A NEW CHARACTER.
Although, owing to its position on the shores of the Pacific, Sonora
enjoys the blessings of the sea breeze, whose moisture at intervals
refreshes the heated atmosphere; still, for three hours in the
afternoon, the earth incessantly heated by the torrid sunbeams produces
a crushing heat. At such times the country assumes a really desolate
aspect beneath the cloudless sky, which seems an immense plate of
red-hot iron. The birds suddenly cease their songs, and languidly hide
themselves beneath the thick foliage of the trees, which bow their
proud crests towards the ground. Men and domestic animals hasten to
seek shelter in the houses, raising in their hurried progress a white,
impalpable, and calcined dust, which enters mouth and nostrils. For
some hours Sonora is converted into a vast desert from which every
appearance of life and movement has disappeared.
Everybody is asleep, or at least reclining in the most shady rooms,
with closed eyes, and with the body abandoned to that species of
somnolency which is neither sleeping nor waking, and which from that
very fact is filled with such sweet and voluptuous reveries--inhaling
at deep draughts the artificial breeze produced by artfully contrived
currents of air, and in a word indulging in what is generally called in
the torrid zones a siesta.
These are hours full of enjoyment, of those sweet and beneficent
influence on body and mind we busy, active Englishmen are ignorant,
but which people nearer the sun revel in. The Italians call this state
the _dolce far niente_, and the Turks, that essentially sensual race,
_keff_.
Like that city in the "Arabian Nights," the inhabitants of which the
wicked enchanter suddenly changed into statues by waving his wand, life
seemed suddenly arrested at the Hacienda del Toro, for the silence was
so profound: peons, vaqueros, craidos, everybody in fact, were enjoying
their siesta. It was about three in the afternoon; but that indistinct
though significant buzz which announces the awakening of the hour that
precedes the resumption of labour was audible. Two gentlemen alone had
not yielded to sleep, in spite of the crushing midday heat; but seated
in an elegantly furnished _cuarto_, they had spent the hours usually
devoted to slumber in conversation. The cause for this deviation from
the ordinary custom must have been most serious. The Hispano-American,
and especially the Mexican, does not lightly sacrifice those hours of
repose during which, according to a Spanish proverb, only dogs and
Frenchmen are to be seen in the sun.
Of these two gentlemen, one, Don Hernando de Moguer, is already known
to us. Years, while stooping his back, had furrowed some wrinkles on
his forehead, and mingled many silver threads with his hair; but the
expression of his face, with the exception of a tinge of melancholy
spread over his features by lengthened misfortunes, had remained nearly
the same, that is to say, gentle and timid, although clever; slightly
sarcastic and eminently crafty.
As for the person with whom Don Hernando was conversing at this moment,
he deserves a detailed description, physically at least, for the
reader will soon be enabled to appreciate his moral character. He was
a short, plump man, with a rubicund face and apoplectic look, though
hardly forty years of age. Still his hair, which was almost white,
his deeply wrinkled forehead, and his grey eyes buried beneath bushy
whiskers, gave him a senile appearance, harmonizing but little with the
sharp gesticulation and youthful manner he affected. His long, thin,
violet nose was bent like a parrot's beak over a wide mouth filled with
dazzling white teeth; and his prominent cheekbones, covered with blue
veins, completed a strange countenance, the expression of which bore a
striking likeness to that of an owl.
This species of nutcracker, with his prominent stomach and short
ill-hung limbs, whose whole appearance was most disagreeable, had such
a mobility of face as rendered it impossible to read his thoughts
on his features, in the event of this fat man's carcase containing
a thought. His cold blue eyes were ever pertinaciously fixed on the
person addressing him, and did not reveal the slightest emotion; in
short, this man produced at the first contact that invariable antipathy
which is felt on the approach of reptiles, and which, after nearer
acquaintance, is converted into disgust and contempt.
He was a certain Don Rufino Contreras, one of the richest landowners in
Sonora, and a year previously had been elected senator to the Mexican
Congress for the province.
At the moment when we enter the _cuarto_, Don Hernando, with arms
folded at his back and frowning brow, is walking up and down, while Don
Rufino, seated on a butaca, with his body thrown back, is following his
movements with a crafty smile on his lips while striving to scratch
off an invisible spot on his knee. For some minutes, the hacendero
continued his walk, and then stopped before Don Rufino, who bent on him
a mocking, inquiring glance.
"Then," he said, in a voice whose anxious expression he sought in vain
to conceal, "you must positively have the entire sum within a week?"
"Yes," the fat man replied, still smiling.
"Why, if that is the case, did you not warn me sooner?"
"It was through delicacy, my dear sir."
"What--through delicacy?" Don Hernando repeated, with a start of
surprise.
"You shall judge for yourself."
"I shall be glad to do so."
"I believe you do me the justice of allowing that I am your friend?"
"You have said you are, at least."
"I fancy I have proved it to you."
"No matter; but let us pass over that."
"Very well. Knowing that you were in a critical position at the moment,
I tried to procure the sum by all possible means, as I did not wish to
have recourse to you, except in the last extremity. You see, my dear
Don Hernando, how delicate and truly friendly my calculations were.
Unfortunately, at the present time it is very difficult to get money
in, owing to the stagnation of trade produced by the new conflict
which threatens to break out between the President of the Republic and
the Southern States. It was therefore literally impossible for me to
obtain the smallest sum. In such a perplexing position, I leave you to
judge what I was obliged to do. The money I must have; you have owed it
for a long time, and I applied to you--what else could I do?"
"I do not know. Still, I think you might have sent a peon to warn me,
before you left Sonora."
"No, my dear sir, that is exactly what I should not do. I have not come
direct to you: in pursuance of the line of conduct I laid down I hoped
to collect the required sum on my road, and not be obliged to come all
the way to your hacienda."
Don Hernando made no reply. He began his walk again after giving the
speaker a glance which would have given him cause for thought, had he
noticed it; but the latter gentleman had begun rubbing the invisible
spot again with more obstinacy than before. In the meanwhile the
sunbeams had become more and more oblique; the hacienda had woke up
to its ordinary life; outside the shouts of the vaqueros pricking the
oxen or urging on the horses could be heard mingled with the lowing and
neighing of the draught cattle. Don Hernando walked up to a window, the
shutters of which he threw open, and a refreshing breeze entered the
_cuarto_. Don Rufino gave a sigh of relief and sat up in his _butaca_.
"Ouf," he said, with an expression of comfort, "I was very tired; not
through the long ride I was compelled to make this morning, so much as
through the stifling heat."
Don Hernando started at this insinuation, as if he had been stung by
a serpent; he had neglected all the laws of Mexican hospitality; for
Don Rufino's visit had so disagreeably surprised him, and made him
forget all else before the sudden obligation of satisfying the claims
of a merciless creditor. But at Don Rufino's remarks he understood how
unusual his conduct must have seemed to a weary traveller, hence he
rang a bell, and a peon at once came in.
"Refreshment," he said.
The peon bowed, and left the room.
"You will excuse me, Caballero," the hacendero continued, frankly,
"but your visit so surprised me, that at the moment I did not think
of offering the refreshment which a tired traveller requires so much.
Your room is prepared, rest yourself tonight, and tomorrow we will
resume our conversation, and arrive at a solution I trust mutually
satisfactory."
"I hope so, my dear sir. Heaven is my witness that it is my greatest
desire," Don Rufino answered, as he raised to his lips the glass of
orangeade brought by the peon. "Unhappily I fear that, with the best
will in the world, we cannot come to a settlement unless--"
"Unless!" Don Hernando sharply interrupted. Don Rufino quietly sipped
his orangeade, placed the glass on the table, and said, as he threw
himself back on the _butaca_, and rolled a cigarette--
"Unless you pay me in full what you owe me, which, from what you have
said, appears to me to be difficult, I confess."
"Ah!" Don Hernando remarked with an air of constraint, "What makes you
suppose that?"
"I beg your pardon, my dear sir, I suppose nothing: you told me just
now that you were hardly pressed."
"Well, and what conclusion do you derive from that?" the hacendero
asked impatiently.
"A very simple thing--that seventy thousand piastres form a rather
round sum, and that however rich a man may be, he does not always have
it in his hands, especially when he is pressed."
"I can make sacrifices."
"Believe me, I shall be sincerely sorry."
"But can you not wait a few days longer?"
"Impossible, I repeat: let us understand our respective positions, in
order to avoid any business misunderstanding, which should always be
prevented between honourable gentlemen holding a certain position. I
lent you that sum, and only stipulated for small interest, I believe."
"I allow it, Señor, and thank you for it."
"It is not really worth the trouble; I was anxious to oblige you. I
did so, and let us say no more about it; but remember that I made one
condition which you accepted."
"Yes," Don Hernando said, with an impatient start, "and I was wrong."
"Perhaps so; but that is not the question. This condition which you
accepted was to the effect that you should repay me the sum I advanced
upon demand."
"Have I said the contrary?"
"Far from it; but now that I want the money, I ask you for it, and
that is natural: I have in no way infringed the conditions. You ought
to have expected what is happening today, and taken your precautions
accordingly."
"Hence, if I ask a month to collect the money you claim?"
"I should be heartbroken, but should refuse; for I want the money, not
in a month, but in a week. I can quite put myself in your position, and
comprehend how disagreeable the matter must be; but unluckily so it is."
What most hurt Don Hernando was not the recall of the loan, painful as
it was to him, so much as the way in which the demand was made; the
show of false good nature employed by his creditor, and the insulting
pity he displayed. Carried away involuntarily by the rage that filled
his heart, he was about to give Don Rufino an answer which would have
broken off all friendly relations between them for ever, when a great
noise was heard in the hacienda, mingled with shouts of joy and the
stamping of horses. Don Hernando eagerly leant out of the window, and
at the expiration of a moment turned round to Don Rufino, who was
sucking his cigarette with an air of beatitude.
"Here are my children, Caballero," he said; "not a word of this affair
before them, I entreat."
"I know too well what I owe you, my dear Señor," the other replied, as
he prepared to rise. "With your permission, however, I will withdraw,
in order to allow you entire liberty for your family joy."
"No, no!" Don Hernando added, "I had better introduce you at once to my
son and daughter."
"As you please, my dear sir. I shall be flattered to form the
acquaintance of your charming family."
The door opened, and Don José Parades appeared. The majordomo was a
half-breed of about forty years of age, tall and powerfully built, with
bow legs and round shoulders that denoted his capacity as a horseman;
in fact, the worthy man's life was spent in the saddle, galloping about
the country. He took a side-glance at Don Rufino, bowed to his master,
and lowering his usual rough tone, said--
"Señor amo, the niño and niña have arrived in good health, thanks to
Our Lady of Carnerno."
"Thanks, Don José," Don Hernando replied; "let them come in. I shall be
delighted to see them."
The majordomo gave a signal outside, and the two young people rushed
into the room. With one bound they were in their father's arms, who
for a moment pressed them to his heart; but then he pushed them
away, remarking that a stranger was present. The young couple bowed
respectfully.
"Señor Don Rufino," the Marquis said, "I present to you my son, Don
Ruiz de Moguer, and my daughter, Doña Marianita: my children, this is
Señor Don Rufino Contreras, one of my best friends."
"A title of which I am proud," Don Rufino replied, with a bow, while
giving the young lady a cold searching glance, which made her look down
involuntarily and blush.
"Are the apartments ready, Don José?" Don Hernando continued.
"Yes, Excellency," the majordomo said, who was contemplating the young
people with a radiant face.
"If Señor Don Rufino will permit it, you can go and lie down, my
children," the hacendero said. "You must be tired."
"You will also allow me to rest, Don Hernando?" the Senator then said.
The hacendero bowed.
"We will resume our conversation at a more favourable moment," he
continued, as he took a side-glance at Donna Marianita, who was just
leaving the room with her brother. "However, my dear Señor, do not feel
too anxious about my visit; for I believe I have discovered a way of
arranging matters without inconveniencing you too much."
And, bowing to his knees to the Marquis, who was astounded at this
conduct, which he was so far from expecting, Don Rufino left the room,
smiling with an air of protection.