house of any friend… Spending so many hours wandering the streets, after being excessively arduous, was very likely to attract more attention than was appropriate… Without hesitation or doubt, he opted for La Zanguina. In La Zanguina, in a very short time, there wouldn’t be a single sailor left; because although many of them were accustomed to sleeping there, this happened in the most difficult of coastal areas; and on that occasion they had already gone two days without going out to sea. La Zanguina being alone, she would arrive at the moment when her doors were about to close, and not before, because, missing him at home, it wouldn’t be strange if someone came there to ask for him. She would tell the innkeeper, a very good acquaintance of hers, everything that needed to be said so that he wouldn’t be shocked by her intention to spend the night like that, lying on a bench, until it was time to go out to sea in Reñales’s launch… And she began to put him in bed. to work before his intentions cooled. With great caution, because the place was one of the most populated in the city, he observed, from the greatest possible distance, how even the most loyal customers of the famous establishment gradually withdrew ; and as soon as he saw signs that the doors were about to be closed, he approached and explained his intentions to the innkeeper. Nothing major shocked him, because he knew the extent of Captain Bitadura’s son’s passion for the customs of seafaring people. “But don’t tell me, Don Andrés, that you’re going to spend the night here on a hard bench!” the innkeeper told him. “I’ll fix you some padding with the mat of my bed… ” “Not at all,” responded Andrés. “If I lie down on padding, I won’t wake up when I need to. ” “If I have to open the tavern before they give the boot anyway . ” “It doesn’t matter.” I understand. Put a piece of cheese, another piece of bread, a glass of wine, and a candle on the table in the bottom drawer over there, and don’t worry about me except to wake me up in time tomorrow, if I haven’t already… The innkeeper began to oblige him by lighting a tallow candle; then he placed it in a tin candlestick and went with it to the compartment Andrés had pointed out. As Andrés followed the light, he saw a figure in the darkness at the back of one of the first drawers in the row. The figure was snoring terribly. “Who’s sleeping there?” Andrés asked. “It’s Muergo,” replied the man with the candle. “We understood that he went mad with rage when he found out his draft was coming… He swore that he would rather go to sea than consent to being taken into service…” Then he took a pot of brandy; Let’s imagine that half the council had ended here; sleep finally overcame him, and he remained as you see him now… Oh, Don Andrés, he’s a pure beast. And Andrés even envied Muergo’s fate at that moment! Minutes later, the stunned youth, in the darkest corner of the most remote hovel in La Zanguina, was restoring the strength of his broken body with the meager provisions the innkeeper had placed on the once-missed table, while he inhaled waves of that pestilent atmosphere and felt in the depths of his mind the roar of the battle his untamed thoughts were waging there. A little later, tired of meditating and fearing, he stretched his legs on the bench he was sitting on; he leaned his torso against the wall; he crossed his arms over his chest, and wanted to facilitate his conquest of sleep, which he so desperately needed, by turning off the light, which is the enemy of rest; but he gave up his plan because he didn’t dare remain in the dark and alone with his troubled thoughts. Chapter 27. ANOTHER CONSEQUENCE THAT WAS TO BE FEARED. By a strange coincidence, Don Venancio Liencres was at home when the captain arrived at his door asking for him, precisely for him. True, he was already wearing his hat to go out and speak for a while in the senate of the _Círculo de Recreo_, where at that time some important point for Castilian flour, railroad construction, and Buenos Aires leather was being discussed among the _senators; but, in short, he was at home, and he received Andrés’s mother without visible displeasure, and alone as she wished. There, drowned in tears, and in the secrecy of confession, Andrea told Don Venancio everything that was happening to them with her son. He feared that the answers he gave his father might involve a proposal to marry the streetwise Tarascan woman. And this could not happen, because it would be his downfall, the shame of his entire family, and the scandal of the town. The captain was already taking the necessary steps to better understand the magnitude of the danger; but this was not enough: it was necessary that Don Venancio himself, who had so many titles to deserve the respect of the foolish youth, speak to his soul, admonish him, impose himself on him; and by God, and by the saints… And tears fall, and sobs come. And Don Venancio couldn’t get over his astonishment, except to consider how much the power of his word must be worth, when the captain continued to come to him in the most serious conflicts of her life. Needless to say, he reassured her with a speech, promising that everything would be arranged in the best possible way. The captain arrived home before her husband; and Don Venancio Liencres entered the Senate with the demeanor of great men satisfied with bearing the simmering heat of a great problem. When he returned for dinner, surrounded by his family, neither his mistress could resist for a single moment her curiosity to know why the captain had come to her house at such an hour and in such a way, nor could he control the desire to declare everything at that solemn moment, with the holy purpose of showing what such thoughtless young men as Andrés would become, without men of mature sense and legitimate authority to return them to the path of their duties. And precisely the most serious part of the adventure on Calle Alta occurred, at the moment when Luisa, dropping her fork from her mouth, declared that she did not want any more dinner. The story continued with comments from the same narrator, gestures and monosyllables of disgust from her mistress, and gestures from Tolín… and Luisa, whose lack of appetite continued and whose change of countenance betrayed a violent nervous agitation, broke two plates with a single fistful. She immediately retired to her room, stating beforehand that if such indecorous stories as that were not told at the table, no one’s nerves would be upset, nor would anyone lose their appetite for supper altogether . Her august mother agreed that it was not in the best of taste to speak of “such stinking incidents” in the presence of such important ladies, and ordered a cup of sage to be prepared for her daughter. Once she had shut herself in her room, she told her mother, after taking two sips of the potion, that she was feeling well now and desired nothing but the rest of her bed. Don Venancio was very pleased to hear this; and since she had been haranguing Tolín for a good while, who was still inconsiderate about the incident, he was considered quite refreshed by then. Don Venancio yawned; his wife tidied up and put the leftover desserts on the sideboard. And, with the customary “good nights,” each one locked themselves in their holes. Tolín was just taking off his domestic tuina, after having given his eyes a long rest in contemplating the pictures on the wall, when he heard a tap at the door, and his sister’s very soft voice asking through the crack: “May I?” Tolín hurried to open it, and Luisa entered on tiptoe, holding the unlit candlestick in one hand and the index finger of the other to her lips. She was very pale, rather dark-circled, and her hands and voice were not a little tremulous. She carefully closed the door from the inside and said to her brother, who was staring at her in astonishment, pointing to a chair next to the table on which lay the satchel crammed with drawings and watercolors: “Sit down there. ” “What’s the matter, woman?” Tolín asked her, putting her tuina back on , his eyes very startled. “You’ll find out,” replied the woman addressed very softly. “But don’t raise your voice or make a noise, because there’s no need for anyone to know that I paid you this visit. ” Tolín sat down, and Luisa remained standing in front of him, unwilling to take advantage of the chair that her brother placed beside her, insistently offering it to her. “I don’t want to sit down,” said Luisa. “I’d better speak better this way, upside down, just as we are… Face to face, perhaps I wouldn’t have been as brave with you as I need to be now… Anyway, man, let’s leave this nonsense… Oh, my God! Look, Tolín: if I ever get into bed with this burning sensation I feel inside here; if I don’t venture to unburden myself a little to you, I think I’ll have something tonight … I’ll die, come on, just as I told you… the same, Tolín!” Tolín, increasingly consumed by curiosity to know what was happening to his sister, insisted again that she finish explaining herself. “That’s what I’m getting at,” said Luisa, with more desire than courage. ” Did you hear the story Papa told at the table?” “Yes, I did. ” “You heard it… ” “I repeat, I did. ” “I’m glad, Tolín, I’m glad you heard it correctly. And what do you think? ” “Now look at the verses we’re coming up with!” exclaimed Tolín, very annoyed. “So, what verses should I tell you, man?” his sister asked him candidly. “Well, with yours, you canary! ” “But mine start there, silly!” Tolín shrugged his shoulders and turned his head away for a moment . “As always, Luisa, as always,” he added a moment later. “Damn if they can tie two dimes with all your fuss. Anyway, say what you like; we’ll see what comes out. ” Luisa looked at her brother with a gesture that was not a hymn to the young man’s perspicacity, and said: “I want to know what you think of this indecent story.” “Well, it seems very wrong to me, Luisa, very wrong!… as indecent as it does to you… Do you want it clearer? ” “That’s what I wanted to know, Tolín; that’s exactly it… precisely that very thing. ” “Then you’re served… ” “A man who dresses like a gentleman; who is the son of good parents; who uses the familiar form with us; who is placed in Papa’s desk, fondling his money; who eats at this table so often!… a man like that, shut up in a filthy cellar, with a Tarascan sardine seller, and then the two of them come out of there, embarrassed, amidst the jeers of the big women and drunks all over the street!… And what’s more, what’s more, when they push him a little, telling his father and mother that he’s quite capable of marrying her!… Have you ever seen anything like this anywhere, Tolín?… Have you even read it in any book, however shameless and filthy it may be?… Come on, man, say it frankly. “No, Luisa, no… I’ve never seen anything like it. So what? ” “It shouldn’t be left like that. ” “You’ve heard that Papa intends to take action in the matter. ” “It’s not enough that Papa take action; you have to take action too. ” “Me! ” “Yes, you; and from tomorrow, Tolín.” –But what the hell is it to me or anything?… –What’s it to you? Aren’t you his friend… and from childhood, Tolín, which is as good a friend as anyone can be?… Aren’t you with him in the office? Aren’t you destined to be partners and bosses of Papa’s house any day now?… –I’ve heard you say those same things at least twenty times, for Andrés’s minor sins. –But these are big sins, son, very big ones! And I’m repeating it to you again, because now it’s serious. –Well, let him go, the tambourine is in good hands. –Because I want to put it in yours. –And do you know if I would know how to play it? –What one doesn’t know, one learns when the occasion demands it; and here it demands it… and a lot! “But, you devilish trick… look at anyone who could hear you and see you so fussy and so worked up about a matter that, after all, doesn’t matter a damn to you!… Are you Andrés’s attorney, or what?” “Nobody cares what I am, Tolín; but I want that… naughty thing not to happen; and it won’t happen, do you understand? ” “And if it did happen, what would happen?” “Our Lady of Mount Carmel!… Don’t even joke about it, Tolín!” Luisa’s pale lips were trembling here, and Tolín stared at her , with a very different expression from the one she had seen on her face until then. “Do you know, Luisa,” he said, still looking at her like that, “that with what I hear from you, and remembering what I heard from you that is quite similar to it, I am becoming apprehensive? ” “Apprehensive about what, Tolín?” replied Luisa, ready not only to hear everything her brother wanted to tell her about the quality of his apprehensions, but also to pull his tongue so that he would speak as soon as possible. “Come, frankly. ” “Apprehensions,” continued Tolín, “that something more than friendship is what moves you to take such an interest in Andrés. ” “You have been long in realizing it, innocent of God!” exclaimed Luisa, throwing the words from her breast with such eagerness that it seemed as if she were relieving him of an unbearable weight. “And you confess it with such freshness, Luisa?” said the other, crossing himself. “And why should I not confess it, Tolín? Who am I offending by it? What is there in Andrés that does not deserve these bad moments I am going through for him? Is he not handsome? Is he not a young man as fine as pearls? Is he not good and noble as a piece of bread? Is he not strong and brave as a Cid?” “Is he not, for having everything, as well-off as the best of the cads who parade me down the street, with such gusto as yours? Haven’t we known and esteemed him all our lives? And this being true, why shouldn’t I… love him; yes, sir, love him as I have loved him for so many years?” “But is it possible, Luisa, that you, so cold to all who deal with you, so hard-hearted to all who look at you, are capable of loving anyone with such fire!” ” Under the snow there are volcanoes, Tolín: I don’t know who said it for someone like me; but they said a great truth, according to what is happening to me now… ” “Well, my child, for once that you were burned… there’s no doubt it was well timed! ” “Why do you say that, Tolín? ” “It’s plain to see, Luisa. You burn for someone who doesn’t even notice it! ” “Well, now they’ll notice.” –Now! –Now, yes… because until now it hasn’t been necessary. –Luisa! You’re not in your right mind! A man, perhaps badly entertained with a vulgar fisherwoman, would go… –There’s no such entertainment, if what’s been said is true. –And he wants to marry her!… You yourself feared it… –Well, I said it… from hearing you… But even if it’s true, and even if it’s also true that he’s badly entertained, for that very reason we must open his eyes so that he can see what he never dared to look at, because he’s humble… –Would you be capable of attempting that, Luisa… of losing your mind to that extent? –I don’t know, Tolín, what I would be capable of in the situation I find myself in… But in any case, since it’s not me who’s going to take that step… but you… –Me!… I’m going to offer my own sister!… –What can I offer, or what, man! With that way of calling things, there’s no possible decency in anything. But if you go, and, with the confidence you have in him, you start by criticizing him for what he’s done and what he’s thinking of doing… and you talk to him about his worth… about the consideration he owes his family and his friends… about how nice a girlfriend from among the town’s leading figures would be for him… and little by little, little by little, you start falling, falling this way; and, without saying what I think, you make him understand that he could very well come to think it… and, in short, everything that occurs to you… “Luisa, Luisilla of the devils! But how do you think so little of yourself… and who do you take me for? ” “Oh, you great heartless man! I wanted to wait for you there! Who did you take me for when you were making me sing those same litanies of my father’s son to my friend Angustias?” So, the role you gave me was most honorable… “A sister looking out for her brother’s good… ugh! that breaks the heart with pure pleasure… Just as if it were no big deal, you gradually inform her how sensible I am… how much talent I have for the writing table… how tender I am at heart… how much I go out of my way for a certain woman… how I spend my nights in a whisper…” “Luisa, you canary!” said Tolín then, twisting and turning in his seat as if someone were sticking a pair of banderillas in his throat. But Luisa, completely ignoring the interruption, but rather rejoicing in her brother’s uneasiness, continued imitating him thus: “… But since he is so short-tempered, he’ll die of it sooner.” hypochondria to say to that woman, when you’re standing right in front of her: rot away.” “Luisa!” “And by the way, you great ingrate, I quickly and skillfully carried out your commission; and I smoothed the way for you… and it cost you very little afterward to get to where you are at the present time, that you’re almost there to get what you wanted, because even that hedgehog of a father, Don Silverio Trigueras, is in a bad mood with you. And now it turns out that I’ve been playing the ugliest role… and that!” “By the life of the eight of clubs, Luisa!… Let me speak, or I’ll drag you out to jail… and shout so that we can be heard!” “That’s all you needed, you selfish fool!… you bad brother!… And what can you answer to what I’m telling you?” “Even if all of this were the pure truth… ” “And much more that I didn’t want to say!…” “Even if all of this and what you’ve kept quiet were the pure truth, the two cases are very different. ” “Different! Wherefore? Why? ” “Because you’re a young lady… ” “Exactly, and you a perfect gentleman… And it’s a terrible shame that a gentleman like you, because women are obliged, for the sake of good looks, to swallow all their feelings for a man and not to let him know so much as with a dirty look, should help his own sister out of the difficulty she finds herself in, arousing a little the attention, with a few words appropriate, of a man who is also a friend of the greatest intimacy… Bah!” But for a gentleman, who is obliged, as a man, to be brave and daring and to settle all his accounts himself, to have a young lady arrange a business of that kind for him… there’s nothing unusual about it: it’s a delightful feat… and even an act of mercy… Don’t you think Mari’s gift of scruples is?… Gosh! I don’t know what I would say to you now, if I could shout all I need to!… “Normal. Well, I’ll just shout it, and leave me alone. ” “That’s it, son, that’s it… that’s how you get out of this situation! And have brothers for that; and go out of your way for them!… and… Our Lady of Sorrows!” Here Tolín’s sister burst into tears, as if her soul were bursting out of her mouth. Tolín tried to console her as best he could; But that whim was resistant to more powerful reflections than the vague, insipid thoughts that occurred to Don Venancio Liencres’s son. Suddenly, Luisa stopped crying and said resolutely to her brother: “Well, understand that if you don’t manage to do what I ask you to do, I’m going to do it myself… I, by myself! And I’ll even be capable of confessing it to her mother and father… and to the parish priest, if you push me… And even Don Silverio Trigueras’s daughter will know the payment you’re giving for what your foolish sister did for you. ” Tolín was on tenterhooks; he believed his sister was very committed to fulfilling what he had promised, and at the same time he was frightened by the perilous nature of the enterprise he was entrusting to her. Her desires weren’t bad, but her irresolution made him shrink. He spoke to Luisa again in this sense, begging her to let him find a way and an opportunity to suit him, because everything would be arranged in time. “No, no,” insisted the other. “There isn’t a moment to lose. Tomorrow you’ll take the first step…” “But listen to reason… ” “Look: as soon as he comes to the office, you call him aside; and there, just the two of you… you begin to talk to him, and then… damn it! If it were me, I’d soon tell him the way such things should be said… ” “And even if everything turned out as you wish, you devilish fool, do you know the look on Mama’s face? ” “That’s on me, Tolín. Why, she could disapprove! Such a beautiful match for me!… Don’t worry about that, and take care of the other thing. ” “Anyway,” said the overwhelmed young man, perhaps to be free for the moment from such a tenacious siege, “I’ll do everything possible to please you.” “We have to do,” insisted Luisa without giving up, “not only what is possible, but everything that is necessary… And if this happens, whether it is done or not, I will have to know tomorrow night, when Andrés comes here… because you will discreetly make sure that he comes without fail… do you understand clearly?… without fail! There was no escape for Tolín; because he knew very well that, with a character like his sister’s, any racket was credible if a whim got in her way. He understood that even to avoid louder bells it was necessary to fulfill the difficult task with determination, and he obliged his sister to do so. As soon as she was convinced that Tolín’s promise was not an in vain expedient to get out of trouble, her insults turned into coos; he lit his candle, said goodbye with a most fervent “goodbye,” and opened the door with great care; and on tiptoe, more gliding than treading, she reached her bedroom in an instant and locked herself in, if not free from worries, then with a more peaceful spirit after the vent she had just given to her tantrum. Tolín, on the other hand, who had gotten up from the table with his spirits as soft as a pool of oil, was unable to fall asleep until very close to dawn. The devil of a little girl! Chapter 28. THE MOST SERIOUS OF ALL CONSEQUENCES. The cries of “Apuyaaa!” still resounded towards Calle de la Mar. “Hush!” with which the deputy of the Lower Council would wake up the seafarers as they walked through the streets where they lived, and the most diligent of them had not yet arrived at the Zanguina to take the stack of brandy or the bowl of cascarilla, when Andrés, his bones aching and his spirit quite faint, left the Arcos de Hacha, crossed the adjacent street and entered the Dock looking for the Long Ramp. It was barely five in the morning, and there was no other light than the faint clarity of the horizon, precursor of twilight, nor were there any other sounds to be heard than their own footsteps, the voices of some boat boy, or the sound of the oars moving on the benches. The black silhouette of the bored night watchman retiring home, considering his arduous service complete, or the blurred profile of the shrunken laborer driven from his poor bed by the harsh need to earn an uncertain breakfast, were the only objects the eye perceived across the entire length of the pier, standing out against the white surface of its cobblestones. For Andrés, that early morning offered a better appearance than the previous night. The atmosphere was less rarefied; an almost fresh air was felt; and although certain red hues were noticeable in the clouds above the horizon where the sun was to rise, this detail , in itself, was of little importance. Reñales, whose boat Andrés was already waiting for him, very impatient, shared the same opinion; for in every shape he saw on the pier, he thought he saw an emissary from home running in search of him. For it must be noted, though it is not necessary, that his brief sleep on the tavern bench was an unremitting nightmare in which he saw, in every detail, the anguish of his mother, who cried out for him and waited for him without a moment’s rest; the worries, the suspicions, and even the anger of his father, who searched for him in vain from street to street, from door to door; and, finally, the conjectures, the consolations, the bitter reproaches… and even the tears, between the two of them. This dreamlike scene was not erased from his imagination after awakening. It tormented his spirit and sapped his body of strength; but the plan had been laid: it was convenient, and it had to be carried out at all costs. Finally, a murmur of harsh voices and heavy footsteps was heard on the Quay; A crowd of fishermen arrived at the Ramp, loaded with their gear, their food, their waterproofs, and many of them with a good portion of the boat’s tackle; and Andrés was delighted to see how Reñales’ boat was rigged and fully crewed in a few moments . The oars were rigged; the skipper stood up to his own, aft, to steer; the boat was unmoored; it received the first push from its fourteen rowers; she set out on a course outward, and her slender keel began to cut across the stretched, still, and shining surface of the bay. But no matter how diligently she went, others preceded her, from the same Cabildo and from the Upper Town; and when she reached the height of the Holy Fountain, she left Mocejón’s boat behind, in which Andrés saw Cleto, whose sad glance, as his only greeting, stirred in his memory the ill-soothed recollections of the event of the previous day, the cause of his crazy adventure. The light of dusk was then beginning to outline the outlines of all the boundaries of what had previously been, on the starboard side, a confused blur, a long, black mass, from Cape Quintres to Mount Cabarga; The reflection of the coast of San Martín could be seen in the crystal waters pierced by the slender vessel, and in the nearby meadows and fields, the orderly movement of country life was reborn, the most remote from the world’s battles. To the right, the sandbanks of the Quebrantas glowed red, wrapped high above in the greenish hood of the hill they supported, their feet sinking beneath the gentle waves with which the sea, their treacherous accomplice, kissed them amidst soft lullabies. They looked like two tigers playing, awaiting a victim for their insatiable voracity. I don’t know if Andrés, sitting in the stern near the skipper, although he looked silently in all directions, saw and appreciated in a similar way the details of the panorama that was unfolding before him; But there is no doubt that he never laid eyes on one of those paintings without feeling the wounds in his heart fester and the battle of his thoughts intensify. That is why he longed to leave as soon as possible those familiar shores and those places that reminded him of so many hours of joy without bitterness in his spirit or thorns in his conscience; and that is why he saw with pleasure that, to take advantage of the fresh land breeze that was beginning to be felt, the sails were hoisted, thus giving double impetus to the boat’s progress. With his head in his hands, his eyes closed and his ear attentive to the muffled murmur of the wake, he reached the tip of the harbor and entered the dark ravine formed by the Mouro rock and the coast beyond; and without moving from that position, he praised God from the depths of his heart when Reñales, uncovering his head, ordered it thus with fervent command; Because there began the tremendous region pregnant with dark mysteries, among which there is no safe moment for life; and only when the rolling and pitching of the boat made him understand that he was well outside the bar, did he straighten his body, open his eyes, and dare to look, not toward the land, where the roots of his sorrow lay, but toward the limitless horizon , the immense desert on whose restless surface the first rays of the sun were beginning to sparkle, emerging from the abysses amidst an extensive halo of crimson crepe. That way, that way, one went to the imposing solitude and silence of the great wonders of God and to the absolute oblivion of the miserable quarrels of the earth, and that is where he wanted to fly away; and that is why it seemed to him that the boat was going very slowly, and he wished that the breeze that filled its sails would suddenly turn into a raging hurricane. But the launch, disdaining the impatience of the fiery youth, continued on its way honorably, making the necessary haste to arrive on time at the point to which its skipper was directing it. The skipper suddenly called Andrés’s attention and said: “Look at this sardine mess.” And he pointed towards a large dark patch, over which a cloud of seagulls were hovering. By these signs the mess was recognized . Then he added: “Good business for the boats that have come out for that. When I come to sardines, the hake will jump on board. Luck of the men.” And the launch continued advancing out to sea, while most of its idle crew slept on the panel; and when Andrés He decided to look toward the coast, but he couldn’t recognize a single point of it, because his inexperienced eyes saw nothing but a narrow brownish strip, on which rose a whitish figure, which was the Cabo Mayor lighthouse, from what the skipper told him. And still the boat continued moving away to the northwest, without the slightest surprise to Andrés; for although he had never gone out so far, he knew perfectly well that for hake fishing, boats usually go fifteen to eighteen miles out from the port; and when fishing for bonito, as much as twelve or fourteen leagues; which is why they are equipped with a compass to orient themselves on their return. As the slender and fragile boat advanced on its course, Andrés dispersed the mists of his imagination and became more talkative. Very few words had been exchanged with the skipper since leaving the Rampa Larga. But as soon as he found himself so far from the coast, he didn’t stop for a moment. He asked not only everything he wanted to know, but also things he’d forgotten from knowing so much: about the locations, the gear, the seasons, the advantages and the risks. He also found out how many and whom of the fishermen who were going there had been recruited, and learned that three, one of them his friend Cole, who at that time was sleeping quite careless. And he lamented the fate of those sailors; and he even discussed at length whether this burden weighing on the guild was more or less just , and whether or not it could have been imposed under less harsh conditions; and he even pointed out a few examples. Who knows how many things he talked about! And talking and talking about everything imaginable, the skipper finally ordered the sails to be lowered and the boat to its destination. While her tackle was being arranged, the fishing tackle was being arranged , and the flakes were being tied to the reels, Andrés cast his gaze around, and lingered for a long time on what he had left behind. That vast expanse was dotted with little black dots, appearing and disappearing every moment on the ridges or in the folds of the waves. The closest to the shore were the small boats, which never strayed more than three or four miles from the port. “Those other boats,” Reñales told him, answering one of his questions and simultaneously tracing a fairly long arc in the air with his hand, “are fishing for sea bream. These first ones are in the Miguelillo; those over there are in the Betún; and these over here are in the Laurel. You already know that those are the best places or fishing spots for sea bream.” Andrés knew this very well, having once approached one of them; but not from having seen the three of them so far away and so clearly marked. Of the hake boats, Reñales’s was so far out, it was the least distant from the coast. Andrés’s eyes could barely make it out; but those of the skipper and all the crew members would have seen a seagull flying over Cabo Menor. Watching the lines being released on both sides after the hooks were properly set in their respective wire loops, Andrés leaned his elbows on the starboard bow, his eyes fixed on the nearest tackle, which the fisherman held in his hand after having placed it on the rounded, fine surface of the flake, so as not to rub the rope against the rough bow as it was pulled in with the hake hooked. A good while passed, quite a while, without the slightest jolt being noticed in any of the tackle. Suddenly Cole shouted from the bow, “Praise God!” This was the signal for the first bite. Then, Cole hauling on the rope and reeling in half a fathom hastily, but not without real effort, brought aboard the boat a hake, which to Andrew, having never seen them caught, seemed like a huge shark. The impressionable lad clapped his hands with enthusiasm. A few moments later he saw another brought aboard, and then another, and then two more; and He was so excited by the spectacle that he requested a rope to try his luck with it. And his request was granted, for it wasn’t half a minute before he felt a hake caught on his hook. But when he brought it aboard, it was it! He could have sworn that colossal cetaceans were pulling the rope down to the bottom of the sea, and that they wanted to sink him, the boat, and everyone inside. “It’s getting away from me… and taking us with it!” cried the fool, pulling the line. The crowd burst out laughing when they saw him in such a predicament; a sailor approached him and, setting up the rigging properly, practically demonstrated that, if you know how to pull, you can easily bring a baby whale aboard, let alone a medium-sized hake like that one. “Well, now we’ll see,” said Andrés, agitated with excitement, as he let out his line again. He had no memory of the dark adventures that had led him to those adventures! He was undoubtedly endowed by nature with exceptional aptitudes for that profession and everything associated with it. From the second time he threw his rope into the depths of the sea, none of his companions in the boat surpassed him in skill in quickly and securely landing a hake. The worst part was that they suddenly decided not to resort to the bait offered to them in its tranquil depths, or to wander off to find others more to their liking; and the remaining hours of the morning were lost in futile attempts and soundings. In view of this, there was talk of going out still further, or, as they say in the jargon of the trade, of making another “imposed” one. “The garden is not for flowers today,” said Reñales, surveying the horizons. “Let’s go eat in peace and in the grace of God.” Then Andrés realized that, upon leaving the Zanguina, he hadn’t remembered to bring a loaf of bread. Fortunately , he wasn’t tormented by hunger; and with some of the cold cuts the fishermen carried in their baskets offered him, and a good drink of water from the small barrel on board, he satisfied the meager needs of his stomach. The breeze, meanwhile, was calming considerably; across the northern horizon stretched a smooth, leaden sky, which between the east and the south broke up into large, irregular bands of intense blue, patterned on a brilliant orange background. Over the Urrieles, or Picos de Europa, enormous mountain ranges of storm clouds piled up ; and the sun, at its highest point, when its light wasn’t obstructed in space, provided much more warmth than usual. The attendants of the boats farther out at sea had signaled “Caution” with their oars raised on the bagra; but none of them was flying the flag that indicates “Reel In.” Reñales was as attentive to those clouds and these signs as to the slices of meat he occasionally brought to his mouth with the fingers of his right hand ; but his companions, although they also kept an eye on them, didn’t seem to attach as much importance to them as he did. Andrés asked him what he thought about it all. “I don’t like it very much when I’m far from the port.” Suddenly, pointing toward Cabo Mayor, he stood up and said: “Listen, boys, what Falagán is telling us. ” Then Andrés, paying close attention to what the fishermen closest to him were telling him, saw three billows of smoke rising over the cape. It was a sign that the south wind was rising sharply in the bay. Two billows of smoke alone would have meant that the sea was breaking on the coast. A southerly wind unleashed is bad for taking sailing boats; but it is more fearsome for that, for what it usually brings suddenly: the gale, that is, the sudden turn to the northwest. Reñales tried to escape these risks by returning to the port as quickly as possible. Looking towards it, he saw that the boats were already bearing down on him, and that the besugueras boats were trying to do the same. Without losing a moment, he ordered the sails to be hoisted; and as the The wind was light, and the oars were also rigged. All the deep-sea boats followed suit. Andrés wasn’t apprehensive in situations like this; and since he wasn’t, he was not a little surprised to observe that, as he drew nearer to the coast, he took as much pleasure in it as he had hours before in moving away. And he observed more: he observed that those storms that had snatched him from his home and made him spend a night of ordeals in a corner of La Zanguina no longer seemed so great, so terrible, so insurmountable to him; that he could have been a little less stubborn with his father, and by doing so alone he would have spared himself the bad night and all that followed, including the adventure he found himself in, which, although it had greatly amused him, left him bitter about its motive… and, finally, that he was rather worried about the boat’s slow speed. And while observing all this, and marveling at it, and never taking his eyes off the cloudy face of Reñales except to direct them toward the not-so-joyous views of his companions, or toward the increasingly visible rocks along the coast, he failed to realize that this whole miracle was the work of an unconscious attachment to his own skin, threatened by a grave risk that was clearly evident in the wary attitude of those men so accustomed to the dangers of the sea. More than an hour passed in this way, with no other sounds to be heard in the boat than the creaking of the sails, the measured fall of the oars in the water, and the hot breathing of the men who, with their fatigue, were helping to heave the half-filled canvas. At times the air was somewhat cooler, and then the rowers rested. No significant change in the sky was noticeable. From the stern and bow, the launches could be seen following the same course as Reñales’s. Everything, then, was going as well as possible, and continued so for another half hour; and Andrés was able to clearly recognize, without the aid of outside eyes, the Urros de Liencres, and then the cliffs of the Virgen del Mar. Suddenly, his ears became aware of a terrifying, distant rumble, as if gigantic battle trains were rolling over vaulted floors; he felt the impression of a cold, damp gust of wind on his face and observed the sun darkening and large, rippling patches of green, almost black, advancing across the sea to the northwest. At the same time, Reñales shouted: “Down with those mainsails!… The tall wind alone!” And Andrés, frozen with terror, saw those brave men abandon their oars and rush, pale and hastening, to fulfill the skipper’s commands. A single instant’s delay in the maneuver would have brought about the dreaded disaster; for scarcely was the windlass hoisted when a furious gust, laden with rain, crashed against the sail, its force enveloping the boat in roaring whirlwinds. A dense mist covered the horizons, and the coastline , better than visible, was discernible by the roar of the waves that battered it and the boiling foam that assaulted its every aspect. As far as the eye could see around them was a terrifying swell of waves chasing each other in a mad dash, their white manes whipping each other around, tossed by the wind. To race ahead of that unleashed fury, without letting it overwhelm one another, was the only way, if not to save oneself, then to even attempt it. But the attempt was not easy, because only the sail could provide the necessary thrust, and the boat would not hold up without capsizing, not even with the little canvas it carried in the center. Andrés knew this very well; and as he watched how the mast creaked in his cockpit, and tightened like a wicker pole, and the sail crackled, and the boat dove headlong, and then fell on its side, and the sea battered it from all sides, he did not even ask why the skipper ordered the windlass to be lowered and the anointing to be rigged in the foremast. More than what the maneuver meant at that anguished moment, the name of the boat chilled the blood in Andrés’s heart. The terrible pressure of that narrow canvas unfurled halfway from a very short pole. _The anointing!_ That is, between life and death. Fortunately, the boat withstood it better than the wind vane; and with its help, it flew through the roaring waves. But they swelled as the hurricane churned them; and the danger of them breaking over the weak craft grew by the minute. To avoid it, all human resources were exhausted. The livers of the fish on board were thrown over the stern, and the floating wind vane was extended on the same side. Something was achieved, but very little, with these resources… Flee, flee ahead!… This alone, or resign oneself to perishing. And the boat continued climbing the foamy crests, and falling into the abysses, and rising again courageously only to fall immediately into another, deeper abyss, always gaining ground, and trying, as it fled, not to present its side to the sea. From time to time, the fishermen would cry out fervently: “Virgin of the Sea, forward!… Forward, Virgin of the Sea!” The minutes he had spent in that terrifying ordeal, so new to him, seemed like centuries to Andrés; and he was beginning to feel dizzy and disoriented amidst the deafening roar; the dazzling whiteness and movement of the waters; the fury of the wind that lashed his face with handfuls of thick rain; the vertiginous leaps of the boat, and the vision of his grave among the folds of that limitless abyss. His clothes were soaked with rainwater and the bitter rain that descended upon him after being flung into space like thick smoke by the crashing waves; his dripping hair floated in the air, and he was beginning to shiver with cold. He didn’t even attempt to open his lips with a single question. Why this futile attempt? Didn’t the roaring of the gale fill everything, didn’t they answer everything that the wretched human voice could ask there? Thus he spent a long time mechanically watching his fellow sufferers, sometimes with the anxiety of despair, and at other times with the serenity of undaunted hearts, using whatever tools were available, clear the water that had been carried aboard the boat by any swell that had struck the stern, or shift the rigging at a signal from the skipper in a moment of respite. The very excess of horror, suspending Andrés’s spirit, gradually predisposed his speech to regular activity and the coordination of ideas, although in an orbit somewhat foreign to the conditions of a spirit constituted like his own. For example, he did not reflect on the probabilities of his survival. For him, it was already indisputable and resolved that he would die there. But he was deeply concerned about the kind of death that awaited him; and he analyzed the fatal event moment by moment and detail by detail. From the meticulous analysis, he deduced that his own body, suddenly thrown into that roaring hell, on the scale of rigorous proportion, represented much less than the atom that falls into the jaws of a tiger to the air it inhales in a yawn. But could it be imagined a more frightening abandonment, a loneliness, a more terrifying despair surrounding a man about to die? Then , in a sad parade, the martyrs he remembered from the numerous legion of heroes, to which the unfortunates who surrounded him belonged, perhaps destined to disappear too, from one moment to the next, in that horrible cemetery, passed through his memory. And he saw them, one by one, struggle for the briefest moments with the forces of despair, against the immense power of the unleashed elements; sink into the abyss; reappear with terror in their eyes and death in their hearts, and submerge again, only to emerge only as the formless remains of a great disaster, floating among the folds of the waves and dragged by the whim of the storm. And seeing them all like that, he came to see Mules; and seeing Mules, he remembered his daughter; and remembering his daughter, by a logical logic association of ideas, he began to think about everything that had happened to him and had caused him to find himself in the danger in which he found himself, and then, in the light that only human eyes perceive on the borders of death, he estimated the true importance of those events; and he was ashamed of his levity, his folly, his ingratitude, his final madness, the cause, perhaps, of his parents’ despair; and his mortal nature returned to claim its rights; and he loved life, and was once again terrified by the dangers he was running at that moment; and he feared that God had arranged to snatch it away from him in this way, as punishment for his sin. He trembled with horror; and every creak of the funereal rigging, every shudder of the boat, every swell that struck it, seemed to him the signal of final disaster. To top his anguish, he suddenly saw , on his side, an oar floating among the turbulent foam; and immediately two more. The saddened fishermen saw it too. And a few moments later they saw more: they saw a black mass floundering among the waves. It was a lost boat. Whose? And its men? Andrés read these questions on the livid faces of his companions. He noticed that, kneeling and raising their eyes to heaven, they made the promise to go the next day, barefoot and laden with oars and sails, to hear a mass to the Virgin, if God would work the miracle of saving their lives in that terrible risk. Andrés raised the same offer to heaven from the depths of his Christian heart. Because of this new impression, another thought assailed him that filled his generous soul with bitterness. If he got out of there alive, it was in his hands to never expose himself to such risks again. But the unfortunates who accompanied him, even if they were saved with him then, would they not feel the pleasure of being saved bitterly worried by the fear of perishing at the least expected hour in another convulsion of the sea, as sudden and terrifying as that one? Wretched profession, with such failures! And he went about noticing, one by one, all the fishermen in the boat. There were all kinds there: from the beardless youth to the gray-haired old man; and they all seemed more resigned than he; and yet, each one of those lives was more necessary in the world than his own. This consideration, wounding the fiber of his self-respect, infused some warmth into his dejected spirits. And the storm raged on, the boat running madly and already half-flooded, ahead of it. In one of its lurches, its helm came within half a foot of a mass that was bobbing between two waters, leaving thick clumps of bristly hair floating on them. “Dead!” cried Reñales, trying at the same time to seize the corpse with one of his hands. Andrés felt the chill of death invade his heart once more, that life was about to ebb away from him; and only an event like the one that had occurred at that very moment could restore his annihilated strength. It happened that Reñales, because his movement coincided with a violent roll of the boat, lost his balance and fell on his right side, striking his head on the helm. Unable to steer , the boat drifted across the sea; the mast was shattered into splinters, and the wind snatched the sail. Andrés then, understanding the gravity of the new danger, “To the oars!” shouted to the dismayed fishermen, launching himself into the stern, abandoned by Reñales when he fell, and putting the boat on a suitable course, with skill and agility very fortunate for all. They then passed in front of Cape Menor, over whose rocky shoulders the seas advanced to crash down on the other side in a roaring cascade. From there, or rather, from Cape Mayor, to the mouth of the harbor, and continuing through the islet of Mouro to Cape Quintres and Cape Ajo, the entire coast was a single border of bellowing foams that boiled and climbed, and clung to the cliffs, and fell again to attempt a new assault, against the inconceivable thrust of those liquid mountains that were about to crash furiously, without point of calm, against the immovable barriers. “Forward, Virgin of the Sea!” the rowers repeated in a firm voice, in time with their fatigue. Andrés, gripping his oar, his feet planted firmly on the side of the boat, struggling and watching his valiant companions struggle with superhuman effort against the death that threatened them from all sides, began to feel the sublimity of so many horrors together, and he praised God before that terrifying testimony of his greatness. Throughout all this, Reñales did not move hand or foot; and Cole, who was constantly bailing out the water with another companion, at a signal from Andrés, who was in charge of everything, suspended his extremely important work and went to raise the skipper, who had been stunned by the blow and was bleeding profusely from the wound he had caused in his head. He was cared for as poorly as possible in such a difficult situation. And with that he gradually revived, until he tried to return to his post when the launch, crossing like a flash in front of the Sardinero, arrived opposite Caleta del Caballo. But at that moment, besides serenity and intelligence, uncommon strength was needed to steer; and Reñales lacked this last, all-important qualification, while Andrés, from his point off the coast, possessed them all in abundance. “Well, onward!” said the skipper, curling up on the panel, because his aching head could not withstand the battering of the storm, “and may God’s will be done! Onward!” Onward was the attack on the port, that is, the risking of one’s life in the last and most formidable gamble; because the harbor was closed by a series of walls of enormous waves, which, upon reaching the narrow gap and feeling themselves pressed there, part of each one would assault and envelop the bare rock of Mouro, and the rest would rush into the dark gully, filling it and rearing their colossal shoulders to fit better, and the enormous granite walls would tremble as they passed . But how could they escape the harbor? Where could they turn in search of refuge? Wasn’t every moment that passed without the boat capsizing on the horrible path it was following a miracle? The least bad thing about that situation was that it would be resolved very soon; and this conviction could be clearly read on the faces of the crew, fixed on Andrés’s and motionless, as if they had all suddenly petrified at once, by the action of a single thought. “You know it now, Don Andrés,” said Reñales to him; “heading along the line between the Rubayo Pass and the Codío de Solares, it’s the right half-bay. ” “True,” responded Andrés bitterly, without taking his eyes off the mouth of the harbor or his hands off the oar with which he was steering; “but when you can’t see either the Codío de Solares or the Rubayo Pass, as you can now, what do you do, Reñales?” “Put yourself in God’s hands and go in by any means possible,” replied the skipper after a brief pause, his eyes devouring the horrible quagmire that was now not two cables’ length from the launch. Until then, anything that meant running ahead of the storm was a step closer to safety; but from that moment on, rapid progress could be as dangerous as involuntary stopping. because the launch was between the hurricane that was driving it and the gap that had to be stormed if the seas didn’t break into it. Andrés, who was not unaware of this, looked like a stone statue with fiery eyes; the rowers were machines that moved at the command of a glance from him; Reñales didn’t dare breathe. On Mount Hano there was a crowd of people who were gazing in horror, and barely resisting the blows of the furious gale, at the terrible situation of the launch. Andrés, fortunately for himself and all those with him, didn’t look up then. All his attention was absorbed by the examination of the horrific field where the decisive battle was about to be fought. Suddenly he shouted to his rowers: “Now!… Row!… More!” And the rowers, drawing miraculous strength from their long labors, They rose stiffly into the air, their feet braced on the benches and their hands hanging onto the oars. A colossal wave then launched itself into the gap, swollen, shining, bellowing, and on top of its back rode the boat with all its oars’ power. Its back reached from shore to shore; better than a back, a ring of a gigantic reptile, unfolding from tail to head. That ring continued advancing through the gap toward the Quebrantas, on whose sandbanks it was bound to crash roaring. It passed under the boat’s keel, and the boat began to slide stern-first as if through the curtain of a waterfall, to the bottom of the chasm that the fugitive wave had left behind. There was a risk that the boat would fall asleep; but Andrés thought of everything, and asked his rowers for another heroic effort . They made it; and rowing to overcome the ebb tide of the past sea, another larger one, which entered without breaking through the gap, was lifted from the stern and hoisted onto its back, pushing it towards the port. The height was terrifying, and Andrew felt the vertigo of the precipices; but he was not daunted, nor did his body lose its poise in that improbable position. “More!… more!” he shouted to the exhausted rowers, because the decisive moment had arrived. And the oars creaked, and the men gasped, and the boat continued to climb, but gaining ground. As the stern touched the summit of the roaring mountain, and the weak boat was about to receive its last favorable impulse, Andrew, heaving vigorously, cried out, moved, putting into his words all the fire left in his heart: “Jesus, and in!” And the wave also passed, without breaking, towards the Quebrantas, and the boat began to slide down the slope of a new abyss. But that abyss was salvation for all, because they had rounded the point of the Cerda and were in safe harbor. At that very instant, as Andrew, moved and eager, threw back his hair and wiped the water that ran down his face, a voice, with an accent that cannot be described, cried from the top of the Cerda: “Son!… Son! ” Andrew, shuddering, raised his head; and, before a stupefied crowd, he saw his father with his arms open, his hat in his hand, his thick white hair tossed by the stormy air. That supreme emotion sapped his spirit; and the chastened lad, bending his body onto the plank of the boat and hiding his face in his trembling hands, burst into tears like a child, while the boat rocked in the colossal blisters of the surf, and the weary oarsmen gave the much-needed respite to their panting chests. At the same time, in the midst of the mists ahead, a poor boat, now abandoned, its deck swept clean, its canvas torn, its frayed rigging fluttering in the wind, amidst frightful lurches and mad pitching, with its last roll threw its masts over the side; The anchor chains with which she clung to the bottom jumped in the throes of desperation; a sea crashed against the exposed keel and threw the mutilated hull into the fury of the breakers, whose foam spat out, almost immediately, the splinters of her shattered ribs. Those sad floating remains were all that remained of the _Young Antoñito de Rivadeo_. Chapter 29. WHAT IT ALL BECAME OF. The most kind reader, who has followed me up to this point with evangelical patience, does not deserve that I torment him again with the account of events that are easily imagined, or are of very little importance at this stage of the main subject… if there is a main subject in this book. Let us, then, allow hours to pass since the unfortunate ones detailed in the preceding chapter; Let bile tears roll down the cheeks of the afflicted, and others much sweeter between embraces of joy and heartbeats without torture; that the pious offerings to God, in times of great hardship, be fulfilled, and that the fervent sailors, and Andrés before them all, barefoot and with their clothes still wet from the storm water, and with the oars and sails on their shoulders, go to the temple and leave it amidst the respect and commiseration of the people of the city; that days pass later, and the aftertaste of other new events dulls in the public voracity the longing for the past, however sad or noisy they may have been; that the lessons learned benefit some to forgive, others to correct themselves; that Andrés normalizes his life along the new paths to which he is dragged by a sudden and cordial aversion to the frivolities and entertainments of before… and a certain interview with his friend Tolín, requested by the latter and held in the most secret and remote part of Don Venancio Liencres’s office; that, as a sign of the firmness of his purposes and the deep-rootedness of his aversions, he should burn his ships, that is, sell his Zephyr and his fishing tackle, and give the money worth it to old Mechelin, through Father Apolinar, for he must never set foot in the hold again; that that most worthy family should rejoice in the belief that their prayers, with a candle lit before the image of Saint Peter, upon learning that Andrew was at sea on the day of the storm, contributed powerfully to his salvation; let us also allow the son of Don Pedro Colindres to call Cleto, and alone with him, swear, with the solemnity with which he did the other time on top of Paredón, but with greater confidence in his strength to fulfill it, everything that the noble son of Mocejón needed to believe in order to be left only with the burden of his doubts about ever being reciprocated, and the shame of being his mother’s son, which was no light burden; Let’s wait, in short, for two more days to pass, and for Cleto to dress in the livery of the servants of the _king’s ship_, on the eve of being taken to the Department, and for human justice to lock up the women on the fifth floor in the public jail to bring them to trial for defamation and scandal, and then we’ll go and take a last look at the cellar on Calle Alta. Father Apolinar is there; and while Aunt Sidora and Sotileza are busy sadly and silently, he walks around the parlor talking with Mechelín, who is warming himself with the rays of the sun that penetrate through the window, sitting in a chair, heavily clothed, faded and emaciated. He no longer wants a pipe, and his sad eyes look at everything without curiosity. He was on the verge of death. He confessed to the friar; the latter then gave him viaticum, and the next day “he was already a bit of a man.” He revived somewhat more; And as soon as he was able to stand up straight, he jumped out of bed, which saddened him greatly. He counted on eventually recovering enough to return to his work at the bay. These are the things of ailing old men who seem, like children, to be the flower of wonder. Only in ailing old men, each sting of illness takes a good cut between their nails. The Cabildo doctor encouraged his hopes; but I believe the good doctor had something else in store for him. The morning had been a trial for the poor old man. Since he couldn’t leave the house, all the sailors taken by the draft had come to bid him farewell , and Cleto was still missing. Colo had been with Pachuca. The unfortunate woman wept, almost dissolving. Everyone went to the hold to console her; but the more they consoled her, the more anguished her wailing became. At the same time, the street seemed like a sea of tears; And every time Aunt Sidora and Sotileza went out to the doorway to weep with those who were weeping, Mechelín heard the sad rumors and felt the need to weep a little, and he did weep in the end; because above the sorrow of all those who wept, he felt the fear of never seeing those comrades who were leaving again in the world. But, anyway, this had passed, and much had been said about it. in the hold; and another matter was already being discussed, about which Father Apolinar was saying, when we arrived to find out what was happening there: “That shouldn’t surprise you, Miguel. After what happened in this house, there’s no other way for an honorable man to conduct himself. Put yourself in the right place, Miguel; put yourself in the right place. ” “Don’t you see how upset I am, Pa Polinar?” the sailor responded. “And because I am upset, I’m not surprised at all. But it’s one thing not to be surprised, and another thing quite another how a person feels.” You’re right not to come back here, for your own good and that of everyone else… But I was so used to seeing him, and I loved him so much!… And yet, I couldn’t give him a hug, not even one, after God had saved him alive from that predicament in which so many unfortunate people perished!… It’s true that I gave my all to his father… I dared to do it, come on! Do you believe, Pa Polinar, that, despite what the captain is, the oak himself!… he cried like a baby? He’s a good man! Ever since what happened, he’s come here often… he looks out for me… he looks out for these women… he has consolation for everyone… he wants me to lack nothing… not even a quarter of a hen for the stew!… Can anyone ask for anything like that? All this, about those interests that your son sent me through your hand… there they are, stored in the treasury, without knowing what to do with them; because for a few days now this has been swimming in possibilities… Even the double blanket, sir, and the new rucksacks, and the pounds of chacolate, from the lady!… Come on, they never tire. And I who see it, I can’t quite understand why God gives me such a pampered old age; who am I to end up among so many benefits… But, returning to the point, I can’t help but confess that it’s very hard for me to get used to not seeing in this house that creature of the same gold as Potosí… It’s a matter of one’s gut, and it can’t be helped… And to more or less of those women, it happens the same as to me… The gut too, man… the real gut! “Fresh, Miguel, fresh,” replied Father Apolinar, strolling before the affectionate sailor. “All that is the pure truth, and it does not violate the law of God, who desires grateful hearts and tongues without poison. That’s the point, the matter closed. But there’s another matter that can’t be left as it is, Miguel; it matters a great deal to you and to all your household… a great deal, damn it!… a great deal!… and it must be settled today… right now; because soon it will be too late… And look, Miguel: counting on this and not trusting anything more to my own strength, because, although it is great, it is not always enough against the stubbornness of the horseweed, I have spoken to Señor Don Pedro and he has promised to come around here and help me in the endeavor… which is even an act of mercy, damn it is! And a very serious one!… The bad thing is that it takes time.” And if the other one goes first !… You know it well, Miguel: the young man may die, but the old man cannot live… And if you should be gone!… and your wife right away!… Eh?… What do you think? “I understand, Pa Polinar, and you know very well what one’s will is; but hers is not as clear as it should be, and that is the problem…
” “Well, that will must be clarified properly, Miguel, and without delay, and in the proper way; because the house is now free of terrors; one can now enter here at midday and cough loudly in the doorway; because the corrupted flesh is in its proper rotten place. True, there are three years between now and that unfortunate man’s term, and in that time they can be released from prison, if they do not go to the galleys, as is believed to happen; But even if they don’t go, or the punishment doesn’t kill them, and they go back home and the warning doesn’t help them, what does it matter to us, jinojo? We have good supporters; and, in the worst case, they’ll change neighborhoods and even districts, if necessary… It has to be done, Miguel, there’s no other way, jinojo… and whoever falls! The lad is a piece of shit. of bread, and she must not remain a nun… Horn, she cannot go any other way!… Silda! Silda!… Come here. And come you too, Sidora! And the two of them came without delay from the kitchen. The marks of her past sufferings were evident in Sotileza: her complexion was darker and paler, but her natural beauty acquired greater interest for all this. Father Apolinar courageously urged her to resolve the matter at hand right then and there, and explained the reasons why the resolution should be in accordance with the wishes of her affectionate protectors. “Do you have,” the friar asked her, “some purpose in your heads that opposes this project? ” “No, sir,” Silda answered with great serenity. “Do you find anything in Cleto that repels you more than the roguish offspring of his entire caste? ” “No, sir.” Cleto, in and of himself, is everything a poor woman like me could wish for. The truth is perfect. He’s good, he’s honorable… and I even think he thinks of me more than I’m worth… “Well then, you bastard, what more do you want? What are you waiting for after what you’ve been told? Sometimes, damn it, it seems you insist on making people believe you take pleasure in paying with grief for what these poor old people go out of their way for you. ” “We’ll never think of that, you son of a bitch!” they both exclaimed almost at the same time. The friar wasn’t daunted by this, and immediately added: “Well, I’ll think of it myself… and anyone with a clear mind!” Silda remained silent for a few moments; And as if Father Apolinar’s remark had pained him, or he were preparing to make a heroic resolution, “Do you believe,” he asked without haughtiness, but with great fortitude, “that what you desire is what is best for everyone?” And they all answered, unanimously, that it was. “So be it,” Silda concluded solemnly. “But don’t let it choke you, you son of a bitch !” “Don’t let it serve as a Calvary for you, you little salt of God!” To these exclamations of the moved old men, Sotileza replied: “There is no cross that is as heavy as a man with the good will to carry it.” At that moment, Don Pedro Colindres entered the hold. Father Apolinar told him what had just happened there, and the captain said: “I am glad with all my heart. I came precisely to help with my advice, knowing how short time is.” Congratulations, girl… And since you can’t believe I’m using him as bait to get you to make up your mind, I’m offering to be the best man at the wedding, and I want you to understand that I’ll see to it that the day after the wedding, Cleto will be the skipper of his own boat. And if you don’t like the trade, you’ll also have the workshop and the tools for another one you’ll like more. Do you know what this means in the mouth of a man like me?… “These are souls, damn it!… This is really good tar, jinojo!” exclaimed Father Apolinar, twisting into three folds under his clothes. “Do you see, Silda?… Do you see, Miguel?… Do you see, Sidora? Do you see how God is in heaven and has something for everyone who deserves it?” But neither Silda nor Mechelín nor Aunt Sidora were in a position to reply: the former, because she fell into a kind of stupor that was difficult to define; and the other two, because they began to whimper. The captain added: “All this isn’t worth two farthings, Father Apolinar; but even if it were, they deserve it here; and you more than anyone, girl… because I understand myself. With what courage, how young you are, and then three years pass… ” “Virgin of the Sea! Give me life only to see it,” exclaimed Uncle Mechelín between sobs, almost at the same time as his wife was saying: “Blessed be the Lord, who places the melecina so close to the wound!” At this point, Cleto entered. He wore a white undershirt with a wide blue collar over his shoulders; half his head was covered with a blue cap, with long ribbons hanging down the back, and he carried on his arm a bundle that was his entire baggage. He was truly handsome. He entered with a resolute air; and addressing the girl directly, without paying any attention to the people who were with her, he spoke to her thus: “I have just a little while left, Sotileza. I’ve come to take advantage of this to find out the yes or the no; because without one or the other, I won’t leave Santander even if they drag me… And look at yourself carefully before you speak… With a yes, there will be no troubles that will frighten me there; with a no, I’m leaving never to return… Just like the light of God that illuminates us!” There was then in Cleto’s attitude a certain rough grandeur that became him very well. Sotileza answered him, wrapping her sonorous words in a beautiful look of consolation: “I want to give you a yes, because you well deserve it… The determination with which you desire it is better than I.” Then, placing her hands around her very white and round neck, beneath the handkerchief that adorned it, she removed a chain from which hung a silver medal with the image of the Virgin, and added, handing it to him: “Here, so that the path back may be easier for you.” And if ever a bad thought should keep you awake, ask this Lady if I am a woman to fail in what I offer. Cleto rushed to the warm medal, and covered it with kisses, and crossed himself with it, and kissed it again, and held it to his heart, and finally, hung it around his neck; and meanwhile, with great tears streaming from his eyes, he said hurriedly and convulsively: “Blessed be the goodness of God, who has such compassion on me!… This is more than I wanted, mate!… Let sorrow come now!… I have a flag now!… Does anyone want to know what Cleto is capable of?… Well, that they ask me to take it down, or to get away from it… Uncle Miguel… Aunt Sidora… Señor Don Pedro… pa Polinar… I carry nothing but sorrow now… That man, mate… how he remains!… I leave him lying on the mattress… I don’t know if it’s a bad mood… or a bad mood… because for days now, he hasn’t had enough heat for liquor. What will become of him in that solitude!… I was sorely missed at home, now more than ever; But the law is the law, and it has no heart… For charity alone… may he not perish in abandonment!… I know well that in this house he did not deserve so much; but he is my father, and he is old… and he sees himself alone… Once in a while… cloth!… make him take something warm… And, come on, forget the insult for the love of God… They all reassured Cleto, promising him that they would look after his father with great interest; and immediately the farewells began. When it was Uncle Mechelín’s turn, he asked Cleto for an embrace; and while they were both embracing, the sick sailor said, putting his mouth to the servant’s ear: “I will not see him again, Cleto; and that is why I want to tell you now what I cannot tell you then. You are taking with you a companion that no man ever born deserves. If you manage to make her happy, even kings in their palaces will envy you.” But if you kill her with grief, don’t count on God’s forgiveness. Cleto, as all reply, clasped the old man in his arms; and since his composure was no longer up to many ceremonies, he threw off Uncle Mechelín and hurried out of the hold. Father Apolinar put his tile hat on his head and ran after him. “Hang on, man!” he shouted, “I’ll go and bid you farewell at the end of the pier. It wouldn’t be long before you embarked without God’s blessing thanks to this sinful hand!” And while Don Pedro Colindres stayed for a while in the hold encouraging Uncle Mechelín to have a drink, and in the process, he discussed the solitude of Mocejón, Father Polinar went out into the street and caught up with Cleto, who was now the last of his Council members included in the draft. Public curiosity turns everything into substance. That’s why the balconies of the last third of the Pier were full of spectators when Father Apolinar and Cleto walked past there towards the Merlón, packed, like its eastern ramp, with sailors and families of sailors from the two Cabildos, and a crowd of curious onlookers of all lineages. If Father Apolinar had been a prudent man and had been well aware of the situation, he might have attached some malicious importance to the intimacy with which Luisa and Andrés were conversing on one of the balconies of Don Venancio Liencres’s room , paying no attention to what was happening outside, nor to the expressions on Tolín and his mother’s faces, who were standing behind them. But, rather than paying attention, the saintly man didn’t even notice the captain, who was walking along the sidewalk, a little puffed up, glancing sideways at the first floor, her face bathed in complacency, perhaps from seeing that devil of a boy so well entertained. Of what happened at the tip of the Muelle on the occasion of the embarkation of the sailors of the draft for the service of the country, I must describe here very shortly after having elsewhere devoted four long pages to that harsh tribute imposed by the law of the time on the fishermen’s guild, in compensation for the monopoly of a trade that counts, among its most frequent risks, the horrors of the gale. I will say, just to say something and so that the matter is not left without due honor, that the final scene of that sad spectacle was as imposing as it was simple : two boats packed with men, east of the Martillo, setting off, by force of oars, towards San Martín; on the Martillo, an uncovered crowd facing the boats; towering over all the heads, another gray head, half hidden by hunched backs, and, joined to these backs, a black arm tracing a cross in space. 4 “Mountain Scenes.” And since there is no other matter to discuss regarding this book, let us leave it here, pious and complacent reader, for it is time to do so; but not without declaring to you that, as I rest my weary hand, I feel in my heart the sorrow engendered by a well-founded fear that the enormous task of extolling, in the midst of these colorless and disbelieving generations, the noble virtues, the miserable life, the great weaknesses, the incorruptible faith, and the epic labors of the valiant and picturesque sailor from Santander was not reserved for me. Thus concludes Sotileza, a work that has shown us the strength of nature, love, and society in a difficult time. José María de Pereda has left us with a profound reflection on destiny, customs, and human passions. Thank you for joining us in this narrative. Don’t forget to subscribe for more classic stories and to continue enjoying the literature that has endured throughout the centuries. See you next time.
¡Bienvenidos a Ahora de Cuentos! En esta ocasión, les presentamos la obra ‘Sotileza’ de José María de Pereda, una novela que nos transporta a la vida en la costa cantábrica, marcada por la tradición y los desafíos del día a día. A través de sus personajes profundos y su atmósfera única, Pereda logra capturar las complejidades del alma humana y las relaciones que definen nuestras vidas. 🌊🛶
**Resumen de la historia:**
– **Ambientación:** En un pequeño pueblo costero de Cantabria, la novela nos introduce a Sotileza, una joven que se enfrenta a las normas sociales y el destino impuesto por su entorno.
– **Personajes:** La obra presenta personajes inolvidables que luchan contra las adversidades y buscan el sentido de la vida en su contexto rural y marinero.
– **Temas:** La tradición, el amor, el honor y la lucha por la supervivencia son temas recurrentes que se entrelazan a lo largo de la narración.
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-Sotileza de José María de Pereda 🌊📚 [https://youtu.be/loUg7VLEnoM]
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