Caesar or Nothing Part 75

"And you come and tell that to me, when I am to be the private attorney." "Have them arrest me. I don't care."

"The Cub-s.l.u.t" stood firm before Caesar, provocative, with flashing eyes, in an att.i.tude of challenge.

"You hated that dead boy so much as this?"

"Yes, him and all his family."

"I can understand that if the father were alive, you might..."

"If he were alive! I would give my life to drag him out of his tomb, so as to make him suffer as much as he made me suffer."

Caesar vaguely remembered the story he had heard about this woman, whose adopted father had ruined her and then left her in a disreputable house in the Capital. In general, the most absolute lack of apprehension characterizes such village tragedies, and neither does the victim know she is a victim, nor the villain that he is a villain.

But in this case, judging by what "The Cub-s.l.u.t" was telling him, it had not been so; "Gaffer" had gone about it with a certain depravity, glutting his desires on her, and then selling her, putting her into an infamous house. The villain had been cruel and intelligent; the victim had realized that she was one, to the degree that her soul was filled with desires for vengeance.

"That man," "The Cub-s.l.u.t" ended, sobbing, "took away my name and gave me a nickname; took away my honour, my life, everything; and if I cannot be revenged on him because he is dead, I will be revenged on his family."

Caesar listened attentively to the woman's explanation, without interrupting her. Then, when she had finished speaking, he said:

"And why not go away?"

"Away? Where?" she asked, astonished.

"Anywhere. The world is so big! Why do you persist in living in the one spot where people know you and have a bad opinion of you? Go away from here. There are countries with more generous sentiments than these old corners of the world. You do not consider yourself infamous or vile."

"No, no."

"Then go away from here. To America, to Australia, anywhere. Perhaps you can reconstruct your life. At any rate, n.o.body will call you by your nickname; n.o.body will talk familiarly to you. You will conquer or you will be conquered in the struggle for life. That's evident. You will share the common lot, but you will not be vilified. Do go."

"The Cub-s.l.u.t" listened to Caesar with eyes cast down. When he ceased, she stood looking at him intently, and then, without a word, she disappeared.

XVI. PITY, A MASK OF COWARDICE

_THE MOTHER_

Some days later Caesar was in his office, when a thin old woman, dressed in black, shot in, crossed the room, and fell on her knees before him.

Caesar jumped up in disgust.

"What's this? What's going on here?" he asked.

Amparito entered the room and explained what was going on. The old woman was "Driveller" Juan's mother. People had told Juan's mother that the only obstacle to her son's salvation from death was Caesar, and she had come to implore him not to let them condemn Juan to death.

"My poor son is a good boy," moaned the old creature; "a woman made him commit the crime."

Caesar listened, silent and gloomy, without speaking, and then left the room. Amparito remained with the old woman, consoling her and trying to quiet her.

That night Amparito returned to the task, and dragged the promise from her husband that he would not act as private attorney at the trial.

Caesar was ashamed and saddened; he didn't care to go to see anybody; he was committing treason against his cause.

"Pity will finish my work or finish me," thought Caesar, walking about his room. "That poor old woman is worthy of compa.s.sion; that is undeniable. She believes her son is a good boy, and he really is a low, cowardly ruffian. I ought not to pay any attention to this plea, but insist on their condemning that miserable wretch to death. But I haven't any more energy; I haven't any more strength. I can feel that I am going to yield; the mother's grief moves me, and I do not consider that if this bully goes free, he is going to turn the town upside down and ruin all our work. I am lost."

_FLIGHT_

Caesar confided to his wife that he was daunted; his lack of courage was a nightmare to him.

Amparito said that they ought to take a long trip. Laura had invited them to come to Italy. It was the best thing they could do.

Caesar accepted her solution, and, as a matter of fact, they went to Madrid and from there to Italy.

The Workmen's Club telegraphed to Caesar when the time for the trial came, and Amparito answered the telegram from Florence, saying that her husband was ill.

Never had Caesar felt so agitated as then. He bought the Spanish newspapers, and expected to find in some one of them the words: "Senor Moncada is a coward," or "Senor Moncada is a sorry creature and a traitor."

When they knew that judgment had been p.r.o.nounced and Juan condemned to eight years in the penitentiary, they returned to Madrid.

Caesar felt humiliated and ashamed; he did not dare show himself in Castro. The congratulations that some people sent him on the restoration of his health made his cheeks hot with shame in the solitude of his office.

The editor of a newspaper in the Capital of the Province came to call on Caesar, who was so dispirited that he confided to his visitor that he was ready to retire from politics. Two days later Caesar saw a big headline on the first page of the Conservative newspaper of the Capital, which said: "Moncada is about to retire."

Amparito applauded her husband's decision, and Caesar made melancholy plans for the future, founded on the renunciation of all struggle.

A few days later Caesar received a letter from Castro Duro which made him quiver. It was signed by Dr. Ortigosa, by San Roman, Camacho, the apothecary, and the leading members of the Workmen's Club. The letter was in the doctor's handwriting. It read thus:

"Dear Sir: We have read in the newspaper from the Capital the announcement that you are thinking of retiring from politics. We believe this announcement is not true. We cannot think that you, the champion of liberty in Castro Duro, would abandon so n.o.ble a cause, and leave the town exposed to the intrigues and the evil tricks of the Clericals.

There is no question in this of whether it would suit you better to retire from politics, or not. That is of no importance. There is a question of what would suit our country and Liberty better.

"If because of the seductions of an easy life, you should withdraw from us and desert us, you would have committed the crime of lese-civilization; you would have slain in its flower the re-birth of the spiritual and civic life of Castro.

"We do not believe you capable of such cowardice and such infamy, and since we do not believe you capable of it, we beg you to come to Castro Duro as soon as possible to direct the approaching munic.i.p.al elections.--Dr. Ortigosa, Antonio San Roman, Jose Camacho."

On reading this letter Caesar felt as if he had been struck with a whip.

Those men were correct; he had no right to retire from the fight.

This conviction supported him.

"I have to go to Castro," he said to Amparito.

"But didn't you say that...?"

"Yes, but it is impossible."

Amparito realized that her husband's decision was final, and she said: