"PROOFS! PROOFS! ROSARIO!"
God had poor folks in mind that year! The women of the Cabanal, crowding
the beach in the afternoon, were sure of that. The boats had been out
two nights and a day, and they were already coming home. The stiff
horizon line was dotted with sails, in pairs, the _bou_-teams hurrying
shoreward before a favoring breeze, like couples of doves yoked by a
belt at the water-line. The oldest women along shore could not remember
such fishing! Lord, the fish just seemed to be sitting there in solid
packs, waiting patiently to be scooped out. The poorest people in town
would have plenty to eat for once in their lives.
The boats ran in and anchored a few yards from the surf, lowering their
big sails, and swinging round to head the wind, gently, gracefully,
pitching. Mobs of dirty calico skirts, red faces and tangled heads
rushed to the water's edge in front of each team, the women shrieking,
cursing, quarreling, arguing, as to whom the fish should go. Overboard
the "cats" jumped into the water that reached their waists, and the
other men followed. A straight line of moving baskets formed between
vessel and shore, human torsos rising higher and higher above the
surface of the sea till bare feet touched dry sand. There the wives of
the skippers were on hand to take charge of the catch.
The beach was one sparkling shining display of beauty. The fish were
still alive and flopping in the baskets. Rock-salmon, like palpitating
carnation petals, lay there wriggling their soft vermilion and gasping
frantically for breath. Slimy devil-fish crooked their backs in agony or
drew together in masses of squirming, crawling suckers. Flounders, as
thin and flat as the sole of a shoe, pounded their tails vigorously
about. The wide, kite-like fins of rays, quivered in their sticky glue.
But squid, squid, everywhere, the most valuable prey of all! The waters
offshore seemed literally alive with squid! And the catch was
tremendous. Basket after basket shone with masses of transparent
iridescent crystal, the slimy crustaceans waving their tentacles
desperately about, setting the black of their receptacles a-glitter with
the soft colors of mother-of-pearl.
The stretch of water between the boats and the surf was as crowded as a
city street. "Cats" were wading out with flagons of water on their
shoulders. The sailors, tired of the lukewarm filthy drink from the
hogsheads aboard, longed for a draught from the ice-cold _font de Gas_.
Tiny girls from the cabins along shore, their ragged skirts innocently
rolled high above their knees, were splashing about in the puddles,
looking at everything with eager curiosity, and filling their aprons
with the littlest fish. Some of the vessels were to lie up on shore for
a day. And the oxen, owned cooperatively by the village fishermen,
splendid mastodontic creatures, yellow and white, were solemnly,
majestically, deliberately, lumbering in and out of the water, shaking
their enormous double chins with the gravity of Roman senators. Their
polished hoofs sank deep into the sand; but they could beach the
heaviest boat at a single pull. Driving them, geeing and hawing, was
Chepa, a sallow round-shouldered sickly fellow, with the expression of a
crabbed witch, on his foetus-like face. He might have been fifty. He
might have been fifteen. He was dressed in yellow oilskins, his bare red
feet protruding from under the huge baggy trousers, the skin on them
showing the outline of every tendon and every bone. As a boat would
slowly scrape along up out of the water, a throng of ragged disheveled
youngsters would rush down to meet it, running along beside it through
the surf like a cortege of nereids and tritons, noisily begging for a
handful of _cabets_!
A market was being improvised right on the beach, and sales were going
on in a hub-bub of shouting, cursing, and shaking of fists. The wives
of the captains, intrenched behind their overflowing baskets, were going
it hammer and tongs with the fish-women who would retail the catch next
day at Valencia. When it came to the weighing, the fights would start
all over again. The owners would try to keep out the big fish, _las
piezas gordas_; while the buyers would object to including the small
fry. Rough scales were being fashioned of baskets hung on ropes, big
stones serving as weights. Some gamin from the village, who had been to
school, was always on hand to volunteer as book-keeper for the owners,
entering the sales in pencil on almost any piece of paper.
The vendors would move the baskets they had bought around with their
feet, while the beach-combers looked on covetously. Let a fish slip off
and it vanished as though through a hole in the sand. Whenever a new
pair of boats came in the crowd would run to a new section of the shore
and people from Valencia who had dropped down to see the sight, would
find themselves nearly swept off their feet by the rude scrambling mob.
That was a great day for Dolores. For years she had figured on the beach
as one in the riot of vendors merely. How she had longed to rise to the
class of owners, still to haggle, of course, but to dictate terms, from
a vantage point, to that dirty turbulent crowd of lower scum! And now
her dream of glory was being realized! She stood sniffing at the air
through that disdainful nose of hers, straightening up full height
behind her array of baskets; while Tonet--educated in the Royal Navy, if
you please--was tending the scales and setting down the figures.
Her keel barely awash in the surf, the _Mayflower_ was waiting for the
oxen to drag her up high and dry. The Rector was still aboard, helping
his men furl the sail. At times he would stop and look ashore, watching
his wife fighting tooth and nail there, and calling out the figures
which his brother was to set down. What a woman! Could a queen be
prettier! And the poor fellow's chest heaved with pride and joy at the
thought that Dolores owed all that glory to him, to him alone.
Forward, on the tip of the bow, Pascualet reared his diminutive and
motionless manhood, looking more like a walrus than an eight-year-old
boy, the figure-head of the boat, as it were. Barefoot, and as dirty as
could be, his shirt-tail out on one side and flapping in the wind, his
breast exposed to the sea-air and as tanned and red as the bust of a
statue of mud, he was the admiration of a crowd of little beach-combers,
who had gathered round, hardly a stitch on their bronzed limbs, so lean
and bony from a life-long diet of salt fish.
But what a catch the Rector had made! His boat loaded to the scuppers
with squid, and at thirty cents a pound--you figure it up yourself! The
penniless idlers on shore surveyed the wonder-worker as though a sea of
dollars were pitching and tumbling out there beyond the surf. Chepa came
down with his oxen, and the _Mayflower_ began to climb the beach,
grating along over the runners that had been laid under her bottom.
Pascualo had jumped down from the deck and gone to Dolores, his face
wreathed in smiles at sight of her standing there with her apron caught
up to hold a peck or more of silver coins that represented her cash
sales. Fairly good for two days' work, eh! A few trips like that and
they'd have a pretty pile! And there was a good chance for the luck to
hold! Old _tio_ Batiste knew where the best places were!
But the Rector stopped and looked at his brother. The bandages on the
injured hand had disappeared. So Tonet was in trim again already! That
was good news to add to the good catch! He wouldn't miss the next
sailing now! And he would see some real fishing, I'll tell you! Just the
trouble of hauling them in, with your net full at every shot! "We'll be
going out at sunrise, to-morrow morning, to make the best of this run,
while it lasts!"
Dolores had sold everything; and she asked her husband if he would be
going home. The Rector, however, could not say. He hated to leave the
boat. The crew would be going off and getting drunk, let alone that
bunch of little devils who would strip her clean of everything that
could be carried the moment his back was turned. It would probably keep
him busy till way into the night. If he wasn't home by nine o'clock, she
had better go to bed. Tonet should go and get his pack ready and say
good-by to Rosario; so as to be on the beach an hour before dawn. There
would be no waiting in such times!
Dolores looked at her husband and then at Tonet. She said she would be
going along. Pascualet did not want to go with her, when she called. He
would rather stay down at the boat with papa. Dolores had to start off
alone, and the two men stood gazing after her beautiful figure, as, with
a graceful swinging of hips and shoulders, it vanished in the distance.
Tonet hung-around till after dark, swapping stories and banter with
_tio_ Batiste, and discussing the great catch with the men of the crew.
He did not leave till the "cat" began to get supper ready on board the
_Mayflower_.
Left to himself, Pascualo began to walk up and down the beach, his hands
stuffed into his sash, and the legs of his oilskins rasping noisily as
they rubbed together. The shore was quite dark. Here and there a stove
could be seen glowing on the deck of some boat, blinking as the figure
of a sailor passed in front of it. The sea was shrouded in deep gloom,
marked by an occasional flash of phosphorescence. The surf was trickling
in with a barely audible moan. Softened by the distance came the voices
of some "cats" singing as they made their way toward the Cabanal and
stirred some dog to bark along the road. A faint band of reddish light
still loitered above the horizon where the sun had sunk behind the
housetops.
The Rector did not like that reddish after-glow. His experience at sea
had taught him to see in it the signs of unsettled weather. But that
thought did not concern him long. The joy of the successful trip was too
insistent still. No, things were going well, weren't they! Few men in
the world with more reason to be thankful than he! A pretty home! A
delicious and a frugal wife! The prospect of building another boat,
before the year was out, to go in team with the _Mayflower_! And then a
boy after his own heart! Pascualet took to salt water like a mackerel!
Why, in time that youngster would be the best captain along shore!
Better off, far, than the happy man in the story who didn't have a shirt
to his back! He wouldn't have to worry about cold weather--nor rainy
days! And there would be a bit left over for old age!
Gloating over his good fortune, Pascualo quickened his lumbering pace as
a corpulent sea-dog, and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. But in the
darkness ahead of him a figure suddenly appeared, advancing slowly in
his direction. Only a woman! Some beggar, probably, making the rounds of
the fleet to pick up a spare fish here and there! And so it goes! How
many poor devils there are in the world! Why shouldn't a fellow do a
little something for one of them now and then! And the Rector's hand
felt at a lump in the end of his sash where he had knotted a few silver
coins along with a copper or two.
"Pascualo!" came the call. It was a soft, timid, hesitating voice. "Is
that you, Pascualo?"
"_Cristo!_ What a mistake! I took her for a beggar! And it's Rosario!
Well, well! Looking for Tonet, I suppose! Now that's too bad! You've
missed him! He's just gone home. He'll be there wanting his supper, and
wondering where you are!"
But the skipper, overflowing with good humor, was taken somewhat aback
when he learned that Rosario was not looking for Tonet at all. She had
come to see the Rector! What was up? He had never been on very good
terms with his sister-in-law. Queer she should be turning to him!
However, there was nothing to be done except hear her through. He stood
with folded arms, his eyes turned toward the boat where Pascualet and
the other "cat" were dancing back and forth around the soup-kettle.
Well, what could he do for her? He was listening! And resignedly he
waited for the tale of woe he was sure would come from that figure, so
vaguely outlined in the darkness, and afraid, it seemed, to begin to
speak.
But Rosario with sudden resolution, threw her head energetically back,
nailed two flaming mysterious eyes upon the Rector, and began to talk as
though in a hurry to get through with it. She had something to say to
him, something that concerned the reputation of the whole family. She
could not stand it any longer! She and Pascualo had become the
laughing-stock of the whole place.
"Ah! What's this you're saying? The laughing-stock of the whole place!
And what are they laughing at me for, silly? Just take a look at me and
the _Mayflower_! Do you see anything specially funny about us?"
"Poor Pascualo!" Rosario said, slowly this time, but in deadly earnest,
and with the tone of a person prepared to face the worst, "Pascualo,
Dolores is not being true to you."
Pascualo reared like a steer struck with an ax between the eyes. Then he
stood dazed for an instant, his great head sunk upon his chest. But it
was only for a second. That man had a deep faith in the goodness of
things and people. His balance could stand harder buffets from the world
than that.
"Hold your tongue, Rosario, your lying tongue, and get out of my sight.
You're a liar, a liar, that's what you are!"
Had there been light enough for Rosario to see the Rector's face, she
would doubtless have obeyed, frightened. His right foot was kicking at
the sand, as though the falsehood were a loathsome worm to be ground
under his heel. His arm was doubled up and his fist was clenched. Words
seemed to come choking from his throat.
"You rag of a woman! And don't everybody know who you are? A back-biter,
a cheap gossip, and a trouble-maker. You hate Dolores! You'd do anything
to hurt her! You've driven my poor brother to the dogs with your beastly
temper! And now you would dirty the reputation of Dolores! And she's a
saint! A saint, do you hear! And a woman like you isn't good enough to
kiss the bottom of her shoe, you snake! And now, get out of here, and do
it quick, damn quick! Get out of here, or I'll kill you like a rat!"
But Rosario stood there impassively. The calm determination in her did
not shrink before those insults and those menacing fists.
"Pascualo, Dolores is not being true to you," she repeated slowly, and
with despairing firmness. "She is making a fool of you. And the man ...
is ... Tonet!"
The Rector stiffened in speechless fury! And his brother she would bring
in too, in that low-down spiteful jealousy of hers!
"Get out of here, I say! Get out of here, Rosario, or I'll kill you as
sure as ever you were born!" And he meant it, this time. He had seized
her by the two wrists, squeezing them till the bones seemed ready to
break, and he threw her around on her heels. But in sudden fear, she
wrenched loose, and sidled away, to a safe distance, muttering and
protesting. She was not a liar, nor a jealous gossip. She had meant to
do him a favor. Keep him from looking like a fool to the town. But if he
was satisfied, why should any one else care? He could go on being the
happy cuckold, and joy go with him. And she made off, on the run,
throwing back, in insolent mockery, the epithets that had been rained on
Pascualo the day the _Mayflower_ put to sea: "Steer, hornpate,
_llanut_!"
The Rector, his arms folded, stood looking after her till she was out of
sight in the dark. Then a sense of duty well done came over his
unsuspecting innocence. "Well, did you ever see anything like that? God,
imagine being married to her! Poor Tonet! Swallows everything she hears,
and tries to use it to get even! But I guess she got all she wanted from
me! That will teach her to come tale-bearing another time. God, what a
wench!" And puffing with self-righteousness, he resumed his walk,
scarcely noticing that the wash from the surf was now reaching his big
boots. "God, what a woman!"
But, all of a sudden, the Rector stopped. It was as though something had
been brewing silently in the unconscious recesses of his soul, and then
had rapidly boiled up, catching in his throat, strangling him, filling
his whole being with mortal anguish.
"She said ... and ... supposing it were true! How do I know she is
lying!"
As Pascualo followed this trend of thought, he stamped and splashed up
and down on the wet sands, driving his nails into his hands, and
swearing under his breath as he swore only at sea when a blow was on.
See here ... Tonet was engaged to Dolores once! It was Tonet who had
taken him to her house, in the first place. The two were together a
great deal of the time. She was always talking to him about Tonet! Tonet
this, Tonet that! "And I ... I ... never ... God ... the last to suspect
anything! The laughing-stock of the Gulf! And yet ... bah ...
impossible!" How that damned woman would like to see him get upset, and
make trouble the way she did! Be taken in like that? Not a grown-up man,
like him! And besides, what had the wench said! Nothing but what Roseta
had said, and hundreds of others, but just to worry him! The men on the
beach always had jokes like that on each other, to make things lively.
But it was just fun! Whereas that Rosario was trying to make trouble,
she was! Spiteful as a mad cat! "Bosh, lies, lies! I stand by Dolores,
through thick and thin! And that boy of ours! Pascualet, the little
major! And what a regular old salt, though hardly as big as a chipmunk!
_Mentira! Tot mentira!_"
And the Rector stamped and splashed on up and down the beach, talking
aloud, stopping, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating, inviting the
sea, the boats, the very shadows of the night, to say whether it was not
all a damned lie of that crazy female. Though a wicked devil was lurking
somewhere inside him; for every time that he said "lie," and the objects
of the night said "lie," the word echoed within him as "_Llanut_,
_bruto_, steer, bull, ox--with horns!"
"And, by God, if it is true ..." What he had said to Roseta that
afternoon on the way home through the Grao, came into his mind. Tonet,
Dolores ... yes, even Pascualet ... if one of them laid a finger on his
honor! "And wait a minute! A woman like that, to get even with Dolores,
would slander her in public! But would she come to me intimate-like, all
by ourselves. No, it would take courage to do that! She'd need to have
good grounds ... Fool I was not to let her talk ... then I'd know the
very worst!" And anything, at that moment, seemed to the Rector
preferable to his state of anxious, raging torment.
"_Pare! Pare!_" a cheery little voice began to call from the deck of the
_Mayflower_. Supper was ready! Supper! Who could care about supper with
that mess on a fellow's mind! The Rector strode up to the boat, and in a
tone that was surprisingly harsh and commanding, told the men to eat
their meal and go to bed, for he had something to attend to in town. If
he didn't come back, they were to get up and have things ready for the
start at sunrise.
Pascualo did not look at his little son, but darted, like a phantom, off
along the black shore, running into boats at times, then stumbling into
the deep puddles that the sea had dug out in the sand in stormy weather.
But he was feeling better! It was a relief to be thinking that he would
soon be talking to Rosario again. Those terrible insults she had hurled
at him had stopped hurting. His brain was no longer that whirl of mad
desperate ravings! He seemed to be walking on air, instead, as though
his heavy body were a feather! Yet there was still a griping sensation
in his throat, that caught his breath; and when he swallowed, his mouth
had the bitter taste of brine. To the last word! To the last word! She
would tell every blessed thing she knew, or she'd be sorry! _Recristo_,
who would have said two hours before that after such a trip offshore, he
would be sneaking off to the house of a woman he despised, and through
the back streets so no one would see him! What a devil of a woman! Stuck
the knife in just the right spot! How was it that five words from a
chatter-box could spoil a man's soul like that!
He was almost running as he entered a dirty street in one of the most
miserable sections of the village, lines of dwarf olives on either
hand, the sidewalks filthy with trodden dirt, and lined with two rows of
shacks, the front yards fenced in with old boards. The door of Rosario's
cottage was closed. He ran into it with a violence that almost snapped
the latch, and as it swung open, it banged violently against the wall
behind. In the murky light of a single candle, Rosario was sitting on a
stool, her head between her hands. Her demeanor of sorrow and despair
was quite in harmony with the desolate, ill-furnished interior of that
hovel--a table, a couple of chairs, two chromos on the wall for
decoration, an old mandolin, and some abandoned fish-nets. The place, as
the women of the neighborhood said, had the smell of hunger and
wife-beating.
Rosario looked up as the door slammed open, and the Rector's massive
figure towered over the threshold, completely filling the door-way. "Oh,
it's you!" she said with a bitter smile. She had been waiting for him.
She knew he would come. Wouldn't he have a chair? He had been rough with
her down on the beach, but she didn't mind. "We all feel that way at
first! I couldn't believe it when they first told me about Tonet. I
slapped the face of the woman who came to me. And then, an hour later, I
went and asked her for God's sake to tell the truth. Well, you were
going to kill me a little while ago. And here you are! When people are
really in love ... they get mad at first. But then they want to know the
truth, even if it pulls the heart out of them! We are both fools,
Pascualo!"
The Rector had closed the door behind him, and was standing now in front
of his sister-in-law, his arms folded, looking at her with a scowl of
angry hostility, the instinctive hatred a man feels toward the one who
wrecks his dream.
"The truth, now! The truth! Speak out! All you've got to say!" Pascualo
hissed the threatening words, to put a stop to that everlasting
moralizing of an idiot! Would she never get to the point? Yet, in all
his menacing, raging impatience, there was terror in his soul, the wish
that minutes might turn, almost, to centuries, to postpone the cruel
revelation.
Well, yes, she would tell him everything! But how would he take it? What
she had to say would hurt him terribly, and he must not hate her so for
it. She had had her time of it too. She had suffered now till she could
stand it no longer. She hated Tonet, and she hated that infamous
Dolores! For her Pascualo was simply a comrade in misfortune. Dolores
had been deceiving him. "Oh, it's not a matter of yesterday or day
before. They've been carrying on for years--almost from the time Tonet
and I were married. Tonet was a good boy. But when that thing saw some
one else have him for a husband, she set her eyes on him, and she was
the one who first led him astray."
"Bosh!" roared the Rector, blind with fury and anguish. "I want proofs!
I'm tired of your talk. Proofs! Proofs, Rosario! And be quick about it."
Rosario smiled pityingly at sight of such a fool! "Proofs! Proofs! Why
don't you ask the whole village for proofs, proofs! They've been
laughing at you for a year or more. It has been the talk of the town.
You won't get angry at me? You want the whole truth? Well, even the
'cats' and the sailors on the beach, when they want to say that a man's
wife is deceiving him, call him a worse _lanudo_ than the Rector."
"Damn your soul!" Pascualo roared, clenching his fist and shaking it in
Rosario's face. "Rosario ... Look, Rosario, be careful what you say.
Because ... if you don't make good on every blessed word of it ... I'll
wring your neck the way I would a chicken's."
"I wish you would! I'm tired of living. What have I to live for? No
children! Not a friend in the world! Work like a dog from morning till
night, to give him the money I earn so as to escape a beating. And he
beats me just the same! Wring my neck! That doesn't scare me! Look,
Pascualo, look!"
Rosario rolled up her sleeve, and showed on the sallow skin that covered
the bones and tendons of her fore-arm, the black-and-blue marks where a
heavy hand had squeezed it as in a vise. "And that's only one. I can
show you others almost anywhere on my body! And they come from having
complained about his bad behavior with Dolores! This one here I got this
morning, when I said he ought not go to the beach with her and help her
sell the fish as though he was her husband. And I said it wasn't fair to
make a fool of the Rector in public like that! But you want proofs,
proofs! Well, why didn't Tonet go out with you on the first trip two
days ago? He hurt his hand, didn't he? Yes, but his hand got well the
moment the _Mayflower_ was beyond the Breakwater. And the next morning
there wasn't a bandage to be seen. And everybody noticed it. And you
went to sea, to stay up all night, in the cold and wet, to keep your
home going for your wife, your dear Dolores! And Tonet stayed all warm
and cosy at home with her, the pair of them laughing to see what a
stupid, self-satisfied idiot you were! Tonet didn't sleep in this house
after you sailed. And he's not here even to-night. He ran in a few
moments ago, got his things and was off, saying he wouldn't be back
again. And where is he, Pascualo? Over at your house of course! They are
sure the _Mayflower_ will keep you down on the shore all night. And
Tonet is preparing to make himself at home in your place!"
"_Recristo!_"
The Rector raised his eyes to heaven, as he muttered the oath, in
protest, it seemed, against the powers above who allow such things to
happen to an honest man. But he was a stubborn fellow at bottom. His
trustful, inoffensive, disposition made it hard for him to believe
things like that were possible. Inwardly convinced, he nevertheless came
back with a menacing rejoinder:
"You are lying, Rosario! You know that you are lying!"
But the challenge put Rosario on her mettle! "So I'm lying! Oh say,
Pascualo, what's the use of talking with a man like you. You're so blind
you can't see the nose on your face. What are you yelling about? What
have I done to you? You're as blind as a bat, yes, sir, blind as a bat.
A man with a spoonful of brains inside his skull would have seen through
the situation from the first. But you ... you don't notice anything. You
never noticed whether your boy looks like you or like him!"
And that was a nasty thrust! Though the Rector's face was as brown as
shoe-leather from years in the sun and the salt-air, it turned a bluish
ashen pale. His knees seemed to sag as if he were going to fall, and the
shock made his words come out faint, husky and stammering.
"My boy! My Pascualet! Well, whom does he look like? Spit it out, damn
you! Pascualet ... is my boy, my boy. And he looks like me ... like me
... he does!"
But the laugh with which Rosario answered was the hollow, sarcastic,
mocking laugh of a she-devil! Pascualo did not quite understand. What
was there to laugh about in his saying that his boy was his boy? In
terror he waited for her explanation. "Why, stupid! If Pascualet is your
boy, he ought to look like you, oughtn't he, just as you look the way
your father, old Pascualo, looked. Well, he doesn't, that's all! He
looks like Tonet--eyes shape, build, and complexion! Poor dunce of a
Rector! They call you _lanudo_! But the wool on your eyes is thicker
than they ever guessed! Heavens, man, take a peep at the boy! He's the
living picture of Tonet, as Tonet used to be in the days when he was a
boy with you, down at the tavern, and was running around like a little
devil on the beach!"
The Rector did not need convincing further. He was ready to believe that
now. A cataract had been removed from before his eyes, and he saw things
clearly, though the world had a strange unfamiliar aspect for him, as it
does to a blind man led forth for a first glimpse of it. Gospel truth!
Pascualet was Tonet over again! How many times, on looking at the boy,
he had had, on his own account, a feeling that he was really looking at
some one else--though just whom, he could not quite say!
Pascualo pressed a pair of clenched fists to his chest as though his
heart were burning inside him and he were trying to tear it out; then he
brought them down with a noisy thud upon his temples.
"_Recontracordons!_ God of God of God of Gods!" he groaned in a voice of
agony that terrified Rosario. "Holy Christ of the Grao!" He staggered a
few steps across the room, like a drunken man, and threw himself flat on
the floor with a crash that shook the rickety building. He rolled over,
and his legs seemed to bound from the violence of the fall.
When the Rector came to his senses again, he found himself lying on his
back, and something warm and tickling was running over his cheeks, like
a soft wriggling snake. He wiped his face where it hurt, with his hand,
and the hand came back, as he saw in the murky candle light, all covered
with blood. His nose felt hot and swollen. He understood what had
happened. In going to the floor he had struck hard on his face. His nose
had been bleeding in streams. Rosario was just kneeling beside him to
wash the blood away with a damp cloth. The girl's look of terror brought
him back to all he had been hearing, and he repelled her with a gesture
of hatred.
"Don't touch me! I can get up by myself. And much obliged for all you
have told me! No, no! Don't bother to excuse yourself! I'm delighted!
Favors like that are never forgotten. And lucky I bumped my nose.
Otherwise I might have burst a blood vessel. God, how my head aches! But
never mind! Cheer up! What a time I'm going to have! I've been too
good-natured in my life, I have! But why should a fellow try to do right
and put his whole life into working for his family? There's plenty of
loafers, and gossips, and rotten women, standing around to bring an
honest man to ruin. But now watch me, and you'll see something worth
while. This town is going to have something to remember the Rector by,
Pascualo _el Retor_, the most famous _lanudo_ of the Gulf! Ho! Ha!"
Meanwhile, as he muttered on, cursing, bellowing, puffing, threatening,
he had been wiping his face with the wet cloth, as though the cool touch
of it relieved the biting agony within him. Now he strode toward the
door, thrusting his big hands into his sash, in a demeanor of determined
resolution. Rosario rushed in front of him, an expression of horror
written on her face. A flash of her mad passion for Tonet had come back
to her. She was afraid he was to be killed. "Wait, Pascualo! Wait! It
may be all a lie! I may have been deceived! You know how people talk!
And Tonet is your brother!"
But the Rector smiled in a cold sinister way. "I've heard enough from
you. And you're right. I know you're right! And when I'm sure, I'm sure.
And you're scared because you know I'm right, too. And you're afraid for
your Tonet, aren't you! You love him, don't you! Well, yes, and I love
Dolores, in spite of everything! Remember, whatever I do, that that girl
has got me here, here, and I shall never get the stab of it out of my
heart. But you're going to see, Rosario, and this whole town is going to
see, how Pascualo _el llanut_ goes about things like this!"
"No, Pascualo, no," begged Rosario, seizing him by his powerful hands.
"Wait ... not to-night ... to-morrow ... some other day!"
"Oh, I know what you are thinking about! You know where Tonet is
to-night! But don't worry. You're right! Not to-night! Not to-night!
Besides, I've left my knife at home. And I'm not going to kill them with
my teeth! But for God's sake, get out of my way, woman. A fellow can't
breathe in here!" And he brushed Rosario aside with a rude thrust, and
dashed out into the dark.
The Rector's first sensation on finding himself alone was one of relief
and pleasure, as though he had just escaped from a furnace. And he
breathed deeply and deliciously of the cold breeze that was growing
noticeably stronger. Not a star was shining now. The sky was overcast,
and Pascualo, in spite of his situation, with the instinct of a sailor,
first took account of the weather. "Bad day to-morrow!" he commented.
Then the sea and the storm passed from his mind. He began to walk, and
he walked and walked, moving his legs mechanically, indifferent to
direction, hardly knowing that he was walking, though each footstep
seemed to ring in his brain with a grating irritating echo. He was as
unconscious, almost, as he had been back there in Tenet's cabin after
his fall. He was asleep, but standing up, and his feet going, in a
dream, but going rapidly, in spite of the paralysis of all his senses.
He did not notice that he was walking round and round over the same
streets.
Then a feeling came back to him, and again it was one of pleasure. How
nice it was to be walking around in the dark over roads that would seem
too ugly to be worth while by daylight! It was the fugitive's joy in the
desert, where he is free from human beings and under the protecting wing
of solitude. There, in the distance, was a glimmer of light. A drinking
place, probably! And he turned, all a-tremble, in the opposite
direction, as though a danger lay that way. Oh, if some one should see
him! He would die of shame. The most insignificant "cat" would be too
much for him! No, silence, darkness, to be alone, was all he wanted!
So he walked the streets of the village and then down on the beach,
which also seemed to terrify him. "God, how those fishermen must have
been making fun of me!" Probably all the boats there were in the secret
and when they creaked it was their way of laughing at the wool they saw
on the eyes of the _Mayflower's_ captain! Occasionally he would awaken
from the torpor in which he was wandering doggedly from place to place.
One time he came to himself just long enough to see that he was boarding
his boat. At another, he found himself on his own door-step with his
hand about to raise the latch. No, somewhere else, somewhere else. A
moment's quiet and calm! There would be time for that, later! In the
end, shocks like these gradually roused him from his anguished
abstraction.
No, he would never put up with it! Never! People were going to find out
what sort of a man the Rector was! But after all, it wasn't necessary to
be too hard on Dolores. She was running true to form--a real daughter of
_tio_ Paella, drunkard that he had been, patron and agent of the girls
in the Fishmarket section, talking around his house as though Dolores
were some member of his "flock"! What could she ever have learned from a
man like that! To be a bad girl, that's all, and no decency whatever.
And that was how, just how, she had turned out! But you couldn't blame
her, could you? The real one to blame was he himself, great fool that he
had been, ever to think of marrying a woman who had to be just what
Dolores was!
Hadn't _sina_ Tona always said so? Mother saw through her from the
start, and had never wanted a girl of _tio_ Paella's in the family. A
bad woman, Dolores, granted! But he couldn't talk very loud if he had
married her with his eyes open. But Tonet! What could you find to say
for him! Disgracing your own brother! Who ever heard of monstrousness
like that! Your own brother! No, you cut the heart out of a beast of
that kind!
But scarcely had his blood-thirsty schemes of vengeance taken shape in
his mind, that old habits of thinking had their say. There was Rosario
reminding him that Tonet was his brother! Wasn't it just as monstrous
for a brother to kill a brother as to betray him? One such case in the
history of the world--Cain, and what sort of a chap had Cain been? Not
much, to judge by what don Santiago said of him! And then again, was
Tonet really to blame? "No, Pascualo! You're to blame yourself, and
nobody else. I see it all clear as day. You robbed Tonet of his
sweetheart. That boy and Dolores were lovers before you even thought of
speaking to a girl of _tio_ Paella's! Now that was a mean trick, come to
think of it! Marry your brother's promised bride! As rotten a thing as
ever I did! And so, what else could you expect? There they are together
all the time--as had to be, brother-in-law, sister-in-law--and both in
the family. Well, could you expect them not to fall in love again?"
He stopped in his tracks for a moment, so obvious, so crushing, did the
sense of his own guilt come back to him. He looked around. It was the
beach, there, under his feet; and a few steps away was the tavern of his
mother. The blackening rotting boat, rising from the reed enclosures
around it, called up a flood of memories from the past. There they had
played together, he and Tonet, running about over the sands. Tonet was
on his shoulder, pulling at his hair in angry petulant disgust at not
having his own way. Just inside those walls, the old stateroom, and the
warm quilt thrown over the two of them! How tenderly he had cared for
his little brother, his comrade in poverty, who had rested his little
brown head sometimes on his very cheek! Yes, Rosario had been right. His
brother! More than that, his child! For it was he, really, more than
_sina_ Tona, who had been a loving parent to the boy, spoiling him,
slaving for him! "And now, I'm going to kill him! God, what beast would
commit a crime like that?" No, he would forgive Tonet. Why be a
Christian otherwise? Why, otherwise, believe in all the things don
Santiago talked about?
The absolute solitude of the seashore, the darkness as black as the
night before Creation, the complete aloofness from every human being,
brought a touch of sweetness back into that travailing spirit, with the
impulse toward forgiveness. Pascualo was recovering to a new life. It
seemed as though another being were inside him, and thinking for him.
Anguish had put an edge on his intelligence. God was his only companion
in that loneliness. With God he would have to reckon. And did God care
if a man found his wife unfaithful? What a small detail that must seem
to a Being as great as that! Just like a pair of rats down there on
earth! No, much more important it must seem to God for a fellow to be
good, and not answer treason with murder ... murder!
Slowly the Rector turned back toward the Cabanal. How much better he
felt, now! The cold breeze, rapidly growing stronger, had found a way
into the furnace within him. But how weak and faint he felt! He had not
eaten a mouthful since breakfast the day before. And his nose must have
been broken by the fall, it pained him so! One! Two! A church bell rang
in the distance. Two o'clock! What a night! And how it had flown! But
the hours still to pass before morning would probably seem much longer!
As the Rector reached the road, he heard a boy's voice begin to sing.
Some "cat" on the way to his boat. In fact, there the youngster was, on
the other sidewalk, with two oars on his shoulder and a roll of nets
under his arm.
The sight of the boy upset him again. Now the Rector understood that
there were two Rectors under that one hide of his. One of them was the
usual man he had always been--good-natured, taciturn, with kindly
feelings for everybody. The other, a beast that began to roar and claw
inside him at the thought of being deceived, and which snarled for blood
in the presence of betrayal. And Pascualo laughed a shrill high-strung
laugh! Pardon! Forgiveness! What a cowardly whimperer that other Rector
was! See how the imbecile had sniffled at a lot of humbug memories back
there near the tavern of _sina_ Tona! _Lanudo!_ Just the name for a
coward like that! Fine sentiments those had been to justify a man
without the guts to protect his own dignity as a man! Such stuff might
do very well for don Santiago! It was a curate's job to find pretty
words and say them. But he was a sailor, thank God, with the life of a
young bull in him; and if anybody tried funny business on him, by God,
he would get what was coming to him, with some to boot. _Lanudo!_
Coward!
And ashamed in his own eyes for his past weakness, the skipper began to
thump his fists on his chest, swearing at himself in his other
ridiculous personality, where he was so good-natured and easy-going.
Forgiveness! Forgiveness might be all right in a graveyard. But he was
living in a village where people were alive and knew each other. In a
few hours they would be up and out on the streets, walking past him as
that "cat" had just walked past, but nudging each other at sight of him
and whispering: "There goes Pascualo _el llanut!_" Never! Ch--st, he
would die first! His mother hadn't brought him into the world to be the
butt of the whole Cabanal. First, Tonet! And then Dolores! And then
every damned man who got in his way. And then--well, then,--what were
jails for, anyway, but for men worth the salt they eat! And if it was
worse than jail ... ready for that, too. He might die at sea sometime,
anyhow. Well, suppose they did squeeze his gullet up there on a
scaffold! He would be dying like a sailor with good boards under his
feet. And they would know they were garroting a man, and not a weakling!
He broke into a run, his elbows drawn in, and his head lowered, roaring
as though he were running to grapple with a mortal enemy. In the dark he
collided with posts and trees. But he did not care. A mad instinct to
kill, to destroy, was carrying him wildly toward his dwelling.
He tore at the latch violently, but the door was locked. He began to
pound and kick and throw himself against it, till the hinges and
fastenings creaked under the blows. He opened his mouth to shout, insult
the wretches inside, call to them to come out and be killed, spit upon
their heads the terrible threats that were boiling in his feverish
brain. But he could say nothing. His tongue seemed to be paralyzed in
his throat. His whole strength had gone to his hands, that were pulling
at the latch, and into his feet, that were eating into the wood of the
door with the hobnails on his boots.
And all that was not enough. He would have done anything to fill those
guilty rats with terror! And he stooped down, picked up a big stone, and
hurled it with all his might into the door, which boomed in agony and
made the whole house tremble.
Then silence! The Rector thought he heard several windows in the
neighborhood opening cautiously at the uproar. He wanted vengeance, but
he didn't have to make the whole town laugh in the meantime! A sense of
the absurdity of the situation came over him--the thought of himself
storming out there in the street while the lovers were inside quite
comfortable. What a clown he would be if he were seen! He ran off around
the corner of the house and crouched there in hiding. There was talking
for a time and some laughter. Then the windows were closed again, and
the street relapsed into complete silence.
The Rector had good eyes, trained to seeing far into the darkest nights.
From his corner, the door of the house was quite visible. There he would
stay till the sun came up, if need be. He would wait for his brother!
His brother? No, for that dog of a Tonet! When the wretch came out ...
what a pity his knife wasn't handy! But he could kill him somehow,
either strangle him, or perhaps pound his head in with a stone.
Afterwards, he would go in and fix the woman, rip her open with the
butcher-knife, or something of the sort. There was time to think of
that. Something better, even, might occur to him while he was waiting.
Crouching at his corner there, the Rector began to think of all the
tortures he had ever heard of, gloating over each new marvel of cruelty
as he applied it, in foretaste, to the guilty pair, finally coming down
to burning them alive on the open beach over a slow fire made of timber
from the old boats. But how cold it was getting to be! And how sick he
was feeling! The mad rage that had come over him at sight of the "cat"
was passing, leaving him in a condition of general weakness and
lassitude. He could barely lift his hand. The dampness of the night was
getting into his bones, and his empty stomach gave him waves of nausea.
Suffering did take hold of a fellow! How sick! How sick! Another reason
for killing that pair of good-for-nothings! In the end they would finish
him with worry and pain! He had grown old over night. It had all
happened since sundown. And there he was, a strong man, unable to lift a
finger!
One! Two! Three! Three o'clock! How time dragged on. But he did not
move from his ambush, though he felt his limbs stiffening and his brain
begin to fag. The thoughts of dire punishments had passed from his mind.
That, indeed, had become a blank. What was he doing there? He couldn't
quite remember at times--all his energies were so centered in his eyes,
which not for a second even left that door of his house.
Half-past three had long since tolled when the Rector thought he heard
the slight grating of a latch, and saw his door swing open. A form
appeared on the threshold and stayed there for a second or two, as
though the person were studying the street in both directions to see if
any one were watching. There was another squeak, and a slight thud as
the door closed. The Rector stood painfully up, his joints quite numb
from the cold. At last his time had come! And he dashed forward on the
run.
But the figure in front of the door was supported on a pair of wonderful
legs. When it saw another man approaching, it gave one bound and went
tearing off down the street. Early risers in the houses along the road
heard the clatter of racing footsteps on the brick sidewalks as the
pursuit swept by, a panting heart-breaking chase in the dark. The Rector
could see a white spot in front of him, the pack of clothing the
fugitive was carrying over his shoulder; but despite his best efforts,
he realized that clew would soon be lacking; for the distance between
him and his intended victim opened wider at every yard. Those bandy legs
of his were just the thing to walk a deck in bad weather, but on the
racetrack!... Besides, that wait there hadn't done him any good, and
Tonet had been famous as a runner when he was a little boy. At a
crossroad, in fact, the white pack had vanished into void. Pascualo went
hunting through the streets on either side, but he could not find even a
footprint.
People were beginning to be up and about in the Cabanal, men, for the
most part, who had work to do on the shore. And the Rector himself now
fled, in terror at the thought that some one might see him. There was
nothing left to be done now. He had lost all hope of vengeance. And
shivering with cold, too weak to think even, resigned to whatever fate
should have in store for him, he made his way toward the beach. Things
were already stirring about the boats there. The dark sands were flecked
all along with lanterns as the sailors went about their work. And here
was another light--from the door of the tavern-boat. Roseta had just
taken down the wooden shutter over the counter and she could be seen
through the opening, wrapped in a shawl, her halo of blonde curly hair
shooting rebellious strands out from under the kerchief over her head.
She was still but half awake, and her face was pinched and blue from the
cold. She was on the lookout for early customers, and a bottle of
brandy with glasses was out on the board. _Sina_ Tona was still asleep
in her stateroom. Knowing hardly what he was about, Pascualo turned in
that direction, and did not stop till his elbow was on the counter.
"Give us a glass!" But Roseta, instead of obeying him, stood there
looking at him with bright though expressionless eyes that seemed to
penetrate to the innermost of his spirit. The Rector winced. That girl!
That girl! What a keen one! She had caught everything at a glance! And
the skipper, to get out of his hole, fell back on violence. "Good God!
Have you got ears on your head? Give me a glass, I said." And a glass,
for that matter, he really needed, to dispel the mortal lethargy that
had settled on his whole body. A sober man he was! But he would drink,
and drink and drink till he was drunk, and drown his torpor in alcohol!
And he downed a glass. And then another, and still a third, one gulp to
each. His sister passed the drinks across the counter, but her eyes were
still fixed upon him, as though she could read everything that had
happened written out on his features in black and white. But he was
feeling better, so much better! Nothing like _aguardiente_, to brace a
fellow up! The damp chill of morning seemed to be burning off, all of a
sudden, and a pleasant tingling began to run up and down just under his
skin. The humor of the situation caught him now. How funny he must have
looked beating it down the street as though the devil were after him,
puffing like a porpoise! And then the world took on a rosy hue. He must
be a good fellow, love everybody, and beginning with that girl there,
his sister, who, for her part, had not taken her eyes off him once.
"Yes, why not tell the truth! You're the real credit to our family,
Roseta girl! The rest of us? Hogs, hogs, beginning with me! Me! No,
Roseta, you're all there--something nice, delicate-like, about you. You
see through things, with the cleverest of them. But you say things--oh,
I don't know--you say things, diplomatic-like, so's they don't come down
on a fellow like a thousand of brick! Oh, I remember, I do! On the way
home through the Grao, that day! Other people, they just rub it in, till
you're ready to damn your soul. But it's what you've got up here, up
here! Brains you've got, brains! You were right all these years. Scamps
and puddingheads, puddingheads and scamps! And you're going at it right,
I say. You keep the men away. You don't slobber all over them, and then
lie to them, and make donkeys of them, and ruin them. No, you're a real
girl, Roseta, better than the best of them."
With that liquid fire on his empty stomach, the Rector grew more and
more emphatic as he talked on. His arms began to gesticulate, and his
voice rose and rose, till his words were audible yards away.
"Is that you, Pascualo?" The call came from behind the curtains in
_Sina_ Tona's stateroom, hoarse and halting, but affectionate withal.
"Yes, ma, it's me. Just going down to the boat to see what's going on. I
wouldn't get up, just yet, if I were you. Going to be bad weather!"
In fact, daylight was now breaking, and along the horizon where the
water darkened to a strip of black, another band, of faint livid light,
was stretching. The sky was still overcast, and a thick fog was coming
up the shore, softening the edges on trees and boats and houses, dimly
visible in the brightening twilight.
"Well, one more glass, and that will do." And the Rector passed a
calloused hand over his sister's cold cheek. "Good-by, girl! But
remember what I say, you're the only decent woman in the Cabanal. It's
your brother talking, Roseta. The only decent woman in the Cabanal, yes!
And if a man asks you to marry him, say 'no,' say 'no.'"
Pascualo was whistling unconcernedly as he sauntered up to the
_Mayflower_. You would have thought him the happiest man on earth, but
for the yellowish glitter in his eyes, that seemed to be bulging from
their sockets in his red face flushed with alcohol. In a conspicuous
position on deck, and standing up full height to advertise the fact
that he was there, Tonet was in full view--at his feet the white pack
that had just been having such a dance of it through the dark streets of
the Cabanal.
"Hello, Pascualo!" he called, the moment he spied his brother, at much
pains apparently to start a conversation and dispel any suspicion the
Rector might have. And could you beat that for impudence, the sneaking
weasel! But before the Rector, who felt all the wild rage of a few hours
previous boiling up anew, could answer, a crowd of sailors and skippers
came running up. "What do you think of it, Pascualo?" they were calling.
"Going to blow, do you think?" And they gathered around him, but without
taking their eyes off the horizon. There was a scowl in that sky! Crazy
to think of going out! And just their luck! Of course, it had to come
then, when the fish were as thick as fleas outside, and you could pick
them up with your hands! But after all, a man's hide is of more account
than a dollar! They all agreed. Dirty weather ahead! Nothing to do but
stick to cover.
But not so Pascualo. "Stick to cover, eh! Well, you fellows can stay
ashore if you want to, and twirl your fingers. I'm going out, and right
now. I never saw a blow yet that would keep me home, when I'd made up my
mind to go. The woman folks ought to stay at home. But I like to see men
and not cowards in the fish business." He spoke in a tone of voice that
did not seem to invite argument, and as though the suggestion of his
staying in had veiled an insult. He turned his back on the skippers
around, to get away from them, get away from everybody, who might know,
and ... laugh! "Into the water with her, boys!" And the oxen came out of
the barn and down toward the shore. "Hey, _Flor de Mayo_ there!
Overboard, all hands, and get the skids down!"
The men in the crew obeyed their orders as they were trained to do,
unquestioningly. Only _tio_ Batiste raised a voice of protest, and he
spoke with his full authority as a bull-dog of the sea.
"God, man, where are your eyes this morning! Don't you see the wind off
there! Blowing like hell, man alive!"
"Oh, that ain't wind, that's rain, _agueelo!_ No, no, it's going to
settle down to raining. An hour or two of chop, perhaps, but not enough
to make a chicken sea-sick!"
"Well, it's rain or it's wind. But if it's wind, the way it looks from
here, it's all day with the man that gets into it!"
"Oh, go along home, _tio_," the Rector snapped with a rudeness he had
never used toward that old salt before. "There's a job up at the church
for you, janitor or something. This boat is no place for cowards nor for
invalids!"
"Coward, is it? Coward, eh? I've been to Havana twice in a
fifty-footer, belly of a sick whale! And on the rocks twice, in weather
that would make you blue in the gills! By God, take twenty years off
this back of mine, and I'd rip you up the front for saying that, the way
I would a codfish! But into the water she goes, boys! When the captain
speaks, it ain't for the likes of me to raise a voice. Into the water
with her, boys, and to hell with her!" And the furious old sailor was
through grumbling in time to help lay the last skid before the
_Mayflower's_ bow touched the surf. Another pair of oxen was already
pulling at the boat that was to go team with the Rector's newer craft;
and in a few moments both vessels had raised their huge lateen sails,
and were dashing fast through the outer breakers with every stitch of
canvas drawing.
The skippers ashore stood looking on perplexedly. The Rector's outfit
was now well out to sea, and jealousy began to rage within them. That
_lanudo_ had gone mad! The idea of putting to sea in the teeth of a
threat like that! But he had his eye on the market! Making a clean-up,
eh? While they were standing around with their hands in their pockets!
It angered them, this selfish impudence, as though the Rector were out
to catch all the fish left in the sea. The boldest and most jealous took
the lead. "Well, sir, where he can go, I can go! Does he think he's the
only man that can sail a boat around here? Haul her out, Chepa, haul
her out, and be quick about it!"
The challenge was taken up all along the shore. "_Boyero! Boyero!_"
Everybody began calling for the oxen at once, and the drivers did not
know which way to turn. The madness of the Rector seemed to spread like
wildfire from one end of the beach to the other. The women ashore began
to shriek and protest at seeing their men go out in the face of the
dread east wind. Curse that skinflint Rector! Better stay home and watch
his wife! Did he want to drown everybody in the Cabanal? _Sina_ Tona, in
her underclothing, her thin gray hair undone and blowing in the wind,
came running down to the water's edge. They had told her what the Rector
had been up to. She had jumped out of bed to stop him.
"Pascualet!" she called. "Pascualet! _Fill meu, torna, torna!_ Come
back, come back!" But the two boats were already far, far, offshore.
And the poor woman, knowing that they could not hear her voice, began to
wail and tear her hair, crying to God and to the saints in heaven!
"_Maria santisima!_ He is going to his death, the death of him, I say!
_Reina y soberana!_ Both my boys, and the little one, too!" What a curse
had settled on her family! That pig of a sea would swallow them all, as
it had killed her husband!
And the other women joined in her lamentation. But the men worked on in
sullen frowning silence, unable to resist the jealous rivalry that was
hurling them into the jaws of death in their relentless struggle for
bread. They splashed out into the surf, till the water reached their
belts. They climbed aboard their boats, and raised the sails. And soon a
line of great white wings was vanishing into the mist, madly rushing
seaward through the white caps, under a sky already lowering with
tempest and black with the scowl of fateful augury.