Everything that charity could dictate was done to alleviate her misery.
A merciful woman of Yala received her into her house and provided
her with decent garments. But a for time nothing served to raise her
desponding spirits; she still grieved for her lost babe, and seemed
ever in fancy listening to its piteous cries for help. When assured
that Cosme would return in due time that alone gave her comfort. She
believed what they told her, for it agreed with her wish, and by
degrees the effects of her terrible experience began to wear off,
giving place to a feeling of feverish impatience with which she looked
forward to her husband's return. With this feeling, which I did all
I could to encourage, perceiving it to be the only remedy against
despair, came also a new anxiety about her personal appearance. She
grew careful in her dress, and made the most of her short and sunburnt
hair. Beauty she could never recover; but she possessed good features
which could not be altered; her eyes also retained their violet colour,
and hope brought back to her something of the vanished expression of
other years.
At length, when she had been with us over a year, one day there came a
report that Cosme had arrived, that he had been seen in Yala, and had
alighted at Andrada's door--the store in the main road. She heard it
and rose up with a great cry of joy. He had come to her at last--he
would comfort her! She could not wait for his arrival: what wonder!
Hurrying forth she flew like the wind through the village, and in
a few moments stood on Andrada's threshold, panting from her race,
her cheeks glowing, all the hope and life and fire of her girlhood
rushing back to her heart. There she beheld Cosme, changed but little,
surrounded by his old companions, listening in silence and with a
dismayed countenance to the story of Marta's sufferings in the great
desert, of her escape and return to Yala, where she had been received
like one come back from the sepulchre. Presently they caught sight of
her standing there. "Here is Marta herself arrived in good time," they
cried. "Behold your wife!"
He shook himself from them with a strange laugh. "What, that woman
my wife--Marta Riquelme!" he replied. "No, no, my friends, be not
deceived; Marta perished long ago in the desert, where I have been to
seek for her. Of her death I have no doubt; let me pass."
He pushed by her, left her standing there motionless as a statue,
unable to utter a word, and was quickly on his horse riding away from
Yala.
Then suddenly she recovered possession of her faculties, and with a
cry of anguish hurried after him, imploring him to return to her; but
finding that he would not listen to her she was overcome with despair
and fell upon the earth insensible. She was taken up by the people who
had followed her out and carried back into the house. Unhappily she was
not dead, and when she recovered consciousness it was pitiful to hear
the excuses she invented for the remorseless wretch who had abandoned
her. She was altered, she said, greatly altered--it was not strange
that Cosme had refused to believe that she could be the Marta of six
years ago! In her heart she knew that nobody was deceived: to all Yala
it was patent that she had been deserted. She could not endure it, and
when she met people in the street she lowered her eyes and passed on,
pretending not to see them. Most of her time was spent indoors, and
there she would sit for hours without speaking or stirring, her cheeks
resting on her hands, her eyes fixed on vacancy. My heart bled for her;
morning and evening I remembered her in my prayers; by every argument I
sought to cheer her drooping spirit, even telling her that the beauty
and freshness of her youth would return to her in time, and that her
husband would repent and come back to her.
These efforts were fruitless. Before many days she disappeared from
Yala, and though diligent search was made in the adjacent mountains
she could not be found. Knowing how empty and desolate her life had
been, deprived of every object of affection, I formed the opinion that
she had gone back to the desert to seek the tribe where she had been a
captive in the hope of once more seeing her lost children. At length,
when all expectation of ever seeing her again had been abandoned, a
person named Montero came to me with tidings of her. He was a poor
man, a charcoal-burner, and lived with his wife and children in the
forest about two hour's journey from Yala, at a distance from any other
habitation. Finding Marta wandering lost in the woods he had taken
her to his rancho, and she had been pleased to find this shelter,
away from the people of Yala who knew her history; and it was at
Marta's own request that this good man had ridden to the village to
inform me of her safety. I was greatly relieved to hear all this, and
thought that Marta had acted wisely in escaping from the villagers,
who were always pointing her out and repeating her wonderful history.
In that sequestered spot where she had taken refuge, removed from sad
associations and gossiping tongues, the wounds in her heart would
perhaps gradually heal and peace return to her perturbed spirit.
Before many weeks had elapsed, however, Montero's wife came to me with
a very sad account of Marta. She had grown day by day more silent and
solitary in her habits, spending most of her time in some secluded spot
among the trees, where she would sit motionless, brooding over her
memories for hours at a time. Nor was this the worst. Occasionally
she would make an effort to assist in the household work, preparing
the patay or maize for the supper, or going out with Montero's wife to
gather firewood in the forest. But suddenly, in the middle of her task,
she would drop her bundle of sticks and, casting herself on the earth,
break forth into the most heart-rending cries and lamentations, loudly
exclaiming that God had unjustly persecuted her, that He was a being
filled with malevolence, and speaking many things against Him very
dreadful to hear. Deeply distressed at these tidings I called for my
mule and accompanied the poor woman back to her own house; but when we
arrived there Marta could nowhere be found.
Most willingly would I have remained to see her, and try once more to
win her back from these desponding moods, but I was compelled to return
to Yala. For it happened that a fever epidemic had recently broken out
and spread over the country, so that hardly a day passed without its
long journey to perform and deathbed to attend. Often during those
days, worn out with fatigue and want of sleep, I would dismount from my
mule and rest for a season against a rock or tree, wishing for death
to come and release me from so sad an existence.
When I left Montero's house I charged him to send me news of Marta as
soon as they should find her; but for several days I heard nothing.
At length word came that they had discovered her hiding-place in the
forest, but could not induce her to leave it, or even to speak to them;
and they implored me to go to them, for they were greatly troubled at
her state, and knew not what to do.
Once more I went out to seek her; and this was the saddest journey
of all, for even the elements were charged with unusual gloom, as if
to prepare my mind for some unimaginable calamity. Rain, accompanied
by terrific thunder and lightning, had been falling in torrents for
several days, so that the country was all but impassable: the swollen
streams roared between the hills, dragging down rocks and trees, and
threatening, whenever we were compelled to ford them, to carry us away
to destruction. The rain had ceased, but the whole sky was covered
by a dark motionless cloud, unpierced by a single ray of sunshine.
The mountains, wrapped in blue vapours, loomed before us, vast and
desolate; and the trees, in that still, thick atmosphere, were like
figures of trees hewn out of solid ink-black rock and set up in some
shadowy subterranean region to mock its inhabitants with an imitation
of the upper world.
At length we reached Montero's hut, and, followed by all the family,
went to look for Marta. The place where she had concealed herself was
in a dense wood half a league from the house, and the ascent to it
being steep and difficult Montero was compelled to walk before, leading
my mule by the bridle. At length we came to the spot where they had
discovered her, and there, in the shadow of the woods, we found Marta
still in the same place, seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, which
was sodden with the rain and half buried under great creepers and
masses of dead and rotting foliage. She was in a crouching attitude,
her feet gathered under her garments, which were now torn to rags and
fouled with clay; her elbows were planted on her drawn-up knees, and
her long bony fingers thrust into her hair, which fell in tangled
disorder over her face. To this pitiable condition had she been brought
by great and unmerited sufferings.
Seeing her, a cry of compassion escaped my lips, and casting myself off
my mule I advanced towards her. As I approached she raised her eyes
to mine, and then I stood still, transfixed with amazement and horror
at what I saw; for they were no longer those soft violet orbs which
had retained until recently their sweet pathetic expression; now they
were round and wild-looking, opened to thrice their ordinary size, and
filled with a lurid yellow fire, giving them a resemblance to the eyes
of some hunted savage animal.
"Great God, she has lost her reason!" I cried; then falling on my
knees I disengaged the crucifix from my neck with trembling hands, and
endeavoured to hold it up before her sight. This movement appeared
to infuriate her; the insane, desolate eyes, from which all human
expression had vanished, became like two burning balls, which seemed to
shoot out sparks of fire; her short hair rose up until it stood like an
immense crest on her head; and suddenly bringing down her skeleton-like
hands she thrust the crucifix violently from her, uttering at the same
time a succession of moans and cries that pierced my heart with pain to
hear. And presently flinging up her arms, she burst forth into shrieks
so terrible in the depth of agony they expressed that overcome by the
sound I sank upon the earth and hid my face. The others, who were close
behind me, did likewise, for no human soul could endure those cries,
the remembrance of which, even now after many years, causes the blood
to run cold in my veins.
"The Kakué! The Kakué!" exclaimed Montero, who was close behind me.
Recalled to myself by these words I raised my eyes only to discover
that Marta was no longer before me. For even in that moment, when those
terrible cries were ringing through my heart, waking the echoes of the
mountain solitudes, the awful change had come, and she had looked her
last with human eyes on earth and on man! In another form--that strange
form of the Kakué--she had fled out of our sight for ever to hide in
those gloomy woods which were henceforth to be her dwelling place.
And I--most miserable of men, what had I done that all my prayers and
strivings had been thus frustrated, that out of my very hands the
spirit of the power of darkness had thus been permitted to wrest this
unhappy soul from me!
I rose up trembling from the earth, the tears pouring unchecked down
my cheeks, while the members of Montero's family gathered round me
and clung to my garments. Night closed on us, black as despair and
death, and with the greatest difficulty we made our way back through
the woods. But I would not remain at the rancho; at the risk of my
life I returned to Yala, and all through that dark solitary ride I was
incessantly crying out to God to have mercy on me. Towards midnight I
reached the village in safety, but the horror with which that unheard
of tragedy infected me, the fears and the doubts which dared not yet
shape themselves into words, remained in my breast to torture me.
For days I could neither eat nor sleep. I was reduced to a skeleton
and my hair began to turn white before its time. Being now incapable
of performing my duties, and believing that death was approaching I
yearned once more for the city of my birth. I escaped at length from
Yala, and with great difficulty reached the town of Jujuy, and from
thence by slow stages I journeyed back to Cordova.