that I kept under the straw. So it seemed to me that the safest
thing was to put it in my mouth at night. Because since I'd been
with the blind man my mouth had gotten round like a purse, and I
could hold twenty or thirty coppers in it--all in half-copper
coins--and eat at the same time. If I hadn't been able to do that
I couldn't have gotten hold of even a copper that the blasted
blind man wouldn't have found: he was always searching every
patch and seam on my clothes. Well, as I say, I put the key in
my mouth every night, and I went to sleep without being afraid
that the zombie master of mine would stumble onto it. But when
trouble is going to strike, you can't do a thing to stop it.
The fates--or to be more exact, my sins--had it in store for me
that one night while I was sleeping my mouth must have been open,
and the key shifted so that the air I breathed out while I was
asleep went through the hollow part of the key. It was tubular,
and (unfortunately for me) it whistled so loud that my master
heard it and got excited. He must have thought it was the snake
hissing, and I guess it really sounded like one.
He got up very quietly with his club in hand, and by feeling his
way toward the sound he came up to me very softly so the snake
wouldn't hear him. And when he found himself so close, he
thought that it had come over to where I was lying, looking for a
warm place, and had slipped into the straw. So, lifting the club
up high, and thinking that he had the snake trapped down there
and that he would hit it so hard that he'd kill it, he swung down
on me with such a mighty blow that he knocked me unconscious and
left my head bashed in.
Then he saw that he'd hit me (I must have really cried out when
the blow leveled me), and--as he later told me--he reached over
and shouted at me, calling my name and trying to revive me. But
when his hands touched me and he felt all the blood, he realized
what he'd done, and he went off to get a light right away. When
he came back with it he found me moaning with the key still in my
mouth: I had never let loose of it, and it was still sticking half
out--just like it must have been when I was whistling through it.
The snake killer was terrified, wondering what it could be. He
took it all the way out of my mouth and looked at it. Then he
realized what it was because its ridges matched his key exactly.
He went to try it out, and he solved the crime. Then that cruel
hunter must have said: "I've found the mouse and the snake that
were fighting me and eating me out of house and home."
I can't say for sure what happened during the next three days
because I spent them inside the belly of the whale. But what
I've just told I heard about from my master when I came to; he
was telling what had happened in detail to everyone who came by.
At the end of three days, when I was back in my senses, I found myself
stretched out on my straw bed with my head all bandaged up and full
of oils and salves. And I got scared and said, "What is this?"
The cruel priest answered, "It seems that I caught the mice and
snakes that were ruining me."
I looked myself over, and when I saw how badly beaten up I was, I
guessed what had happened.
Then an old lady who was a healer came in, along with the
neighbors. And they began to take the wrappings off my head and
treat the wound. When they saw that I was conscious again, they
were very happy, and they said, 'Well, he's got his senses back.
God willing, it won't be too serious."
Then they began to talk again about what had happened to me and
to laugh. While I--sinner that I am--I was crying. Anyway, they
fed me, and I was famished, but they really didn't give me
enough. Yet, little by little, I recovered, and two weeks later
I was able to get up, out of any danger (but not out of my state
of hunger) and nearly cured.
The next day when I'd gotten up, my master took me by the hand
and led me out the door, and when I was in the street he said to
me: "Lazaro, from now on you're on your own--I don't want you.
Go get yourself another master, and God be with you. I don't
want such a diligent servant here with me. You could only have
become this way from being a blind man's guide."
Then he crossed himself as if I had the devil in me and went back
into his house and closed the door.
III. How Lazaro Took up with a Squire and What Happened to Him Then
So I had to push on ahead, as weak as I was. And little by
little, with the help of some good people, I ended up in this
great city of Toledo. And here, by the grace of God, my wounds
healed in about two weeks. People were always giving me things
while I was hurt, but when I was well again, they told me, "You--
you're nothing but a lazy, no-good sponger. Go on--go find
yourself a good master you can work for."
"And where will I meet up with one of those," I said to myself,
"unless God makes him from scratch, the way he created the world?"
While I was going along begging from door to door (without much
success, since charity seemed to have gone up to heaven), God had
me run into a squire who was walking down the street. He was
well dressed, his hair was combed, and he walked and looked like
a real gentleman. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and he
said, "Boy, are you looking for a master?"
And I said, "Yes, sir."
"Well, come with me," he said. "God has been good to you, making
you run into me. You must have been doing some good praying
today."
So I went with him. And I thanked God that he asked me to go
along because--with his nice-looking clothes and the way he
looked--I thought he was just what I needed.
It was morning when I found my third master. And I followed him
through most of the city. We went through squares where they
were selling bread and different things. And I was hoping and
praying that he would load me up with some of the food they were
selling because it was just the right time for shopping. But
very quickly, without stopping, we went right past those places.
Maybe he doesn't like what he sees here, I thought, and he wants
to buy his groceries somewhere else.
So we kept on walking until it was eleven o'clock. Then he went
into the cathedral, and I was right behind him. I saw him listen
to mass and go through the other holy ceremonies very devoutly,
until it was over and the people had gone. Then we came out of
the church.
We began to go down a street at a good clip. And I was the
happiest fellow in the world, since we hadn't stopped to buy any
food. I really thought my new master was one of those people who
do all their shopping at once, and that our meal would be there,
ready and waiting for us, just the way I wanted--and, in fact, the
way I needed.
At that minute the clock struck one--an hour past noon--and we came
to a house where my master stopped, and so did I. And pulling
his cape to the left, he took a key out of his sleeve and opened
the door, and we both went into the house. The entrance was dark
and gloomy: it looked like it would make anyone who went in
afraid. But inside there was a little patio and some fairly nice
rooms.
Once we were in, he took off his cape: he asked me if my hands
were clean, and then we shook it out and folded it. And blowing
the dust very carefully off a stone bench that was there, he put
the cape down on top of it. And when that was done, he sat down
next to it and asked me a lot of questions about where I was from
and how I'd happened to come to that city.
I talked about myself longer than I wanted to because I thought
it was more a time to have the table set and the stew dished up
than to tell him about all that. Still, I satisfied him about
myself, lying as well as I could. I told him all my good points
but kept quiet about the rest, since I didn't think that was the
time for them. When that was over, he just sat there for a
while. I began to realize that that was a bad sign, since it was
almost two o'clock and I hadn't seen him show any more desire to
eat than a dead man.
Then I began to think about his keeping the door locked, and the
fact that I hadn't heard any other sign of life in the whole
house. The only thing I'd seen were walls: not a chair, not a
meat-cutting board, a stool, a table, or even a chest like the
one I'd had before. And I began to wonder if that house was
under a spell. While I was thinking about this, he said to me,
"Boy, have you eaten?"
"No, sir," I said. "It wasn't even eight o'clock when I met you."
"Well, even though it was still morning, I'd already had
breakfast. And when I eat like that, I want you to know that I'm
satisfied until nighttime. So you'll just have to get along as
well as you can: we'll have supper later."
You can see how, when I heard this, I nearly dropped in my
tracks--not so much from hunger but because fate seemed to be
going completely against me. Then all my troubles passed before
my eyes again, and I began to cry over my hardships once more. I
remembered my reasoning when I was thinking about leaving the
priest: I figured that even though he was mean and stingy, it
might turn out that I would meet up with someone worse. So there
I was, moping over the hard life I'd had and over my death that
was getting nearer and nearer.
And yet, keeping back my emotions as well as I could, I said to
him, "Sir, I am only a boy, and thank God I'm not too concerned
about eating. I can tell you that I was the lightest eater of
all my friends, and all the masters I've ever had have praised
that about me right up to now."
"That really is a virtue," he said, "and it makes me appreciate
you even more. Because only pigs stuff themselves: gentlemen eat
moderately.''
I get the picture! I thought to myself. Well, damn all the
health and virtue that these masters I run into find in staying
hungry.
I went over next to the door and took out of my shirt some pieces
of bread that I still had from begging. When he saw this, he
said to me, "Come here, boy. What are you eating?"
I went over to him and showed him the bread. There were three
pieces, and he took one--the biggest and best one. Then he said,
"Well, well, this does look like good bread."
"It is!" I said. "But tell me, sir, do you really think so now?"
"Yes, I do," he said. "Where did you get it? I wonder if the
baker had clean hands?"
"I can't tell you that," I said, but it certainly doesn't taste bad."
"Let's see if you're right," said my poor master.
And he put it in his mouth and began to gobble it down as
ferociously as I was doing with mine.
"Bless me, this bread is absolutely delicious," he said.
When I saw what tree he was barking up, I began to eat faster.
Because I realized that if he finished before I did, he would be
nice enough to help me with what was left. So we finished almost
at the same time. And he began to brush off a few crumbs--very
tiny ones--that were left on his shirt. Then he went into a
little room nearby and brought out a chipped-up jug--not a very
new one--and after he had drunk, he offered it to me. But, so I
would look like a teetotaler, I said, "Sir, I don't drink wine."
"It's water," he said. "You can drink that."
Then I took the jug, and I drank. But not much, because being
thirsty wasn't exactly my trouble. So that's how we spent the
day until nighttime: him asking me questions and me answering as
best I could. Then he took me to the room where the jug that
we'd drunk from was, and he said to me, "Boy, get over there, and
I'll show you how this bed is made up so that you'll be able to
do it from now on."
I went down to one end, and he went over to the other, and we
made up the blasted bed. There really wasn't much to do: it just
had a bamboo frame sitting on some benches, and on top of that
there was a filthy mattress with the bedclothes stretched over
it. And since it hadn't been washed very often, it really didn't
look much like a mattress. But that's what it was used for,
though there was a lot less stuffing than it needed. We
stretched it out and tried to soften it up. But that was
impossible because you can't make a really hard object soft. And
that blessed packsaddle had hardly a damned thing inside of it.
When it was put on the frame, every strut showed through,
and it looked just like the rib cage of a real skinny pig.
And on top of that starving pad he put a cover of the same stamp:
I never could decide what color it was. With the bed made and
night on us, he said to me, "Lazaro, it's late now, and it's a
long way from here to the square. And besides, there are a lot
of thieves who go around stealing at night in this city. Let's
get along as well as we can, and tomorrow, when it's daytime, God
will be good to us. I've been living alone, and so I haven't
stocked up any groceries: instead, I've been eating out. But
from now on we'll do things differently."
"Sir," I said, "don't worry about me. I can spend one night--or
more, if I have to--without eating."
"You'll live longer and you'll be healthier too," he answered.
"Because as we were saying today, there's nothing in the world
like eating moderately to live a long life."
If that's the way things are, I thought to myself, I never will
die. Because I've always been forced to keep that rule, and with
my luck I'll probably keep it all my life.
And he lay down on the bed, using his pants and jacket as a
pillow. He told me to stretch out at his feet, so I did. But I
didn't get a damned bit of sleep! The frame struts and my
protruding bones didn't stop squabbling and fighting all night
long. With all the pains, hunger, and trouble I'd been through,
I don't think there was a pound of flesh left on my body. And
since I'd hardly had a bite to eat that day, I was groveling in
hunger--and hunger and sleep don't exactly make good bedfellows.
So I cursed myself (God forgive me!) and my bad luck over and
over, nearly all night long. And what was worse, I didn't dare
to turn over because I might wake him up. So I just kept asking
God for death.
When morning came we got up, and he began to shake out and clean
his pants and jacket and his coat and cape (while I stood around
like an idle servant!). And he took his own good time about
getting dressed. I brought some water for him to wash his hands,
and then he combed his hair and put his sword in the belt, and
while he was doing that, he said: "If you only knew what a prize
this is, boy! I wouldn't sell it for any amount of money in the
world. And I'll have you know that of all the swords the famous
Toledan swordmaker Antonio made, there isn't one that he put as
sharp an edge on as this one has."
And he pulled it out of the sheath and felt it with his fingers
and said, "Look here. I'll bet I could slice a ball of wool with
it." And I thought to myself: And with my teeth--even though
they're not made of steel--I could slice a four-pound loaf of bread.
He put it back in the sheath and strapped it on, and then he hung
a string of large beads from the sword belt. And he walked
slowly, holding his body straight and swaying gracefully as he
walked. And every so often he would put the tail of the cape
over his shoulder or under his arm. And with his right hand on
his side, he went out the door, saying, "Lazaro, while I go to
mass, you watch the house. Make the bed and fill the pitcher up
with water from the river just down below us. Be sure to lock
the door so that nothing will get stolen, and put the key on the
hinge here so that if I come back while you're gone I can get in."
Then he went up the street with such a stately expression and
manner that anyone who didn't know him would think he was a close
relative to the Count of Arcos, or at least his valet.
I stood there, thinking: "Bless You, Lord--You give us sickness
and You cure us too! My master looks so content that anyone who
saw him would think he'd eaten a huge supper last night and slept
in a nice bed. And even though it's early in the morning, they'd
think he'd had a good breakfast. Your ways are mighty
mysterious, Lord, and people don't understand them! With that
refined way he acts and that nice-looking cape and coat he'd fool
anyone. And who would believe that that gracious man got by all
day yesterday on a piece of bread that his servant Lazaro had
carried all day and night inside his shirt for safekeeping--not
really the most sanitary place in the world--and that today when
he washed his hands and face, he dried them on his shirttail
because we didn't have any towels? Nobody would suspect it, of
course. Oh Lord, how many of these people do You have scattered
around the world who suffer for the filth that they call honor
what they would never suffer for You!"
So I stood at the door, thinking about these things and looking
until my master had disappeared down the long, narrow street.
Then I went back into the house, and in a second I walked through
the whole place, both upstairs and down, without stopping or
finding anything to stop for. I made up that blasted hard bed
and took the jug down to the river. And I saw my master in a
garden, trying hard to coax two veiled women--they looked like
the kind that are always hanging around that place. In fact, a
lot of them go there in the summer to take the early morning air.
And they go down to those cool riverbanks to eat breakfast--
without even bringing any food along; they're sure someone will
give them some, since the men around there have got them in the
habit of doing that.
As I say, there he was with them just like the troubador Macias,
telling them more sweet words than Ovid ever wrote. And when
they saw that he was pretty well softened up, they weren't ashamed
to ask him for some breakfast, promising the usual payment.
But his pocketbook was as cold as his stomach was warm, and he
began to have such hot chills that the color drained from his
face, and he started to trip over his tongue and make up some
lame excuses.
They must have been pretty experienced women because they caught
on to his illness right away and left him there for what he was.
I'd been eating some cabbage stalks, and that was my breakfast.
And since I was a new servant, I went back home very diligently
without my master seeing me. I decided I'd sweep out a little
there, since that's what the place really needed, but I couldn't
find anything to sweep with. Then I began to think about what I
should do, and I decided to wait until noon for my master because
if he came he might bring something to eat; but that turned out
to be a waste of time.
When I saw that it was getting to be two o'clock and he still
hadn't come, I began to be attacked by hunger. So I locked the
door and put the key where he told me to, and then I went back to
my old trade. With a low, sickly voice, my hands crossed over my
chest, and with my eyes looking up to heaven and God's name on my
tongue, I began to beg for bread at the doors of the biggest
houses I saw. But I'd been doing this almost from the cradle--I
mean I learned it from that great teacher, the blind man, and I
turned out to be a pretty good student--so even though this town
had never been very charitable, and it had been a pretty lean
year besides, I handled myself so well that before the clock
struck four I had that many pounds of bread stored away in my
stomach and at least two more in my sleeves and inside my shirt.
I went back to the house, and on my way through the meat market I
begged from one of the women there, and she gave me a piece of
cow's hoof along with some cooked tripe.
When I got home my good master was there, his cape folded and
lying on the stone bench, and he was walking around in the patio.
I went inside, and he came over to me. I thought he was going to
scold me for being late, but God had something better in store.
He asked me where I'd been, and I told him, "Sir, I was here
until two o'clock, and when I saw that you weren't coming, I went
to the city and put myself in the hands of the good people there,
and they gave me what you see here."
I showed him the bread and the tripe that I was carrying in my
shirttail, and his face lit up, and he said: 'Well, I held up
dinner for you, but when I saw that you weren't going to come, I
went ahead and ate. But what you've done there is all right
because it's better to beg in God's name than it is to steal.
That's my opinion, so help me. The only thing I ask is that you
don't tell anyone that you're living with me because it will hurt
my honor. But I think it would stay a secret anyway, since
hardly anyone in this town knows me. I wish I'd never come
here!"
"Don't worry about that, sir," I said. "No one would give a damn
about asking me that, and I wouldn't tell them even if they did."
"Well then, eat, you poor sinner. If it's God's will, we'll soon
see ourselves out of these straits. But I want you to know that
ever since I came to this house nothing has gone right for me.
There must be an evil spell on it. You know there are some
unlucky houses that are cursed, and the bad luck rubs off on the
people who live in them. I don't doubt for a minute that this is
one of them, but I tell you that after this month is over, I
wouldn't live here even if they gave the place to me."
I sat down at the end of the stone bench, and I kept quiet about
my snack so that he wouldn't take me for a glutton. So, for
supper I began to eat my tripe and bread, while I was watching my
poor master out of the corner of my eye. And he kept staring at
my shirttail that I was using for a plate. I hope God takes as
much pity on me as I felt for him. I knew just what he was
feeling, since the same thing had happened to me lots of times--
and, in fact, it was still happening to me. I thought about
asking him to join me, but since he told me that he'd already
eaten I was afraid he wouldn't accept the invitation. The fact
is, I was hoping that the sinner would help himself to the food I
had gone to the trouble of getting and that he'd eat the way he
did the day before so he could get out of his own troubles. This
was really a better time for it, since there was more food and I
wasn't as hungry.
God decided to grant my wish--and his, too, I guess. Because he
was still walking around, but when I began to eat, he came over
to me and said, "I tell you, Lazaro, I've never seen anyone eat
with as much gusto as you put into it. Anyone watching you would
get hungry on the spot, even if he hadn't been before."
The marvelous appetite you have, I thought to myself, makes you
think mine is beautiful.
Still, I decided to help him, since he had opened up a way for me
himself. So I said to him, "Sir, a man can do a good job if he
has good tools. This bread is absolutely delicious, and the
cow's hoof is so well cooked and seasoned that no one could
possibly resist its taste."
"Is it cow's hoof?"
"Yes, sir."
"I tell you, there's no better dish in the world. I don't even
like pheasant as much."
"Well, dig in, sir, and you'll see how good it really is."
I put the cow's hooves into his, along with three or four of the
whiter pieces of bread. And he sat down beside me and began to
eat like a man who was really hungry. He chewed the meat off of
every little bone better than any hound of his would have done.
"With garlic sauce," he said, "this is an exceptional dish."
"You don't need any sauce with your appetite," I said under my breath.
"By God, that tasted so good you'd think I hadn't had a bite to
eat all day."
That's true as sure as I was born, I said to myself.
He asked me for the water jug, and when I gave it to him it was
as full as when I'd first brought it in. Since there was no
water gone from it, there was a sure sign that my master hadn't
been overeating that day. We drank and went to sleep, very
content, like we'd done the night before.
Well, to make a long story short, that's the way we spent the
next nine or ten days: that sinner would go out in the morning
with his satisfied, leisurely pace, to dawdle around the streets
while I was out hoofing it for him.
I used to think lots of times about my catastrophe: having
escaped from those terrible masters I'd had and looking for
someone better, I ran into a man who not only couldn't support me
but who I had to support. Still, I really liked him because I
saw that he didn't have anything and he couldn't do more than he
was already doing. I felt more sorry for him than angry. And
lots of times, just so I could bring back something for him to
eat, I didn't eat anything myself.
I did this because one morning the pitiful fellow got up in his
shirt and went to the top floor of the house to take care of a
certain necessity. And to satisfy my curiosity I unfolded the
jacket and pants he'd left at the head of the bed. And I found
an old, crumpled-up little purse of satiny velvet that didn't
have a damned cent in it, and there wasn't any sign that it had
had one for a long time.
"This man," I said, "is poor. And no one can give what he
doesn't have. But both the stingy blind man and that blasted
miser of a priest did all right in God's name--one of them with a
quick tongue and the other one with his hand-kissing. And
they were starving me to death. So it's only right that I should
hate them and feel sorry for this man."