AN OLD RED CAPE
Morning came. Pilar attended her sick grandfather and made him
comfortable in his bed. He did not speak to her. He seemed to want to
doze all the time.
She went into her room and knelt down beside the wooden chest. She must
go now and sell one of the treasures. Which one should it be?
She took out each in turn and looked at them. All were so
precious--parts of her mother's life. Here was an old pair of castanets,
scarred and battered, not so pretty as the beautiful comb, the handsome
clock, the embroidered bonnet, or--
Perhaps she would sell those ugly castanets. And yet--just look at
this old red cape! Like a bullfighter's cape, only small and faded and
torn--surely the least interesting and attractive of her treasures. She
took it into her grandfather's room.
[Illustration: STREET OF THE SERPENTS]
"Grandfather," she said, "I am going to the shop of Juan (hwän)
Sanchez, and I shall ask him to buy this old cape. With the money I
shall buy food."
Her grandfather opened his dull eyes and looked first at the black-eyed,
rosy little Pilar and then at the old red cape.
"It belonged, once long ago, to--Tony--" he began.
Then his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes and fell asleep again. He
was very feeble.
Pilar kissed him gently and stole out of the house.
The narrow streets of Seville looked like thin Arabs with their arms
pressed close to their white-robed sides. They were bright with
sunlight. They were noisy with squawking motor horns, with chattering
men and women.
Juan's shop was on the Street of the Serpents, a wriggling ribbon
of a street with booths and shops and cafés--a street of ragged people,
of staring people, of chanting, selling people. But no automobiles or
wagons were allowed upon the Street of the Serpents.
Pilar met Juan Sanchez at the door of his tiny shop.
"Good morning, Señorita (s[=a]´ny[=o]-r[=e]´-tä) Pilar," he smiled.
He was glad to see Pilar. Everyone in Spain is always glad to see
children. This is a good thing, because Spain is overflowing with
children.
"Good morning, Señor (s[=a]-ny[=o]r´) Juan," said the little girl. Then,
timidly she held up the faded old cape. "Will you buy this from me?" she
asked. "My grandfather is ill, and I must have money to pay for food and
medicine."
Juan looked at the cape. He said nothing, but his mouth twitched as
though it wanted to smile. He turned the cape inside out and stared at
something he saw.
"The name 'Tony' is printed in ink on the inside of this cape," he said.
But Pilar was not interested. She only looked up at him and repeated
earnestly, "Will you buy it, señor? Will you?"
Juan shook his head. "No, Pilar," he answered. "I cannot buy it because
it is worth nothing to me."
Then as he saw the cloud cover her smile, he added, "But it may be worth
a great deal to you if you will send it away!"
"If I will send it away, señor?" Pilar thought that the good Juan must
be teasing her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "that you must send it to America to the one whose
name is written here."
He pointed to the name Tony. It meant nothing until Juan explained.
[Illustration: ALCAZAR GARDENS, SEVILLE]
"Years ago," he said, "Tony was a little boy who played in the streets
of Seville. He liked to play bullfight. This is the cape with which he
angered the make-believe bull. I was that bull."
"You, Juan? You were the bull?" laughed Pilar.
"Yes, and a fierce one with great horns which I held proudly to my
head," answered Juan. "But today," he went on, "today this Tony--ah, he
is a very rich man. He has made many American dollars."
"But how did his cape come to be among my mother's souvenirs?" asked
Pilar.
"When Tony went away to seek his fortune in America," said Juan, "he
must have given it to your mother. They lived next door to each other
when they were children. They were very good friends."
"But why should I send the cape to Tony in America?" asked Pilar.
"Because," answered Juan, "I am sure that he will remember your mother
and help you in your trouble."
Pilar's eyes shone. "Oh, do you think so?" she cried.
[Illustration: JUAN, THE SHOPKEEPER]
Juan nodded his head knowingly. "I shall send it for you, Pilar," he
said. "And I shall write a letter, too, and tell Tony about your sick
grandfather. Now take this money, child, and buy what you need."
He pressed some coins into Pilar's hand, but she shrank back.
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed. "I cannot take money from you, señor, when
I have given you nothing for it!"
Juan laughed. "Very well, little proud one," he said. "You may bring me
something else tomorrow."
Pilar thought of the old pair of castanets.
She asked Juan whether he would take them, and he replied, "Of course.
It is not difficult to sell castanets in Seville."
So Pilar left the shop of Juan Sanchez, and her heart sang as she
skipped along. She bought bread and fish and eggs and she took them
home.
She cooked the fish and the eggs in oil, as Spanish people do. Then she
poured some milk out of a pitcher and tried to make her grandfather eat
and drink.
After that, she went into her tiny room and once again opened the wooden
chest. This time she took out the magic castanets, whose mysterious
history she did not know.
[Illustration: SEVILLE]
But her grandfather knew all those terrible legends which had been
handed down through the family. He was too intelligent really to believe
them but when Pilar came into his room holding the clappers in her hand,
his eyes suddenly filled with fear.
"What are you doing with the castanets, Pilly?" he asked in his weak
voice.
"I am going to sell them to Juan Sanchez," answered Pilar, smoothing his
pillow. "Then I shall buy a little chicken and cook it for your dinner."
"No, no!" The old man tried to sit up in bed. "Do not sell the cast--"
But Pilar interrupted him. "Please, Grandfather," she said. "You must
not talk. You must rest while I am gone."
She made him lie down again and he sank back wearily, closing his eyes.
He was too weak to say any more, but his lips began to move.
"Castanets, with--magic--spell--" he muttered to himself.
The words were muffled. Pilar could not understand them.
She patted his hand gently and said, "Go to sleep, dear Grandfather. Do
not worry. Pilar will take good care of you."
Then she sang a little song which sounded like a Moorish chant. And
perhaps it was, for Spain once was ruled by the Moors, who left much of
their art and music behind them when they were driven out.
Pilar's soothing voice soon lulled her grandfather to sleep. And so it
was that he did not finish the verse about the castanets.
It was a pity, too, as you will agree when you have heard the legend of
the castanets in old Cadiz (k[)a]d´[)i]z).