Monsalvat's mother had been a very pretty girl; but at sixty she
possessed not even the remnants of her earlier beauty. Aquilina Severin
had left her parents' modest shop to work at a fashionable dressmaker's
establishment on Florida Avenue. One fine day Fernando's father met her
on the street, made love to her in due form, and succeeded in winning
her. Aquilina was twenty when her son was born. Soon after this her
lover, Claudio Monsalvat, married a girl of his own social position;
which did not prevent his giving Aquilina an allowance and visiting her
from time to time. Ten years later a girl Eugenia, came into the world.
Claudio had made over a piece of property to Aquilina, but died without
bequeathing anything to his natural children. Their mother had urged
them to contest the will made wholly in favor of the legitimate family;
but Fernando, then in Europe, refused to consider such a suggestion.
His mother lived on the two hundred or so _pesos_ which were the income
from her property, until she sold it on the advice of an attorney of
the neighborhood. The proceeds of the sale were turned to good account
by various speculators; and shortly thereafter Aquilina found herself
in the street, penniless. From that time on her son supported her.
Of scant native endowments, Aquilina Severin had had little education,
and remained a stupid, incompetent woman. The comforts supplied by
Claudio represented the height of wellbeing in her eyes. She believed
herself a fine lady, deserving of the world's envy. Her parents had not
been married, and she had none of the current prejudices in favor of
legal unions. She considered love the important thing in these matters
and had for that sentiment a high regard, though the word "love" had a
very elastic scope in the usage of this unfortunate derelict.
Her daughter's education, under the circumstances, could only be
disastrous. Fernando at various times tried to take a hand in his
sister's training. He advised his mother to send her to school, and to
discourage certain of Eugenia's undesirable friendships. But Aquilina
always replied:
"And why? What will she get out of it? I never went to school, and I
came out all right! I know what I am doing, and it's nobody's business!"
Eugenia therefore got her schooling in the streets. She spent her days
with other small girls on the sidewalk, or on the window balconies,
where her graceful figure and fine black eyes attracted plenty
of attention. When Eugenia was twenty she made certain attempts
to overcome the waywardness naturally resulting from this bit of
mistraining. She even tried to get work in a shop. But Aquilina
objected, saying that the pay was an insult, that the girl would kill
herself with work, come to look old before her time, and by accepting
such a lowly station, harm her father and brother in the bargain. It
was Aquilina's desire that Eugenia meet some rich or distinguished man
who would fall in love with her and set her up in an establishment
of her own. She knew that no one but a laborer or some socially
insignificant person would marry her daughter; and she preferred one
of those extra-legal arrangements which she took as a matter of course
without the slightest scruple. Aquilina could conceive of nothing
better for her daughter than a situation resembling her own. She
believed romantically in eternal love, in everlasting fidelity--and in
men's promises! She never spoke of these ambitions to her daughter,
much less to her son; but Eugenia divined something of them just the
same.
In the house next door lived a family of position and wealth. One of
the sons of the family was wont to make eyes at Eugenia whenever he
caught sight of her, without going so far as to speak--out of fear
for Fernando perhaps, who in those days used to visit his mother two
or three times a week. One day Aquilina observed to Eugenia in a tone
which expressed her meaning even more clearly than did her words:
"Now we'll see if you can land your _beau_.... He's a fine young
man--and he's rich!"
"But, mother, do you think he will marry me?"
"I don't know. We'll find that out later; but if he's reliable, and
faithful, and affectionate, it doesn't matter much."
She stopped at the look of disgust and sadness in her daughter's eyes;
for Eugenia, curiously enough, was a very normal girl at bottom. She
wanted a husband and a home, but from all she had heard her mother say
on this topic, she believed that, preliminary to "landing" men, it was
necessary to angle for them.
It was at this time that Aquilina took into her service the woman,
Celedonia, who from then on, for ten years, was her constant companion.
Celedonia, a talkative, rather handsome creature, and of mixed blood,
kept the whole neighborhood busy talking scandal about her. Fernando
frequently begged his mother to get rid of her; but for Aquilina, her
new servant was the most entertaining of company. She brought home
all the gossip of the block; the deceptions practised by supposedly
rich people to make an impression at little expense; the quarrels of
husbands and wives; the love affairs of daughters or servants; the
pranks of the men in the various families; the vices, in short of
everybody. During Carnival, Celedonia always went, in costume and mask,
to the balls at the Victoria Theatre, where she encountered others
of mixed blood like herself. The next day she would come home, still
half drunk, and spend the afternoon telling her mistress what she had
seen. To Aquilina these stories of low-life were like a window opening
on a world of gaiety denied her. She would rock with laughter at the
anecdotes, enjoying descriptions of things of which she could have no
experience, and almost envying Celedonia her good times. Sometimes
Eugenia too was present, listening to these stories; and it never
occurred to her mother to cut them short on account of her daughter's
presence.
Not long before Fernando left on his second trip for Europe, Eugenia
made Arnedo's acquaintance. He was a bold, handsome, domineering youth,
apparently good-natured; and it did not take Eugenia long to fall in
love with him. The first time he saw her, as he chanced to be passing
the house she lived in, he made clear, in unmistakable fashion, what
a profound impression she made on him. Catching sight of her in her
doorway, he stopped a moment, on the sidewalk, then took up a position
on the street corner; after a while he walked past her several times
and finally approached. Eugenia, who was alone, stepped back a little;
but Arnedo snatched at her hand, and in an imperious tone, ordered her
to stay.
"But someone may be coming!"
"I don't care. I am crazy about you!" he declared, in a simulated burst
of emotion.
They talked awhile. They told one another their names; and Arnedo as he
caressed her hand, declared a consuming passion. For several evenings
they continued their conversations in the vestibule. Eugenia never
doubted Arnedo's sincerity when he promised to marry her very soon.
From that moment Arnedo was her master. Aquilina and Celedonia knew
what was going on but did not interfere. The girl's mother believed
that here at last was the man she was hoping for; and she was quite
confident that her daughter would know how to manage him; Celedonia was
not the one to discourage such conduct, surely.
Fernando was in Europe when Eugenia ran away with Arnedo. Her mother
imagined that this was a desirably decisive act. She did not quite
understand it, for the young people could perfectly well have taken her
into their confidence; but she thought that perhaps methods in these
matters had changed since her youth. As for Eugenia, she was quite
ready to believe, when Arnedo took her to his quarters, that the affair
was "serious." Nevertheless Arnedo left her at the end of a year.
Eugenia returned to her mother's; and Aquilina's only reproach was
on her lack of skill in managing men. For several weeks the girl was
keenly conscious of shame, especially when she met her acquaintances
of the neighborhood. One day she decided that she could no longer
live with her mother, whom her presence in the apartment disgraced;
and besides her mother's toleration of her conduct was extremely
distasteful to her. She went away, leaving no word as to where she was
going. For several months Aquilina had no news of her.
Eugenia's first flight had not been mentioned to Fernando; but when
letters from her ceased to come he demanded an explanation. On his
return from Europe, he got the whole story; Eugenia was living
somewhere with Arnedo--this was all the mother knew. Fernando was not
only distressed, but somewhat alarmed at this news, which, he believed,
might harm him in his profession if it were widely known. His sister's
conduct had a great deal to do with his leaving the country a second
time, and remaining away for seven years.
Since his return Fernando had visited his mother very little, in spite
of her ill-health. The mulatto woman, whom he intensely disliked, was
always present during his interviews with her. Once he had suggested
asking her to leave the room; but Aquilina begged him not to do so. For
that matter Celedonia needed no authorization from her mistress for
what she did or did not do. She ruled the establishment as absolute
sovereign, managing Aquilina's funds, and sharing life with her
mistress on equal terms. Aquilina adored her son, but she could not
prevent the mulatto's exhibiting some of the hatred Monsalvat inspired
in her; and the very natural effect of this was to discourage his
visits.
When he reached the apartment that night, he found the outer rooms
crowded with people. This convinced him that his mother must be dying;
and with a sinking heart he rushed to her bedroom. The mulatto and
another woman were there preparing hot applications; and he noticed
also a young girl of some twenty years who appeared both pretty and
respectable.
Monsalvat brushed the women aside and leaned over to kiss his mother.
"Have you sent for the doctor?" he asked turning around.
"Doctor! Why a doctor?" exclaimed the mulatto scornfully. "Here is
Mamita Juana, who knows more than all your doctors put together!"
Without replying, Fernando went to the door and addressing the men
gathered there asked if there was anyone who could deliver a letter for
him at once. A gray-haired old fellow with a long beard, his shoulders
bent, and his clothing quite disreputable, pressed forward, holding out
his hand.
"Don't you remember me, Doctor Monsalvat? Don't you remember Moreno,
the attorney? That's me! Why, we worked together once!"
Monsalvat remembered that he had given this man employment in his
office for a short time. Later he had found the old fellow again,
earning a miserable pittance from odd jobs in the law courts.
Monsalvat took a pencil from his pocket and wrote something on a card,
while Moreno went on talking:
"Here I am, Doctor, still alive, and that's some job! Those days are
over--my law days, I call them. Don't think I'm stuck on myself; but
just the same I'm proud of the work I did back there. The law in this
country of ours owes me something, Doctor! I helped it along. We took
part in some big law suits, and we won them. I say 'we' because, after
all, the other fellow did his share of the work. And here I am, Doctor,
with ten children on my hands, poor as a rat, and going down hill
fast...."
In spite of his shabbiness, Moreno still possessed some of the
manners of a more cultivated society than the one that now knew him.
He smelt of cheap whiskey and his person was none too clean; but the
semi-obscurity of the hall was to his advantage.
"Deliver this letter to this address at once. Take a cab, and wait for
an answer! Bring Dr. Torres back with you."
Fernando gave him some money, urged him to hurry, and was about to
return to his mother's bedside when a woman near by said:
"Don't let him go alone, sir. He'll stop for a drink in the first
saloon he sees."
"This is the companion of my sorrows," proclaimed Moreno, "and see how
she treats me! She owes me everything; I have given her ten children
and my name, raising her to my own social position--"
"He's just talking, sir. We have no ten children--only seven. He thinks
you'll give him some money."
The woman was half angry, half smiling; and the others standing around,
who seemed to have quite forgotten the sick woman, burst out laughing.
"You'd better let my husband go with him," said one of the women,
pointing to her man.
"All right. Will you?" asked Monsalvat.
Moreno, with an offended expression, placed one hand on his chest, and
declared oratorically:
"Doctor, what has been said is offensive to my...."
"Stop talking, my good Moreno, and hurry, if you please!" Monsalvat
interrupted. "I'll pay you well for your trouble."
"At your orders, Doctor, whatever you say," the man replied, inclining
his head in humility. "It's you that asks it, sir, and I'll do anything
for you! Just as in those distant days which never will return, Moreno,
Attorney at law, will always...."
The man who was to accompany him grasped his arm and hustled him away.
Fernando returned to his mother's room.
Aquilina was seriously ill. From her rapid pulse Monsalvat guessed
she must be suffering from a heart attack. But what was there to do?
He thought of cold applications and asked the girl, Moreno's oldest
daughter, to prepare them. The woman quack remained in the room, partly
enjoying the prospect of witnessing the doctor's failure, and partly
bored. Celedonia sat at the bedside, casting contemptuous glances at
Monsalvat.
"Leave me with my mother," he ordered, and the women went out,
grumbling.
When Aquilina found herself alone with her son, she began to weep. Up
to this moment she had been overwhelmed by the fear of death. But now
her son's presence seemed to comfort her.
"Fernando," she began, when she was able to speak, "I have been a bad
mother. If I could only see Eugenia before I go! Look for her ... find
her ... so that she will come tomorrow. I was a bad mother I guess! It
was my fault she went away! I knew what she was doing; I allowed her to
go on."
Fernando tried to console her, assuring her that she was exaggerating
her responsibility. He was sincere in this, for he could not believe
his own mother had consented to her daughter's wrong-doing. In the
miserable wretch before him he could see not a bad but an ignorant
woman, doomed by her own foolishness, and by the circumstances of her
life.
"Yes, a bad woman," repeated Aquilina. "After Eugenia had given herself
up to a bad life, I let her come here, and I let her give me money. At
first, after Arnedo left her, she came back, and wanted to be a good
girl. But Celedonia couldn't let her ... and I knew it all the time.
Oh, Fernando, can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for all the harm
I did you, too? I saw more than once how unhappy you were on account
of me. If I had been a good mother, I would rather have died than harm
you!"
Fernando scarcely heard the words. His mother's confession had made him
draw his hand away, instinctively. He sat with his elbows on his knees,
his hands clasped, his eyes closed. What pain this was, penetrating to
every fibre of his body! His mother's self-accusation gave him a sense
of unendurable shame; but at the same time the load of responsibility
resting on his shoulders seemed to grow lighter. Aquilina had grown
quieter after making her confession; and now he, too, felt a certain
measure of peacefulness creeping into his heart. When he first listened
to his mother's strange words he thought he was going to hate her,
loathe her; but now, on the contrary, he loved her more than before.
All the pity he was capable of seemed too little for this poor,
foolish, dying mother of his; he began to sob, kissed her, put his arms
around her with a tenderness which was the poor woman's only comfort
during those moments.
"Mother, it is my fault, not yours," he assured her, when he could
speak. "I intended coming to tell you so, even before you sent for me.
All the responsibility is mine. I have had a better chance than either
you or Eugenia; I knew more about life, and I should have taken care
of you, both of you, protected you--tried to educate you. That was
the task I should have set myself! Instead, I came here as little as
possible, because I didn't want to be reminded of the facts I hated. I
never really took any interest in you. Eugenia owes me nothing, because
I never gave her anything; I never spoke to her openly, frankly; I
never helped her by word or act. Instead of staying with you both to
take care of you, I went to Europe, to get away from my mother and
sister, to forget them."
"I brought disgrace upon you. You are paying for what is my fault,
Fernando."
"No, it is not your fault! Something far more guilty than you is to
blame! But, never mind! All this is very far away from us now, mother.
At last I have come to know myself, and to know the world we live in."
Aquilina suddenly grew worse. Fernando, anxiously waiting for the
doctor, sent Moreno's wife to watch for him at the street door. His
mother seemed to be struggling for breath, and he thought oxygen would
help her.
"You must find Eugenia," she gasped. "I need to know that she forgives
me. Look for her ... tell her...."
Fernando was afraid to think where he might find Eugenia. What had
become of her by this time? His thoughts turned to Nacha; and he
wondered if those two had perhaps met. Nacha, Eugenia!... Surely his
was a strange destiny, to have spent all his life far from this class
of women, and now to find himself taking a part in their lives. Nacha!
Eugenia! Was he in love with Nacha? If not, why did he think of her all
the time even on such an occasion as this one? And where would such a
love lead him? If he found Eugenia, he would take her to live with him.
Why should not Nacha live with them also, in fraternal companionship?
Eugenia, Nacha! The two seemed only one now. Their souls, their lives,
even their forms, seemed to blend into one haunting symbol of human
sorrow. Selfishness, ignorance and evil were their relentless enemies,
and worse than any of these was the smug indifference of the prosperous.
The doctor's arrival roused him from his ponderings. Torres sent him at
once for some oxygen, and he took Moreno with him.
In the hack he asked the old attorney if he knew where to find Eugenia.
Moreno knew perfectly well, but he did not wish to part with his
information too lightly. He assured Monsalvat that he did not know, but
that he could find out.
"It will be a hard piece of work, doctor; but as long as it's for
you.... I'm pretty hard up. You see how it is...."
"I'll give you whatever money you need. But you are to bring her to her
mother's the very first thing in the morning, understand?"
Moreno promised. He began to talk of Eugenia, of her beauty, of the
luxury amid which she was reported to be living. It was a shame ... but
what could be done about it? And he added philosophically, as if it
might console Monsalvat:
"You mustn't take it too hard, doctor. That's the way things go in this
world."
When they returned to the apartment with the oxygen, Aquilina was dead.