Poor Folk in Spain Part 26

But the train did not move. Presently the youth came back and said:

"The engine is a bad one. It won't start. They are sending to Murcia for another."

He went away once more. A luggage train rumbled into the station. This brought our boy back with a rush.

"Here," he cried, "spread out, spread out as much as you can. It's an agricultural train, and we shall be swamped with labourers."

He pushed his boxes and packages more widely over the seats. His prediction was justified. A horde of unshaven men, carrying sacks and implements clambered up the side of the train and peered with round eyes into the windows.

"No room here, no room here," cried the youth.

"But there is n.o.body in the carriage," protested one of the agriculturists.

"They are in the fonda," said the youth.

In spite of the energies of officials accommodation could not be found.

Soon the agriculturists were wailing their protests, wandering forlornly up and down. At last the heart of our youth was softened.

"Here," he cried. "Room for two. Got to let some in," he added to us in an undertone, "or they'll push the lot in on us."

The two who accepted the invitation were very subservient, almost cringing, and we stowed their sacks and other luggage between our legs.

They talked together in hoa.r.s.e whispers. In time most of the peasants were placed, but one man who carried an enormous sack of potatoes seemed to be unplaceable, for he refused to be parted from his sack. The officials said the sack was too big for carriage traffic: it ought to go in the van. But no protestation moved the owner. He was determined that, come what might, he and his sack would never part. Eventually, as usually happens in Spain, he was allowed to do as he liked. He and his sack were crushed into another carriage.

Then ensued another dreary wait, and at last, three hours late, the train drew out of Alcantarilla.

As soon as we were well under way, the youth said: "I'm off to a second-cla.s.s carriage."

He opened the carriage door, got down on to the running board and clambered off. After half an hour he returned.

"They collect tickets round about here," he said.

Sure enough within ten minutes came the ticket collector.

The train stopped at a station. The youth got out on to the platform with a carriage whip and a square parcel, which he handed to a waiting man, for which service he received money. This he did at other stations, and gradually we realized what was his occupation. In one part of Murcia we had noted shops which called themselves Agencies. They had large notices saying, "Commissions for Lorca, for Barcelona, for Zaragoza, etc., etc."

We had not understood their purport, but by some jump of intuition connected the youth with these shops. He was the only Spanish subst.i.tute for the parcels post.

At Totana two gipsy women came into the carriage, very friendly and talkative. At the next station the two workmen left us. In the carriage they had appeared good-humoured, inadequate morsels of humanity. But they descended into the bosoms of their family. Wives and daughters crowded round them and seized and shouldered their bags, packs, sacks and implements. The men seemed to swell out like a dry thing cast into water, blooming like a dead sea lily as they stood receiving the caresses of their womenfolk. The last we saw of the more insignificant of the two was a picture of him striding like a king along the dusty road to the village with his family in humble though happy procession behind. Well does the Spanish proverb say, "It is better to be the head of a mouse than the tail of a lion."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Two gendarmes--greenish khaki in uniform, with the schoolgirlish helmets--armed with rifles took the place of the peasants. The younger gipsy woman addressed them. One of the gendarmes grunted, the other glared his eye round and said nothing. Again she made a remark, and again there was no reply. Then she said:

"But it _was_ you who arrested Jose."

"Well," answered the gendarme with a beard, "what of it?

"But why did you arrest him?" said the gipsy. "He was innocent. He did not murder Ramon."

"So you say."

"But it is true. He is a cousin of Conchita here. He was at her house that evening. There is no evidence."

"There was enough to get him arrested."

"But that was all made up. You see, Esteban hates him, and Esteban got up that false evidence. You look up what Esteban was doing. I don't say that he was the murderer, but he knows something about it."

"Yes, he knew that Jose did it."

"But I tell you Jose was with Conchita here."

"Well, tell that to the Judge. It is nothing to do with me. I was told to arrest Jose and I arrested him. Hum"--he looked at Conchita--"I suppose she is going to see him now?"

"Yes, we are going to see Jose. Poor fellow, and him innocent."

"Well, if his defence is all right, he'll get off. If it isn't, he won't--that's all."

We did not think that Jose's neck was in any danger. We had gained an impression that the average sentence for casual murder in Spain is about two or three years' imprisonment. This conversation went on for some time. The gipsies talked round the subject, over it, under it, twisted it inside out and outside in. With all these variations it lasted till we arrived at Lorca, when we all, gipsies, gendarmes, agency boy and ourselves, got down from the train.

We put our luggage into the luggage-room and set out to look for the town, which we had learned by experience would be found at some distance from the station. A boy who carried a rope over his shoulder accosted us, but we declined his services. We strode out into a dusty road, and there stood undecided, for there were two paths to choose from. The boy with the rope, who now had a huge box on his shoulders, came up, and saying, "Follow me, Senores," walked on. We looked at him and realized that here again we had touched the East. Here was a cord porter straight out of _The Arabian Nights_. The rope was round the box and he held it to his shoulders. With his rope he earned his living. We followed him, asking him for some place where we could eat. He named the dearest hotel at once. We declined, explaining that we wanted the cheapest possible, that is, as long as the cooking was fit to eat.

"I understand," he said. "Follow me."

The long avenue of lime trees came to an end--and our first view of Lorca was opened out. The town was almost like a mathematical line, length without breadth. It skirted the foot of a hill for three miles, almost one long street, which we were looking at end on. Spires towered into the air, and on the top of the cliff the walls of a great Saracen ruin overlooked the town. The whole hill-side, between town and castle, was covered with the grotesque foliage of the p.r.i.c.kly pear. The cord porter took us down to the river, which was crossed by a plank, then up into the town. He led us through small streets which fringed the great main street, put down his box at a corner, led us up another street and stopped at a high barricaded gate. Two filthy children were playing on the step. The cord porter rapped with his knuckles. There was no answer.

He rapped again loudly. A hoa.r.s.e voice cried out in questioning reply.

"It's Paco," shouted the porter. "I've got two customers here."

A quarrel ensued through the keyhole.

There was a sound of a rusty lock and the door swung open. A woman heated with cooking and with annoyance began to curse the cord porter.

"Why couldn't you bring them to the proper entrance?" she cried.

But she let us in, took us through a yard in which huge stew-pots and frying-pans were cooking over a wood fire, and ushered us upstairs, past rooms filled with workmen diners, into a long chamber lit by a window at one end, with bullfight posters on the walls. She brought us a plate of stew and wine. We asked for bread.

"Why didn't you bring your own?" she said.

"We did not know," we answered.

"Oh, all right. I'll give you bread this time. But, next time, bring your own bread with you."

We thought, "Lorca is a rough place." There was a sound of loud chaffing, and in walked our agency boy of the train.

"Hullo," he exclaimed to us. "Are you here?"

"Yes," we answered. "And, now we see you here, we are sure this is the best place."