The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 13

"He gambles, doesn't he?" I ventured, because of the confidence that had been shown me.

"It would be better to say he is skinned by sharpers. What a fellow! He has lost, and promised to pay, five thousand pesetas."

"He promises it, and you have to pay it."

"Possibly. But what is to be done? It is not all his fault. He has a mother who is too soft."

"And a brother-in-law who is too kind," I thought.

Marti put his arm across my shoulders, and we went thus to the sewing-room to find Cristina and Dona Amparo. They were both there, the first frowning and meditative, the other completely overcome by her emotions. Matilde came in presently to breakfast with them. I perceived that she was sad and seemed as if ashamed. Soon after two ladies dropped in for an intimate call, and conversation cleared up the heavy atmosphere of the room.

Cristina went out for a moment to attend to some of her domestic matters, and I noted that she left her handkerchief forgotten upon her chair. Then, with the dissimulation and ability of an accomplished thief, I went over to it, sat down as if absent-mindedly, and when n.o.body noticed, I took the precious object and hid it in my pocket.

Cristina appeared again, and I noticed that she glanced about at all the chairs in search of her handkerchief; then she shot a glance at me, and, I firmly believe, guessed from my manner that I had it. Then not daring to ask me for it aloud and at the same time unwilling to give up and let it pa.s.s that she allowed me to have it, she went about searching in all the corners of the room, asking:

"Where can my handkerchief be?"

n.o.body but me observed it, because all the rest were absorbed in conversation. At last I saw her sit down in her chair, take up her work, and go on with it in silence.

I went away to luncheon at the _fonda_, without accepting their invitation to remain. I had a vehement desire to enjoy my precious conquest by myself; for I considered it such in my mad presumption after she gave over looking for it. Once in my quarters and a.s.sured that the door was fastened, and that n.o.body could see me through the key-hole, I s.n.a.t.c.hed the kerchief from my pocket and gave myself up to a sort of madness which even now makes me blush when I remember it. I breathed its perfume with intoxication, kissed it numberless times, pressed it to my heart, swearing to be eternally faithful, put it away with the pictures of my father, took it out to kiss it, and put it away again. At last I came to the end of all imaginable extravagances, better suited to a young student of rhetoric than to the captain of a steamboat of three thousand tons.

CHAPTER VIII.

In the afternoon I was with the family at Caba.n.a.l as usual. Marti did not accompany us, having to attend to a certain business matter. (Did it have to do with the five thousand pesetas that his brother-in-law had lost?) At all events, I was selfish enough to rejoice at his absence.

During the trip out and the hours that we stayed at the place, I observed something in Cristina's manner and gestures that made my heart tremble with joy and hope. I cannot explain how, without her looking at me nor once speaking directly to me, I felt overwhelmed by a celestial happiness, but so it was. We pa.s.sed all the afternoon in the summer-house. The ladies worked at their sewing or embroidery. I read or made believe to read. Cristina, affected by an unusual languor, did not rise from her chair until the moment of leaving. While the others laughed and jested, I saw that she kept silence and was grave although without any apparent cause. Her face was slightly flushed. My imagination suggested to me the idea that it was because of the thoughts drifting through her soul and the timidity that they inspired. On the dark and gloomy horizon of my life light began to dawn; so my heart said to me. During that unforgettable afternoon, I was as happy as the angels must be in Paradise, or the author of a drama when he goes out on the stage to receive applause between the leading old man and young lady.

After dining at my hotel I went to take coffee at the Siglo, with the intention of going thence to Marti's house. I encountered Sabas on entering, his pipe in his mouth, seated among several of his friends, whom he was haranguing in his own solemn and judicial manner. He saluted me from a distance with a wave of the hand, and presently seeing that I was alone, separated himself from the group and came to join me.

He was in a jovial mood and did not seem in the least cast down by his folly of the day before, nor ashamed of it. We talked of our daily excursions to Caba.n.a.l, and I described them as very lively and delightful. He did not care to contradict me openly, but I understood by his gestures more than by his words that he looked upon all that as childishness unworthy a serious and mature man like himself. For one who could appreciate them, Valencia held pleasures more highly flavored, other fascinations; and he was sorry that I was out of them without tasting them. He did not say what they were, but from what I already knew, it was readily to be supposed that they had some relation direct or indirect with roulette.

"Have you seen the famous stone factory?" he asked me in serious tones, although his eyes gleamed with a malicious smile.

"Yes, I have seen it."

"A fine business! And also the celebrated beer distillery?"

"Also."

"Better business yet! isn't it?"

Then sounded in the depths of his throat a chuckle that could not be uttered because at that moment he was earnestly sucking his pipe. I was confused, as if he had said something offensive about one of my family, and I responded vaguely that certain enterprises turn out well, and others ill, and that their fortunes depend upon fortuitous circ.u.mstances more than upon the intelligence and industry of whosoever undertakes them.

"Tell that of others, but not of my brother-in-law," he answered with sarcastic gravity. "Emilio's enterprises are always brilliant, because his is a practical genius, essentially practical."

"He seems to me a very clever man," I remarked with some embarra.s.sment.

"Not at all; not at all; I will not admit a bit of it. His is a practical, and his friend Castell's a theoretical genius."

"We have already talked a little about that," I replied smiling, to turn his scalpel away from the unpleasant subject.

"They are both geniuses, each one in his own fashion, the only geniuses that we have in Valencia."

I did not know what to say. That sarcastic tone annoyed me extremely.

Sabas must have observed this, because exchanging it at last for another more serious, he set himself to make, as usual, a careful and reasonable a.n.a.lysis of his brother-in-law's conduct. It was something to see and to admire, the gravity, the aplomb, the air of immense superiority with which that man talked over others, the penetration with which he uncovered the hidden motives of all their acts, the incontrovertible force of his arguments, the sorrowful divination with which he formulated them. It was such that I could not do less than acknowledge to myself that every one of his observations. .h.i.t the mark; but although I knew this, I was both astounded and indignant while I listened. I tried to hold the opposite side, but I could see that this only served to make clearer the perspicacity and conclusiveness of his judgments, and when I had taken my coffee and smoked a cigar, I got away from him.

"For all that," I said, shaking his hand, "I have no room for doubt that Emilio is a very good fellow, and full of talent."

"Agreed!" he responded, returning the hand-shaking, "but confess that a little common sense would be useful to him!"

I left the cafe angry and miserable. I was very glad to get away from the sight of the dolt who had spoiled my morning. I directed my steps slowly towards the house of Marti, but on the way my thoughts took a sadly audacious direction. I was filled with a moral suffering, that had since morning afflicted me; this, mingling with my flattering hopes, made me so that I had not strength to mount the steps, and in front of the door I turned about, went to my hotel, and went to bed.

That was for me a memorable night! As soon as I had put out the light I understood that it was going to be long indeed before I could woo sleep to come to me. A whirl of wild thoughts filled my brain, disordering, agonizing. The lovely vision of Cristina came in the centre of all, but did not succeed in calming their ardor, nor controlling them. In vain fancy called up the scene of the handkerchief and that adorable face, softened and moved, the sight whereof had made me happy all day long. In vain I invoked the celestial felicity that sooner or later must descend upon me. Whether it was illusion or reality, I thought that the fruit was ripening, and already responded with delicate tremors to the continued shaking that my hand gave the bough. Perhaps it would be long in falling into my lap. But I ought to confess that this alluring future possibility did not leave me peaceful and joyous as I had hoped.

I tried to become so by closing my eyes, but this did not do it. My eyes were only the more widely open. My forehead burned my hand when I pa.s.sed it across it. I experienced a strange restlessness that obliged me to change my position constantly. The curious suffering whose first slight stings I had felt during the day, now pierced me fiercely and intolerably.

This suffering was nothing else but remorse. To be really happy it is a necessity that a man should be contented with himself, and I was not.

Another image, melancholy and grief-stricken, followed always after that of Cristina in the interminable procession of my thoughts, disturbing the happiness of which I had had a glimpse. It was that of Marti. Poor Emilio! so good, so generous, so innocent! His mother-in-law wrung money out of him and would have ruined him to support her son in his idleness; his friend, whom he looked upon as a brother, deceived him; his brother-in-law, upon whom he heaped kindnesses, ridiculed him publicly.

He had no heart near him that was loving and faithful except that of his wife. And I, an outsider, to whom he had offered so much frank and affectionate hospitality, I would s.n.a.t.c.h it away! The idea weighed down my heart, made me feel myself disgraced. In vain I forced myself to picture in lovely colors what it would be to be the lover of Cristina, to taste of the intense pleasure of pa.s.sion, and the joy of conquest. In vain I tried to make my fault seem less by recalling to mind the shortcomings of others. In my ears sounded ever a voice a.s.suring me that to go on would be to be unhappy. And my quivering nerves kept me tossing between the sheets with my eyes ever more and more wide open.

The hours went by, sounding slowly, sonorously, and sadly from the cathedral clock. I tried earnestly to shut my eyes and go to sleep, but fiery, invisible fingers pressed open my eyelids. At last I bounced out of bed, struck a light, dressed myself, and began walking the floor. And when I had paced back and forth for a while, searching the most secret corners of my heart, I understood what must of necessity be done. I had recourse to chloral, more chloral than I had ever taken in nights like this of sleeplessness and struggle. I renounced my desires once for all, my hopes, the enjoyments of love and the flatteries of self-love. I entered into my spirit with a lash and drove from it the perfidy of will which, for the few pleasures that it gives us, causes us so many burning wounds. This cost me labor, for it hid itself away in all sorts of corners, obliging me to pursue it closely, leaving it no point to stop upon. But at last I succeeded in driving it out in sober earnest, and I stopped in the middle of the room, tired out, perspiring like one who has performed some heavy task, but at peace. I undressed again, lay down on the bed, and the winged G.o.d, son of sleep and night, bore me away in his arms to the mysterious palace of his father.

When I awoke, the sun, already high in the heavens, was shedding its golden rays upon the city. As soon as I had dressed myself I went directly to the house of Emilio. The husband and wife were together in the sewing-room, and with them were Dona Amparo, Isabelita, Dona Clara, a dressmaker, and a domestic. The first question that was asked me was where I had been the night before. I excused myself with a headache.

Cristina, who was embroidering near the balcony, did not lift her eyes, but I noted on her face the same expression of gentle compa.s.sion that she had worn during the episode of the handkerchief. And, too, while I was talking with the others I saw that she stole a swift and timid glance at me.

I improved a moment when all were occupied, and approached her. Drawing the handkerchief from my pocket, and in a voice so low that the company could not hear me, yet not low enough to make any secrets suspected, I said:

"I have carelessly kept a handkerchief of yours, thinking that it was my own. Until I got home I did not perceive my mistake. Here 'tis; take it."

She lifted her head and gave me a look of intense surprise; her face flushed a vivid carmine; she took with a trembling hand the handkerchief that I held out to her, and again bent her brow over her embroidery frame.

After that, tell me frankly if I have not the right to laugh at Caesar, Alexander, Epaminondas, and at all the heroes of pagan antiquity in general! At least I live in the intimate conviction (and this thought makes me vastly greater in my own eyes) that if Epaminondas had found himself in my shoes he would not have returned the handkerchief.

I turned anew to the group and joined the chat with animation, although, perhaps, it was an excessive animation. My soul was profoundly moved and it should be declared among these frank confessions that, although I felt no pride in my heroism, neither did I experience that sweet content that the moralists say always accompanies good actions.

I lunched with them and we went afterwards to Caba.n.a.l, where the afternoon pa.s.sed as merrily as ever. But my gayety was only feigned; although I wore myself out pretending it, and to divert myself, I am sure I cut a sorry figure.

Cristina did not care to hide her preoccupation. All the afternoon she was thoughtful and serious, even to the point of making herself remarked.

When night came, praise G.o.d! I would have opportunity to turn the key that locked up my thoughts and weighed down my soul, and ease my pain a little.

It chanced that Marti had brought from his library the works of Larra, and he read to us, to pa.s.s the time, one of his most delicious pieces, ent.i.tled "El Castellano Viejo." We all laughed and applauded the gifts and ingenuity of the great satirical writer. From this we went on to talk of his life and his tragic end in the flower of his youth, for he was not yet twenty-eight years of age when he voluntarily quitted this world.

"And why did he kill himself?" asked Matilde.

"For that which men usually kill themselves, for--a woman!" answered Marti, laughing.