The fit of anger during which Nacha had ordered Monsalvat out of her
house had quite passed by the time she returned from the cemetery.
She could only marvel at her sudden refusal to hear more of what
but a few moments before had offered her starving life the ideal it
craved. Nevertheless, the regretful gentleness pervading her now was
due undoubtedly to the soothing effect of her visit to Riga's grave.
The thought of the dead poet made her repent of her sudden harshness
towards Monsalvat. After that silent leave-taking from her friend,
how indeed could she help yearning to turn away from the life she was
leading?
And yet could she accomplish that? No practicable plan occurred to her;
Monsalvat might have helped; but she, stupidly, had driven him away.
Strange how certain she felt, nevertheless, that he would not continue
offended, that he would forgive her for everything in the end. Still,
it was not probable now that he would look for her. Where could she
find him? What were his occupations? What places did he frequent? Alas!
she knew nothing of him at all, except his name.
By some strange confusion in her imagination, the figures of Monsalvat
and Riga began to blend in her memory. She could not think of one
apart from the other. Was there, perhaps, some spiritual resemblance
between them? Outwardly they were such different men. Monsalvat gave
an impression of serenity, of poise; Riga, on the contrary, seemed
all nerves, all tension. What had Riga, weak, sensitive, the typical
neurotic, the creature of whim and circumstance, to set against
Monsalvat's strength of mind and will? Evidently this courageous
stranger who had broken his way into her intimacy so suddenly had
most of the requirements for success. Riga was one of those men born
to fall of their own weakness, even before the battle of existence
overwhelms them. But both were generous, high-minded, incapable of
envy, or meanness of any kind. What good luck to have met a friend like
Monsalvat at just this moment! And what an irreparable misfortune to
have lost him forever!
When Arnedo came home early in the evening, he brought his friends,
and their women, with him as usual. Nacha was once more lost in gloom.
She tried to talk, and jest in the spirit of the party, but her words
seemed to stick in her throat, and her laughter had in it no note of
gaiety. Moreover, all her attempts to conceal her real state of feeling
were useless. Arnedo and his companions were not to be deceived; and
Pampa's face openly expressed the displeasure he was experiencing.
Finally he called one of the other men to an adjoining room and Nacha,
suspecting something, and listening intently, overheard this dialogue
between them.
"Why don't you get rid of her, old man? When a woman goes around
looking like Good Friday all day long...."
"She never used to be like that. There was no one could beat her
when it came to dancing, and seeing that things went right in the
kitchen, and dressing, and singing and playing, and entertaining people
generally. She always gave a fellow a good time, Nacha did. She was
good-natured, full of spirit, and...."
"Well, what's happened to her, do you suppose?"
"I don't know. Anyhow I'm going to let her go. You know, I told you
about that matter, down at Belgrano.... Well, it's just like this." And
Pampa gave a claw at the air with his fingers closing.
"I see," his companion replied. "So you've got a substitute for Nacha!
What about today's trip out there? Anything doing?"
Nacha did not care to listen further. She joined the other girls, and
was now apparently in better humor. When the two men came back she
plunged with deliberate fervor into the merriment, reaching out for the
champagne, and pretending drunkenness--not for Arnedo's edification,
indeed; she knew now that her fate was settled--but to leave a good
impression on all these people whom perhaps she would never see again.
Meanwhile the memory of Monsalvat and of Riga was vivid in her mind;
their image looked up at her from the hollow of her wine glass; she
seemed to see them standing in the doorways, their eyes sad with
reproach; now they were directly in front of her, now she felt them
by her side. One of Arnedo's friends was speaking, and she thought
surely it was Monsalvat's voice she heard and was about to call his
name. Later she had the impression that Riga was about to come into
the room; and she actually looked around at the door--not without some
alarm, on her companions' account. How terrified they would be at
this intrusion of the dead! Arnedo and his guests were talking of the
Centennial celebration; of "shows" and cabaret performances, of chorus
girls and races. There were three women and four men at the table, only
one of the latter in evening clothes. All of them had been present in
the cabaret at the time of the quarrel with Monsalvat; and, since that
whole occurrence was not an ordinary one, they soon began to discuss it.
"Who was that fool?" asked "the Duck," who had led the chorus of
burlesque weepers in the cabaret.
At this question everyone looked at Nacha, who sat there anxiously
shifting her eyes from one to another of her inquisitors.
"Why," drawled Arnedo, with an air of importance nevertheless, "he
is the brother of one of my best conquests. Don't you all remember
Eugenia?"
Nacha turned cold. Did Monsalvat know? Where was this Eugenia? Was
she, too, part of "the life"? Ah, yes; that was it! That explained
Monsalvat's actions, and his fervent words of that afternoon. So,
then, he was not in love with her! The interest he showed in her was
the interest he had in all girls sharing his sister's lot. How stupid
not to have thought of that before! Of course! How could a man like
Monsalvat care for an outcast like "Lila," like Nacha Regules!
Another guest, the man in the dinner-coat, a tall and skinny youth,
whom his companions, out of regard for his large-boned nose, called
"the Parrot," declared that Monsalvat wrote for the _Patria_, where
articles had appeared signed with that name; whereupon all four men
felt moved to express their scorn for this "literary fellow," a man who
spent his time reading trash and writing nonsense and could only be an
utter ninny. These young descendants of Moreira were, for that matter,
quite sincere in the contempt they voiced. Products of the aggressive
money-making illiteracy of the Argentine, they instinctively hated
the "intellectual" as a menace to the power of their class, and could
not look upon students and scientists save with disdainful hostility.
From their point of view any man under forty who lived for something
besides "a good time" was beyond comprehension. They despised books
and newspapers; for they vaguely realized that in these lay a power of
intelligence destined sooner or later to put an end to the half-breed
barbarism incarnate in themselves.
As the dinner went on, the _patoteros_ tried to exhibit their
brilliancy. But wit for them consisted at best in anecdotes of the sort
known in Argentina as "German jokes"; in pelting one another with bread
pills; or in suddenly bursting out with some deafeningly loud rendition
of a snatch from a music hall ballad. One of their best numbers was
"the Duck's" weeping act, his most successful parlor stunt. Then "the
Parrot" would rise from his place, disappear, and return wearing a
woman's hat; or Pampa, flourishing his revolver, would pretend he was
fighting a duel, seasoning his antics with picturesque obscenities from
the jargon of a well-known vaudeville act. The others, meanwhile, acted
as chorus and audience, laughing, and contributing an assortment of
musical accompaniments.
Nacha was now quite merry; she began to sing, beating time on her glass
with a spoon. The others took up the suggestion, and improvised an
orchestra. "The Parrot" jumped up on the table to conduct, the others
remaining in their places.
"Get down off of that!" yelled Arnedo.
The maid stopped in the doorway, doubling up with laughter at this
uproarious scene. Shrieks, explosions of mirth, snatches of song, the
clink of glasses, exclamations, and words from the gutter mingled in a
deafening din. Suddenly it occurred to Nacha to begin a _jota_. Arnedo
rushed at her, clasped her in his arms and bellowed:
"That's the way I like to see you, my little nigger!"
"I suppose so," said Nacha, throwing him off, "but what about your
'nigger' in Belgrano? You can do without me, now that you've found
someone who can stand you!"
Arnedo stopped short, paralyzed for the moment. Then his eyes slowly
went the rounds of his friends. Befuddled as he was, he could not
remember to which one of them he had mentioned this affair. He turned,
finally, on Nacha.
"Who told you that? Come, speak up, this moment. Have you had a
detective trailing me? You're mean enough to!..."
Nacha looked at him in astonishment, pretending she did not understand.
"What is the matter? What did I say?"
Arnedo staggered towards her, an arm lifted to strike. Nacha covered
her face with her hands to ward off the blow. The man was beside
himself with fury. It was not so much that Nacha knew about his
adventures; he had boasted of them to her more than once himself. What
irritated him, because it lowered his prestige with his "crowd," was
the fact that she was breaking with him. That was his right!... And
that she had found a pretext for doing so.... Besides, he got it into
his head that Nacha was going to Monsalvat; and the thought that the
man he had offended was turning the tables on him was unbearable. A new
idea, however, suddenly thrust itself upon him.
"Was it one of these girls who told you?" he broke out, facing the two
startled women.
"What's it all about?" asked one of them.
"This is the first I've heard of it," declared the other.
Arnedo seized his glass, which was full of wine, and drained it at a
gulp. He stood brooding for a few seconds at the table; then, thrusting
his right hand inside his belt, he cried out to the man with whom he
had been talking when Nacha overheard him:
"Now I remember! Of course it was you.... You thought you'd play a joke
on me by blabbing! You always were a dog; but now you're going to pay
up!"
Therewith he jerked out his revolver and began pointing it about in
various directions. His friends seized his arm, but in healthy fear of
an accident, refrained from any effort to take the weapon from him. The
scene was well on its way to a bad end, when a man named Amiral walked
in upon the group.
This fellow, the perfect type of the impoverished rake, was always
to be found hovering about some couple or other, never under any
circumstances accompanied by a woman; he would have to pay for her
drinks. He shared the champagne other people bought, rode in taxis
other people paid for, and even gathered a few crumbs from other
people's love affairs. Very tall, very thin, with extremely long arms,
skeleton-like legs, a wan face, thick up-turned mustache, and bulging,
glassy eyes, he was far from prepossessing in appearance. Though his
perpetual penury made him something of a joke with women, Amiral was
born for "gallant" adventure. In the eighteenth century he would have
been a Marquis of Marivaux or a Count of Goldoni, prodigal of love and
madrigals. In the less favorable present, his position in society, such
as it was, derived from his trips to Europe.
In Argentina there is no more valid claim to consideration than foreign
travels. The oftener one goes abroad, the greater one's "prestige,"
and Amiral "went across" every two years. He travelled parsimoniously,
carried his own luggage, never used a cab, and was extremely sparing of
tips. Generally he took lodgings in Paris, where he lived on borrowings
from his fellow-countrymen. He knew nothing of the French capital save
the life of the boulevards, of the Abbaye de Thélème, of the cabarets,
and of the furnished apartments on the Chaussée d'Antin. However, in
Argentina, this was readily marketable knowledge; a number of _patotas_
tolerated Amiral for his amiable discourses on the gay life of Paris.
His inevitable stock in trade was to expatiate on the theme that Buenos
Aires had "no atmosphere"; and could the authority of such a widely
travelled man be questioned in these matters? When, in the circles
he frequented, the discussion turned to women, someone could always
be heard to quote Amiral's oracular utterances: "Amiral says that in
Paris..." and the point under discussion was settled.
"Why, my good friends, what's all this, anyway? Are you rehearsing
for the movies?" said the new arrival, coming into the room with his
accustomed laugh, his grotesque arms describing absurdly elongated arcs
in the air.
"Why, you boys aren't serious, are you? Oh, say.... Really now, good
fellows like you...."
The intervention had a quieting effect on Arnedo, who put his revolver
away. One of the women tried to explain the scene to the newcomer, but
Amiral held her off at the ends of unbelievably long arms.
"No, no! No post mortems, please! The act is all over, my young
friends. Now for a merry little interlude. Come, bring on the suds!
Say, girl, hasn't Pampa got a couple of bottles of champagne? I like
mine dry."
The servant made haste to obey the order. Amiral punctiliously drank
a toast to the mutual love of "the Arnedos," and once more laughter,
shouting, dancing, clinking of spoons on glasses, general uproar,
became the order of the evening. Arnedo, supported by the hilarious
demands of the company, insisted that Nacha declare she had no
intention of leaving him; and yielding to this unanimous pressure,
she obeyed. Thus, under Amiral's protection, a reconciliation was
accomplished. Arnedo took Nacha from her place and made her sit on his
lap, while jests at this public flirtation began to fly back and forth.
The first bottle had been drunk, and they were making good headway
with the second, when Nacha, who had been gradually returning to her
depression, burst into tears:
"What's the meaning of this?" asked Amiral.
"Oh, nothing!" Arnedo growled. "Show her the label on a bottle and she
gets one of these fits."
Now completely succumbing to the champagne, her face distraught and
her arms and body twitching in absurd gestures, Nacha began to talk
in a rambling, incoherent jumble of words that moved the company to
uncontrollable hilarity.
"I loved him so much, and he died!" she moaned. "He was here this
afternoon, and he told me he loved me; and now he is dead. There never
was another man like him--so good, so brave! No one else would have
done what he did in the cabaret--Carlos Riga was his name. Oh, poor
girl that I am! He told me I would suffer--that I must suffer--but I
want to live--to live--I want to live and to suffer! He said he would
be my friend. Why did he do that? And then go and die right afterwards?
Everyone who loves me goes and dies! You're laughing at me! Why? Isn't
it the truth? I may be all you say I am, but I know what love is, and
I'm not going to leave this house...."
"She has a fine one on, has Nacha!"
"That's a shine for a cloudy day!"
But Nacha had lost consciousness of everything about her. Her eyes were
heavy with sleep. She sagged forward in her chair, till her head rested
on her arms, and, still at the table there, she fell fast asleep.
It was late the next day when she woke in bed; and the servant was
bringing her a note from Arnedo. In it he explained that he did not
care to have her remain a moment longer under his roof, that she was
free to go to Monsalvat or to whomever she preferred. With the message
he enclosed a hundred _peso_ bill.
Nacha read the letter without emotion. Her first thought was one
of shame at the spectacle she must have made the night before. As
for Arnedo, she was glad to have her relations with him end in this
fashion. A sudden and immediate break--yes, that was better! It was
clear he was still fond of her, otherwise he would have told her to go
himself, or have had the servant put her out. Consideration for her
feelings to such an extent as the letter showed was an incredible act
of delicacy on Pampa's part, had he been serious! She was tempted to
remain, just to go him one better. But no! She was through with Pampa
and his kind. Monsalvat had told her she was a good, a noble woman, at
heart. Could she not be, if she tried? Try she would, at any rate.
She wrote a few words to her former lover, assuring him that she bore
him no ill-will, and returning the hundred _pesos_. Then she quietly
packed her belongings, dressed, had her trunk carried downstairs, and
getting into a cab, gave the driver the address of a boarding house she
had selected from a list in the _Patria_. "Strictly respectable," the
advertisement had declared. Nacha felt quite elated now. To herself she
seemed to have already gone a long way on the road to respectability.