Curves of cheek and throat, and shadow of loose hair--the dark flash
of dark eyes under the silk of black lashes--a passing vision light
as a dream of summer--the sweet temptations of seventeen years'
grace--womanhood at its springtime, when the bud is bursting through
the blossom--the patter of feet that hardly touch ground in their
elastic movement--the light loose dress, moulding its softness upon the
limbs beneath it, betraying much, suggesting the rest; an apparition
seen only for a moment passing through the subdued light of a
vine-shaded window, briefly as an object illuminated by lightning--yet
such a moment may well be recorded by the guardian angels of men's
lives.
"Croyez-vous ça?" suddenly demands a metallically sonorous voice at the
other side of the table.
"Pardon!--qu'est ce que c'est?" asks the stranger, in the tone of one
suddenly awakened, internally annoyed at being disturbed, yet anxious
to appear deeply interested. They had been talking of Japan--and the
traveler, suddenly regaining the clue of the conversation, spoke of
a bath-house at Yokohama, and of strange things he had seen there,
until the memory of the recent vision mingled fantastically with
recollections of the Japanese bathing-house, and he sank into another
reverie, leaving the untasted cup of black coffee before him to mingle
its dying aroma with the odor of the cigarettes.
For there are living apparitions that affect men more deeply than
fancied visits from the world of ghosts;--numbing respiration
momentarily, making the blood to gather about the heart like a great
weight, hushing the voice to a murmur, creating an indescribable
oppression in the throat--until nature seeks relief in a strong sigh
that fills the lungs with air again and cools for a brief moment the
sudden fever of the veins. The vision may endure but an instant--seen
under a gleam of sunshine, or through the antiquated gateway one passes
from time to time on his way to the serious part of the city; yet that
instant is enough to change the currents of the blood, and slacken
the reins of the will, and make us deaf and blind and dumb for a time
to the world of SOLID FACT. The whole being is momentarily absorbed,
enslaved by a vague and voiceless desire to touch her, to kiss her, to
bite her.
The lemon-gold blaze in the west faded out; the blue became purple;
and in the purple the mighty arch of stars burst into illumination,
with its myriad blossoms of fire white as a woman's milk. A Spanish
officer improved a momentary lull in the conversation by touching a
guitar, and all eyes turned toward the musician, who suddenly wrung
from his instrument the nervous, passionate, semi-barbaric melody of
a Spanish dance. For a moment he played to an absolutely motionless
audience; the very waving of the fans ceased, the listeners held their
breath. Then two figures glided through the vine-framed doorway, and
took their seats. One was the Vision of a few hours before--a type of
semi-tropical grace, with the bloom of Southern youth upon her dark
skin. The other immediately impressed the stranger as the ugliest
little Mexican woman he had ever seen in the course of a long and
experienced life.
She was grotesque as a Chinese image of Buddha, no taller than a child
of ten, but very broadly built. Her skin had the ochre tint of new
copper; her forehead was large and disagreeably high; her nose flat;
her cheek-bones very broad and prominent; her eyes small, deeply set,
and gray as pearls; her mouth alone small, passionate, and pouting,
with rather thick lips, relieved the coarseness of her face. Although
so compactly built, she had no aspect of plumpness or fleshiness:--she
had the physical air of one of those little Mexican fillies which
are all nerve and sinew. Both women were in white; and the dress of
the little Mexican was short enough to expose a very pretty foot and
well-turned ankle.
Another beautiful woman would scarcely have diverted the stranger's
attention from the belle of the party that night; but that Mexican
was so infernally ugly, and so devilishly comical, that he could not
remove his eyes from her grotesque little face. He could not help
remarking that her smile was pleasing if not pretty, and her teeth
white as porcelain; that there was a strong, good-natured originality
about her face, and that her uncouthness was only apparent, as she was
the most accomplished dancer in the room. Even the belle's movements
seemed heavy compared with hers; she appeared to dance as lightly as
the hummingbird moves from blossom to blossom. By and by he found to
his astonishment that this strange creature could fascinate without
beauty and grace, and play coquette without art; also that her voice
had pretty bird tones in it; likewise that the Spanish captain was
very much interested in her, and determined to monopolize her as much
as possible for the rest of the evening. And the stranger felt oddly
annoyed thereat; and sought to console himself by the reflection that
she was the most fantastically ugly little creature he had seen in his
whole life. But for some mysterious reason consolation refused to come.
"Well, I am going back to Honduras to-morrow," he thought--"and there
thoughts of women will give me very little concern."
"I protest against this kissing," cried the roguish host in a loud
voice, evidently referring to something that had just taken place in
the embrasure of the farther window. "On fait venir l'eau dans la
bouche! Monopoly is strictly prohibited. _Our_ rights and feelings must
be taken into just consideration." Frenzied applause followed. What
difference did it make?--they were the world's Bohemians--here to-day,
there to-morrow!--before another moonrise they would be scattered west
and south;--the ladies ought to kiss them all for good luck.
So the kiss of farewell was given under the great gate, overhung by
vine-tendrils drooping like a woman's hair love-loosened.
The beauty's lips shrank from the pressure of the stranger's;--it was
a fruitless phantom sort of kiss. "Y yo, señor," cried the little
Mexican, standing on tiptoe as she threw her arms about his neck.
Everybody laughed except the recipient of the embrace. He had received
an electric shock of passion which left him voiceless and speechless,
and--it seemed to him that his heart had ceased to beat.
Those carmine-edged lips seemed to have a special life of their own as
of the gymnotus--as if crimsoned by something more lava-warm than young
veins: they pressed upon his mouth with the motion of something that
at once bites and sucks blood irresistibly but softly, like the great
bats which absorb the life of sleepers in tropical forests;--there was
something moist and cool and supple indescribable in their clinging
touch, as of beautiful snaky things which, however firmly clasped, slip
through the hand with boneless strength;--they could not themselves
be kissed because they mesmerized and mastered the mouth presented to
them;--their touch for the instant paralyzed the blood, but only to
fill its motionless currents with unquenchable fires as strange as of
a tropical volcano, so that the heart strove to rise from its bed to
meet them, and all the life of the man seemed to have risen to his
throat only to strangle there in its effort at self-release. A feeble
description, indeed; but how can such a kiss be described?
. . . . . . . . .
Six months later the stranger came back from Honduras, and deposited
some small but heavy bags in the care of his old host. Then he called
the old man aside, and talked long and earnestly and passionately, like
one who makes a confession.
The landlord burst into a good-natured laugh, "Ah la drôle!--la vilaine
petite drôle! So she made you crazy also. Mon cher, you are not the
only one, pardieu! But the idea of returning here on account of one
kiss, and then to be too late, after all! She is gone, my friend, gone.
God knows where. Such women are birds of passage. You might seek the
whole world and never find her; again, you might meet her when least
expected. But you are too late. She married the guitarrista."