[Illustration: Chapter Two]
MY INTERPRETER AT MAZATLAN
On the fifth day out from San Francisco we make the harbour of
Mazatlan, on the Mexican coast. The courtesy of the Captain secures us
a good view from "the bridge" as we approach our first port. A great
white rock juts up in the bay like a fragment of some Titan's
fortress; a lighthouse stares out to sea from a cliff at the harbour's
entrance; the tall cocoa palms wave their fern leaves in the blinding
sunshine, and red-roofed houses huddle below the dome of the Cathedral
rising white above the town.
The harbour soon swarms with the countless boats of the natives coming
with fruit and wares to sell or hoping to earn a few _reales_ by
rowing the curious to the wharf.
Señor Noma engages the largest of these boats and invites as many as
it will hold to go ashore with him. He helps in Mrs. Steele, Baron de
Bach brings me, and we are soon followed by Captain Ball and his wife,
and Miss Rogers, a pretty girl with her photographic camera and her
mamma, who is an Episcopal clergyman's wife, and so proud of the
circumstance that the gentlemen have dubbed her "The Church of
England."
The Mexican oarsmen make one think of comic opera brigands, except
that they look rather dirtier and their speech is music without song.
We land at a rude wharf in the low sea wall and pass through groups of
dark-skinned natives who eye us with sleepy interest. Through narrow
streets we troop one after another towards the heart of Mazatlan.
It is oppressively warm, and Captain Ball begs us all to come into a
restaurant and get some cooling drink. Mrs. Steele and I have limes
and Apollinaris, while Señor Noma, true to his red-hot appetite,
tosses off a glass of mezcal, the fire-water of the Mexicans, the
most scorching beverage ever concocted.
"How would you like a true Megsican dinair, Mees?" says Señor Noma,
blinking a little as the liquid fire pours down his throat. "It ees
not bad."
"I should fancy it might be very interesting," I say.
"Well, then, if Madama Steele and the ladies and zhentlemen present
will do me so much honour I will await them at the Hotel Nacional at
seven o'clock. I must now see a friend. _Adios!_"
While the rest are taking leave Baron de Bach bows to me with his
glass of Rhine wine held out to touch mine. With a comparatively
serene face he mutters:
"You talk to efery one but me; I vould like to shoot dhem all."
"It mightn't do," I say, "even in Mexico."
He turns away with a frown between his fine, straight brows.
"Madame, vill you and Señorita come to drive? I know dthe place and
vill be intairpretair?"
"Yes," says Mrs. Steele. "I intend sending for a carriage; we can get
over more ground in that way, and we have so little time."
The Peruvian gives an order to the servant and shortly a vehicle
stands at the door. It is a lumbering old open carriage that has
evidently been grand in its day--with two white horses that match it
in age and decrepitude. In the best of spirits we drive off. The Baron
talks Spanish with the driver and answers all our million inquiries.
We learn that the best houses are built round a hollow square called a
_patio_, and the occasional glimpses through the opening of massive
doors into these courts reveal a sun-shiny garden of tropical fruits
and flowers. Roses everywhere fill the afternoon with fragrance, and
the strong aroma of ripening bananas and pines makes the hot air
heavy.
"Ees it like vhat you dthought?" asks the Peruvian.
"Much better in some respects," I say, "but the houses look
dreadfully dreary outside; they are more like prisons than homes, with
their great blank walls and here and there an arched and grated
window."
"And there's not a pane of glass in the town," says Mrs. Steele,
"lattices inside and wooden shutters without."
"Yes, and I've noticed ever so many pairs of bright eyes peering
through those lattices. Poor things!" I say feelingly, "I suppose a
Mexican girl of good family must have a very stupid time."
"Not in dthe slightes'," says the Peruvian with decision. "Vomans air
much better take care off; dthey air fery happy, I 'sure you," and
turning to me--"You vould like it yourself after a leedle."
"Indeed I shouldn't! And neither would the unfortunates who had charge
of me."
We pass a Catholic graveyard with high adobe wall and are at the
Hospital Municipal, our objective point. A dark young man in
ill-fitting clothes receives us and shows us about this primitive
refuge. The floors are tiled and all the appointments are rude, but
very clean.
Baron de Bach distributes his Mexican dollars so generously the dark
young man is quite overcome. He asks some question with solemn black
eyes fixed on me. The Peruvian laughs with slight confusion and I
catch "_Si_" in his reply. The dark young man puts another query.
"What's it all about?" says Mrs. Steele; "you promised to interpret."
"Oh, yes, if I must. Dthis zhentleman ask if dthis young lady ees my
wife and if she like roses."
"Oh, let us see the roses," says Mrs. Steele, calmly ignoring the
wretch's prevarication, for I know to the first question he said
"Yes." With my nose in the air I follow the rest into the rose garden
of the hospital, where all is so lovely I quite forget I am offended.
Oh, the rose trees and the wilderness of bloom!
The dark young man gathers for Mrs. Steele and the Baron de Bach for
me.
"You ask me vonce vhat kind was a Castilian rose. Look, Señorita, so
_weich so süss, so fein, wie die Castilien Frauen_," and he hands me a
pale pink rose, loose-petalled, fragile, and very fragrant. With great
bunches in our hands we leave the hospital garden, and I notice with
irritation that the dark young man in bidding me good-bye, long life
and happiness, salutes me as "Señora."
It is six o'clock and we drive towards the town. The narrow streets
are full of idlers in every attitude of picturesque languor. Mrs.
Steele sympathises deeply with the lean and patient little burros
with wooden racks on their backs holding on either side a clay jar
filled with water.
[Illustration: "LOOK, SENORITA!"--_Page 48_]
"Efery yar ees two media, about twenty-five cent your money. Vater ees
more dearer dthan vine," explains our interpreter.
We find all the rest of the company assembled at the Hotel Nacional in
the gallery on the ground floor that looks into the _patio_. Mrs.
Steele and I are shown by a native servant (half Indian, I should
think) into a room across the court, where we make a primitive toilet.
This is the very best hotel of Mazatlan, but the guest chamber is
guiltless of carpet or rug; the one high window, grated and latticed,
looks into the narrow street. A bed heavily draped with coarse
curtains stands in one corner, and under a cracked glass giving forth
a freckled and bilious reflection stands the deal toilet-table. A tin
pan does duty for bowl, a delightful old clay carafe holds the water,
and an abalone shell contains a bit of yellow laundry soap.
With these aids to beauty we reappear refreshed and ready for the dinner
that is spread in the half-open gallery. Only a trellis thickly mantled
with grape vines is between us and the garden; indeed, over the top of
this screen I can see, as I sit at the table, the vine-leaves rise and
fall in the soft air, and the more ambitious tendrils daintily
pencilled against the red sky of that lovely Mexican evening. An odd
dinner it is; but Señor Noma makes a most courteous host, and the dishes
are certainly rare and interesting--generally peppery beyond words to
describe and most of them liberally seasoned with garlic. But the
luscious fruits, the "_vino blanco_," and champagne cool our smarting
palates and reconcile us to our gastronomic ventures. At the beginning
of the meal, out of the meditative mood that has overtaken him, Baron de
Bach rouses himself to enter into earnest conversation with the little
Mexican boy who is helping to serve us. I notice the boy's snapping
black eyes and fine oval face, and how he nods with an added gleam as
he says "_Si! si!_" to every remark of the Baron's, and finally
disappears. In a few minutes he returns and presents a large bunch of
lovely orchids to Mrs. Steele. Then he exchanges a few words with the
Baron and is off again like a shot.
"Yust to show you dthat flowers can grow here _out_ of a hospital
garden," explains the Baron, bowing across the table to my friend and
adding under his breath:
"I haf send for odthers for you, Señorita."
Towards the end of this curious dinner the Mexican boy returns with a
great round native basket piled high with roses and strange rare
flowers I have never seen before--such wonderful fantastic conceits in
bloom that I can only look and clasp my hands about the dainty store.
Mrs. Steele recalls Hernando Cortes' wonder and delight at the flowery
surprises of the new world three hundred years ago.
"Ah, yes," says Señor Noma, who has caught the remark, "you see we haf
something worth your notice in this dark corner of America. If you
stay here longer you will find we haf many things you would like."
Baron de Bach is strangely quiet all the evening, but the unfailing
good temper of our host and the gaiety of the others keep us at the
table till the pale crescent of the new moon looks in over the vine
trellis to warn us of the waning hours.
"We must remember the Captain's caution to be back by eleven," says
Captain Ball, consulting his watch.
"Yes, but it ees scarce nine o'clock," says Señor Noma. "Mrs. Steele,
will you accept my escor'?" And our clever host, having won over the
only possible objector, leads the way out into the dim, mysterious
street.
"Vill you haf zome Eendian dthings, _en souvenir_?" asks the Baron,
offering me his arm.
"Indian things!" I echoed, delighted. "I should like to see them
immensely, wouldn't you, Mrs. Steele?" and I explain. The notion is
received with enthusiasm, and Baron de Bach takes us to a little shop,
where some sinister-looking men and women show us glazed clay mugs
rudely decorated and often adorned with some Spanish name in scrawling
script. There are carafes with cups to match, pipes, whistles, and
animals in clay and little dishes of every description. The Baron buys
a great tray full of these things, and hires a barefooted "moso" to
carry them down to the wharf. We go on to the garden-planted Plaza
that had so attracted us by day. Now it is a blaze of light and
resonant with the strains of a Mexican band. Dark-visaged idlers
lounge on the long seats about the garden, and a constantly shifting
throng moves up and down on every side.
Affecting to show me a white flower that thrust its dainty head
through the garden's iron fence and filled the air with heavy, strange
perfume, Baron de Bach separates me a few moments from my friends.
"At last," he says, with a deep breath, looking around and seeing that
the others have passed on, "I haf you a moment alone. I haf been in
torture dthese seven hours."
"Very polite speech," I answer, peering through the garden's iron
palings, "seeing that you have been with me these seven sad hours."
"Ah, Señorita, it ees no use dthat I egsplain, you air zo fery
heartless. I do not find myself possible to make you out. You haf
pairhaps had too many tell you 'I loaf you'--you care not any more. I
haf travel dthe vorld ofer, many beautiful and clevair vomans haf loaf
me. I haf seen nefer a voman like you for not to care. Efery body loaf
you, you loaf nobody, and vhen a man say 'You air charmante,' you say
'Vill ve feeshe to-day?' If a man say 'You haf eyes wie die Sternen im
Himmel' you ask 'Hear you dthose bells of San Blas?' and vhen a man
say 'I loaf you to deestraction' you tell him 'I do so like dthose
qveer Megsican Eendians.'" The Baron strikes the pavement violently
with his stick. "Vill you marry von qveer Megsican Eendian, Señorita?"
I laugh at the funny conclusion and the Peruvian's excited face.
"Monsieur," I say, "I'm told that nearly every man says 'I love you'
to an average of eighteen women in a lifetime; he perhaps really cares
at various times for three, and the rest do well to let the mistake
pass unchallenged and soon forgotten. I am not especially
strong-minded myself, and I don't object to your talking a little
nonsense, for I find you very entertaining; but I won't deceive you
so far as to let you think I believe you."
A low volley of French so quick and excited that I cannot follow it is
the Peruvian's reply. I am a little bit uneasy at the look in his
face; the glow of ruddy health runs out like a fast-ebbing tide, and
although I have not understood his French, with the intuition of my
sex I comprehend his face, and I look around for the rest of the
party. He catches the glance and seems to struggle for self-control.
"Señorita, take my arm; ve shall valk. I vill hope to teach Señorita
zome day dthat Peruvians air no liars."
"Ah, Baron," I say deprecatingly, "I never meant that, you didn't
understand me--I----"
"No," he interrupts--"I know dthat often I understand you not and
zometimes it ees my so bad Eenglish dthat ees to blame. If I could
tell you all in Spanish you _must_ believe," and before all the people
in the Plaza he lifts the hand that lies on his arm and kisses it.
I flash a horrified look around, but no one seems to have noticed.
"Like you dthe Spanish tongue?" he asks quite unconcerned.
"Yes, very much," I say, glad to get him on some impersonal subject,
"it is the most musical in the world, I believe."
"You vould soon learn it," he says, "you understand many words now, I
know by your face. Can you say my name, I vondair; try! Federico
Guillermo."
"Federico Guillermo," I repeat imperfectly--"what a beautiful name!"
"Dthen Blanca vill call me 'Guillermo.' I like not 'de Baron de Bach'
from her lips. Besides ve use not titles in Peru."
Mrs. Steele and Señor Noma call us from the corner of the Plaza as we
approach.
"We've been round four times hunting for you; where in the world have
you been?" says Mrs. Steele, looking disapproving and a little out of
breath.
"Walking about here looking for you! I couldn't imagine where you
were," I say.
The others come up and we turn our faces towards the harbour. The
dusky oarsmen are waiting for us, and we are soon skimming over the
dark water--I with my hoard of flowers in my lap and my eyes fixed on
the great dim hulk of the _San Miguel_ anchored out in the bay.