Ventura and Rita were dancing at the feast, animated by that which
mounts to heads wanting in age or wanting in sense; by that which
blinds the eyes of reason, silences prudence, and puts respect to
flight; that is to say, wine; a love entirely material, a voluptuous
dance, executed without restraint, amid foolish drunken applauses.
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In truth they were a comely pair. Rita moved her charming head,
adorned with flowers, and tossed her person to and fro with that
inimitable grace of her province, which is at will modest or free. Her
black eyes shone like polished jet, and her fingers agitated the
castanets in defiant provocation. She had in Ventura a partner well
suited to her. Never was the fandango danced with more grace and
sprightliness.
The excited singers improvised (according to custom) couplets in
praise of the brilliant pair:
"Throw roses, red roses,
The belle of the ball,
For her beauty and grace
She merits them all
And to-night in the feast,
By public acclaim.
To her and Ventura
Is given the palm."
During the last changes when the clappings and cheers were redoubled,
Perico arrived and stopped upon the threshold.
Occupied as all were with the dance, no one noticed his arrival, and
Ventura conducting Rita to a room where there were refreshments passed
close beside him as he stood in shadow, without being aware of his
presence. As they passed he heard words between them which confirmed
the whole extent of his misfortune; all the infamy of the wife he
loved so fondly, of the mother of his children; all the treachery of a
friend and brother.
The blow was so terrible that the unhappy man remained for a moment
stunned; but recovering himself, he followed them.
Rita stood before a small mirror arranging the flowers that adorned
her head.
"Withered," said Ventura, "why do you put on roses? Is it not known
that they always die of envy on the head of a handsome woman?"
"Look here, Ventura," said one of his friends, "you appear to like the
forbidden fruit better than any other."
"I," responded Ventura, "like good fruit though it be forbidden."
"That is an indignity," said a friend of Perico's.
One of those present took the speaker by the arm, and said to him, as
he drew him aside.
"Hush, man! don't you see that he is drunk? Who gave you a candle for
this funeral? What is it to you if Perico, who is the one interested,
consents?"
"Who dares to say that Perico Alvareda consents to an indignity?" said
the latter presenting himself in the middle of the room, as pale as if
risen from a bier.
At the sound of her husband's voice, Rita slid like a serpent among
the bystanders and disappeared.
"He comes in good time to look after his wife," said some hair-brained
youths, who formed a sort of retinue to the brilliant dancer and
valiant young soldier, bursting into a laugh.
"Sirs," said Perico, crossing his arms upon his breast with a look of
suppressed rage, "have I a monkey show in my face?"
"That or something else which provokes laughter," answered Ventura, at
which all laughed.
"It is lucky for you," retorted Perico, in a choked voice, "that I am
not armed."
"Shut your mouth!" exclaimed Ventura, with a rude laugh. "How bold the
_pet lamb_ is getting! Leave off bravado, pious youth; don't be
picking quarrels, but go home and wipe your children's noses."
At these words Perico precipitated himself upon Ventura. The latter
recoiled before the sudden shock, but immediately recovered himself,
and with the strength and agility which were natural to him, seized
Perico by the middle, threw him to the ground, and put his knee upon
his breast.
Fortunately Perico did not carry a knife, and Ventura did not draw
his; but instead the latter clenched both hands upon Perico's throat,
repeating furiously:
{675}
"You! You! that I can tear to pieces with three fingers; do you lay
your hands upon me? You! a killer of locusts, a coward, a chicken,
brought up under your mother's wing. You to me! to me!"
At this instant Pedro entered.
"Ventura!" he shouted, "Ventura! What are you doing? what are you
doing, madman?"
At the sight of his father, Ventura loosed his grasp upon Perico and
stood up.
"You are drunk," continued Pedro, beside himself with indignation and
grief. "You are drunk, and with evil wine. [Footnote 172] Go home,"
he added pushing Ventura by the shoulder, "go home, and go on before
me."
[Footnote 172: "Drunk with evil wine," said when the drunken person
is ill-tempered.]
Ventura obeyed without answering, for with Pedro's words, it was not
alone the voice of his father that reached his ears, it was the voice
of reason, of conscience, of his own heart. His noble instincts were
awakened, and he blushed for the affair which had just taken place,
and for the cause which had occasioned it. Therefore he lowered his
head as in the presence of all he respected, and went out, followed by
his father.
In the mean while they had raised Perico, who was gradually recovering
from the vertigo caused by the pressure of Ventura's fingers.
He passed his hand across his forehead, cast upon those who surrounded
him the glance of a wounded and manacled lion, and left the room,
saying in a hollow voice,
"He has destroyed us both."
As Ventura had gone, accompanied by his father, those present allowed
Perico to leave without opposition.
"This is not the end," said one, shaking his head.
"That is clear," said another. "First deceived, and afterward beaten;
who is the saint that could bear it?"
Perico went home muttering in disjointed and broken
sentences--"Chicken!" "Coward!" "Something in my face which provokes
laughter!" "And he tells me so, he!" "Pet lamb!" "No one cast a doubt
upon my honor until you spat upon it and trampled it under your feet!
Oh! we shall see!" He entered his room and seized his gun.
"Father!" called the little voice of Angela from the next apartment,
"father, we are alone."
"You will be yet more alone," murmured Perico, without answering her.
The children's voices kept on calling "Father, father!"
"You have no father!" shouted Perico, and went out into the court. He
placed his gun against the trunk of the orange-tree, in order to take
out ammunition to load it, but, as if the ancient protector of the
family repulsed the weapon, it slid and fell to the ground. The leaves
of the tree murmured mournfully. Were they moved by some dismal
presentiment?
Perico was leaving the court when he found himself face to face with
his mother, who, made watchful by her inquietude, had heard her son
enter.
"Where are you going, Perico?" she asked.
"To the field. I have told you already that there were goats around."
"Did you go to the feast?"
"Yes."
"And Rita?"
"Was not there. Mamma Maria dotes."
Anna breathed more freely; still, the unusual roughness of her son's
tone and the asperity of his replies surprised the already alarmed
mother.
"Don't go now to the field, my child," she said in a supplicating
voice.
"Not go to the field, and why?"
"Because I feel in my heart that you ought not, and you know that my
heart is true."
"_Yes, I know it_!" he answered, with such acerbity and bitterness
that Anna began to fear that although he might not have found Rita at
the feast, he had, nevertheless, his suspicions.
"Well, then, since you know it, do not go," she said.
{676}
"Madam," answered Perico, "women sometimes exasperate men by trying to
govern them. They say that I have been brought up _under your wing_. I
intend now to fly alone," and he went toward the gate.
"Is this my son?" cried the poor mother. "Something is the matter with
him! Something is wrong!"
As Perico opened the gate, his faithful companion, the good Melampo,
came to his side.
"Go back!" said Perico, giving him a kick.
The poor animal, little used to ill treatment, fell back astonished,
but immediately, and with that absence of resentment which makes the
dog a model of abnegation in his affection, as well as of fidelity,
darted to the gate in order to follow his master. It was already shut.
Then he began to howl mournfully, as if to prove the truth of the
instinct of these animals when they announce a catastrophe by their
lamentations.