Читать книгу The Joy of Captain Ribot - Armando Palacio Valdés - Страница 7

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I WENT back to the ship in a worse state than that of the day before. The lady occupied my thoughts more than was desirable for content or peace of mind. I went back again that afternoon and again the next day. Her interesting figure, her eyes—so black, so innocent, and so piquant at the same time, were rapidly penetrating my soul. And as always happens in such cases, her eyes first began to please me and then her voice began to enchant me; soon it was her fine hands, like alabaster; a little after that the soft veil of hair that adorned her temples; immediately thereupon, three little dimples in her right cheek. At last I found happiness in a certain defective way she had of pronouncing the letter R.

These and other discoveries of like importance could not be made, it is evident, without due attention, all of which, instead of pleasing the lady, annoyed her visibly. She always received me cordially, but not with her former frankness of manner. I observed, not without pain, that in spite of the gayety and animation of her conversation she revealed a bit of disquiet in the depths, as if fearing that I might again say something unwelcome. While comprehending this, nevertheless I had not the force of will to stop gazing at her more than I should.

At last the wig was brought in secret to the hotel. Doña Amparo tried it on in the most absolute privacy; she found it imperfect. It was returned to the hands of its maker; various changes were effected in it without either the public or the authorities becoming aware of the fact, and after various trials equally secret the good lady emerged as fresh and juvenile as if my sinful hands had never attacked her charms. For in spite of all—that is, in spite of the wig, of years, and of obesity—Doña Amparo had not completely lost her charms.

They invited me to take a drive with them through the environs of the city. The pleasure with which I accepted may be imagined. On reaching the country we alighted, and for an hour we feasted our eyes upon that smiling and splendid landscape. I found myself happy, and this happiness incited me to show towards Doña Cristina great deference and gentleness of speech. I felt impelled to say to her everything beautiful and interesting that occurred to me. But she, as if divining these perverse tendencies of my tongue, curbed it with tact and firmness, asking me some indifferent question whenever there seemed to be any danger of my uttering something indiscreet, leaving me with her mamma while she went on ahead, or taking pains to make her mother talk. This did not dishearten me. I was so stupid, or so indiscreet, that in spite of these clear signals I still persisted in seeking pretexts for directing various whiffs of incense towards her. I declare, however, that I did not think I was acting the gallant. I believed in good faith that such obsequiousness and such flatteries were legitimate; for we Spaniards from remote antiquity have arrogated to ourselves the right of telling all pretty women that they are pretty, without other consequences. But she cast doubts upon the correctness of such a proceeding. That these doubts were not ill-founded I see clearly enough, now that the mist of my sentiments has been completely dissipated and I read my soul as in an open book.

It chanced that that same afternoon, on our way back to the city, seeing the numerous and handsome country houses that we passed, Doña Cristina remarked:

"Our place at Cabañal is very charming, but not sumptuous. My husband is not satisfied with it; he wants something better."

"He wants something better?" I cried without stopping to think. "But if I were your husband, I could desire nothing!"

The lady kept silence for a moment, turned her face towards the window to look at the road, and murmured ironically,—

"Well, sir; let us have patience."

I believe that not only my cheeks, my forehead, and my ears turned scarlet, but even the whites of my eyes. For several minutes I felt on my face the impression of two red-hot bricks. I did not know what to say, and seeking escape from my embarrassment I turned to the other window and remained in ecstatic contemplation of the landscape. Doña Amparo, who had remarked nothing, spoke in response to her daughter's observation:

"Emilio is a very good man, very industrious, although somewhat fantastic."

"How is he fantastic?" exclaimed Cristina, turning sharply, as if struck. "Because he desires what is better, more beautiful, and seeks to acquire it? That shows rather his good taste and good will. For if the world did not have men who aspired to perfection, who always see a 'farther on' and who take steps to approach it, neither these handsome country houses nor others still better, nor any of the comforts that we enjoy to-day would exist. The idlers, the spendthrifts, and the poor in spirit ridicule such ideas so long as they are not realized; but when the hour comes that the ends aimed at can be seen and touched, they shut themselves up in their houses and refuse to congratulate those who made it possible because they do not care to confess their stupidity. Then you know well that Emilio, however 'fantastic,' has never had the fantasy to think of himself; that all his efforts are devoted to give pleasure and prosperity to his family, to his friends, and to his neighbors, and that all his life up to now has been a constant sacrifice for others."

Doña Amparo, during this vehement discourse, showed herself strangely affected. I was astonished to see her stammer, rub her eyes, grow red in the face, and fall backward as if in a swoon.

"I—is it possible?—my son!"

Uttering these incoherent words, she swayed, then seemed to lose all sense of the external world. To restore her to consciousness it was necessary for her daughter to bathe her temples with eau de Cologne and apply sal-volatile to her nostrils. When at last she opened her eyes there burst forth a flood of tears that flowed down her cheeks and poured into her lap like a copious rain, some of which moistened my coat. At these symptoms Doña Cristina again opened the little satchel that she carried, that I could see contained numerous little flasks. She took one of these, together with a lump of sugar, and moistened the latter with several drops of liquid. She thrust the sugar into her mother's mouth; that lady gradually recovered her senses and at last was conscious of her whereabouts and of who was with her.

On my part, being the indirect cause of the unfortunate scene, I understood that nothing would be more suitable than for me to throw myself out of the carriage window, even though I should fracture my head; but imagining that the results of such a procedure might be too melancholy, I hit upon a decorous substitute by biting at the head of my cane and staring into vacancy. Doña Cristina did not choose to take cognizance of these tragic manifestations, but they so penetrated the heart of her mamma that the latter seized my hands convulsively, murmuring occasionally:

"Ribot! Ribot! Ribot!"

Fearing that she might again enter into the world of the unconscious, I hastened to take the flask of salts and hold it to her nose.

The rest of the way back, heaven be praised! was traversed without further mishap, and I made desperate efforts to have my foolishness forgotten and forgiven, talking with all formality about various things, principally of those most to the taste of Doña Cristina. At length I was rewarded by seeing her bright face again unclouded and her eyes expressing their accustomed frank joyousness. And, prompted by her humor, she even went so far as to make gracious fun of her mamma.

"Did you know, Captain Ribot, that mamma never swoons except when she is with the family, or among persons in whom she confides? The greatest proof of the sympathy with which you inspire her is that which she has just given."

"Cristina! Cristina!" exclaimed Doña Amparo, half smiling, half indignant.

"Now, be frank, mamma! If Captain Ribot has not won your confidence, how is it you ventured to faint away in his presence?"

Doña Amparo decided to laugh, giving her daughter a pinch. When we parted at the hotel door they invited me to breakfast with them the next day, they having decided to leave for Madrid on the day after that.

It could no longer be doubted; if I was not in love I was on the way to be, with a fair wind and all sails set. Why was it that this woman had impressed me so profoundly in so short a time? I do not think it was merely her figure, although it coincided with the ideal type of beauty that I had always adored. If I had fallen in love with all the white and slender women with dark eyes that I had met in the course of my life, there would not have remained any time to do anything else. But she had a special attractiveness, at least for me, which consisted in a singular combination of joyousness and gravity, of sweetness and brusqueness, of daring and timidity, alternately reflected in her expressive countenance.

The next day, at the appointed time, I presented myself at the hotel. Doña Cristina was in most delightful humor and let me know that we were to breakfast alone, for her mother had not slept well the night before and was still in bed. This filled me with selfish satisfaction, observing her merry mood. Before going to the table she served me an appetizer, graciously ridiculing me.

"Since you always have such a delicate appetite, and look so languishing, I have ordered something bitter for you, to see if we cannot give a little tone to that stomach of yours."

I fell in with the jest.

"I am in despair. I comprehend that it is ridiculous to have such a ready appetite, but I am a man of honor and I confess it. One time when I attempted to conceal it I missed my reckoning. One of my passengers was a certain very charming and spirituelle lady towards whom I felt somewhat favorably disposed. I could think of no better means to inspire her interest than to feign an absolute lack of appetite, naturally accompanied by languor and poetic melancholy. At table I refused the greater part of the dishes. My nourishment consisted of tapioca, vanilla cream, some fruit, and much coffee. Then I complained of weakness, and ordered glasses of sherry with biscuit. Of course I suffered terribly from hunger; but I overcame it finely in solitude. The lady became enthusiastic; she professed for me a profound and sincere admiration, and despised for their grossness all those at the table who were served with more solid nutriment. But, alas! there came a moment when she unexpectedly came down into the dining-saloon and surprised me feasting on cold ham. That ended the affair. She never spoke another word to me."

"She did right," said Doña Cristina, with a laugh. "Hypocrisy is something more shameful than a good appetite."

We began our breakfast, and I gave her to understand that now that she so abhorred hypocrisy I proposed to proceed with all possible frankness.

"That is right! Entirely frank!" And she served me an enormous ration of omelette.

We went on chatting and laughing in undertones, but Doña Cristina did not neglect to serve me with fabulous quantities of food, greater, in truth, than my gastric capacity. I wanted to decline, but she would not permit it.

"Be frank, Captain! You have promised to be entirely frank."

"Señora, this surpasses frankness. Anybody might call it grossness."

"I do not call it so. Go on! Go on!"

But soon, straightening herself back in her chair a bit, and assuming a solemn tone, she spoke:

"Captain, I am now going to treat you as if you had not only saved my mother's life, but mine as well. At one and the same time I wish to pay you for her life and my own."

My eyes opened widely without my comprehending the significance of such words. Doña Cristina rose from her chair and, going to the door, opened it wide. There appeared the maid with a big dish of stewed tripe in her hands.

"Tripe!" I exclaimed.

"Stewed by Señora Ramona," proclaimed Doña Cristina, gravely.

The joke put me in better humor yet. But how short was the duration of that intoxicating delight! When we reached the dessert she informed me, perfectly naturally:

"I have news for you. We are not going to-morrow. My husband is coming for us the day after."

"Yes?" I exclaimed, with the expression of a man who is forced to talk under a shower bath.

"Although the journey is a bit uncomfortable, coming and going again at once, he says that as mamma has probably not yet completely recovered from her shock he does not like to have us travel alone."

Saying this, she took the letter from her pocket and proceeded to look it over. "He also tells me to give you a million thanks and is glad that he is to have a chance to give them to you in person."

I was looking at the back of the letter, but I caught the words of the ending: "Adiós, life of my soul," and it augmented the sadness of my mood. However, I expressed my satisfaction at the prospect of knowing Señor Martí so soon, but it required some effort to say so. As melancholy began to take possession of me, and as Doña Cristina was not slow in perceiving the fact, I found no better means of combating it than to take more cognac after my coffee than was prudent. This produced an exaltation that resembled, without being, joyousness. I chattered away, and must have uttered many ridiculous things and some of them wide of the mark, although I cannot remember. Doña Cristina smiled benevolently. But when, for the fifth or sixth time, I took the decanter to pour out another thimbleful, she touched my arm, saying:

"You are already exceedingly frank, Captain. I will free you from your word."

"I am its slave, señora, at the cost of my life," I replied, laughingly. "But I will drink no more. I am resolved to obey you in this, as in everything you may command. But nevertheless," I continued, looking boldly into her eyes, "there are things that intoxicate more than cognac and all spirituous beverages."

Doña Cristina's eyes fell and her fair face frowned. But instantly smiling, she said vivaciously:

"But you must not intoxicate yourself in any fashion. I abhor drunkards."

I did not wish to follow this advice; and though it is true I drank little more, I insisted upon gazing at the fascinating lady. I continued chatting like a dentist, and in the midst of my prattle I came near giving utterance to more than one endearing phrase; but Doña Cristina, ingeniously and prudently, cut these off before I had a chance to say them.

We both rose from our seats. We went to the balcony to look at the traffic and movement on the wharf. With her permission, I was smoking a Havana cigar. As her beautiful head occupied my thoughts more than the traffic on the wharf, I noted that a little shell comb was falling out of her hair.

"If I were this little comb I should be very content with my place. I would make no effort to escape."

And boldly, with no thought of what I did, I raised my hand to her head and put the comb back in place.

She turned as red as a cherry, her eyes fell, and she remained silent for several seconds; at last, looking me in the face with a lofty expression, she said in a changed tone:

"Señor, I do not know what motive induces you to take any liberties with me. The service you have rendered us entitles you to my gratitude, but not to treat me without respect."

My semi-intoxication was dissipated as by magic. It left me petrified and ashamed as I had never before been in my life and never expect to be again, and I scarcely had power to murmur a few words of excuse. I believe she did not hear them. She turned her back disdainfully and left the room.

In about one moment afterwards there flashed through my mind an idea that did not lack a certain probability, that is to say, that I was superfluous in that place. And without waiting to examine it with sufficient attention in the light of reasonable and serious criticism, I put it immediately in practice, taking my hat and removing myself before any grass had a chance to grow under my feet.

Though I was on shipboard and in the consignee's office and in other parts of the city, shame did not quit me all day long. It was fastened to my face with a red seal and I was unspeakably mortified. My friends laughed and murmured such words as "Martel tres estrellas," "Jamaica," "Anís del Mono," and others which sounded like marks of liquors, but I knew what ailed me, and this increased my woe. On the next day, after washing and scrubbing myself energetically with soap, it seemed as if there were some bits of that red seal still adhering to my skin.

Of course I did all I could to forget Doña Cristina and her so holy name, and seemed to succeed throughout the day. But at night her image would not leave my couch for a moment; it twitched my feet, it pulled my hair, and later, to make it up to me for these shocking tribulations, it gently inclined itself towards me and lightly touched my cheek with its lips.

On awaking, a luminous idea attacked me. Martí was to arrive that day, and it was my unavoidable duty to go to meet him at the station: first, for courtesy's sake; second, to prevent his asking for me, and thereby causing his wife any agitation; third, because my absence would surprise Doña Amparo; fourth, because it was necessary not to reveal what had occurred; fifth—I do not know what the fifth reason was, but I have an idea that there was a fifth reason and that it had something to do with the mad desire that I felt to see Doña Cristina again.

The mail train arrived in the afternoon. I therefore had sufficient time to think over the bother of such a step and to change my purpose. But after considering it in all its aspects and then considering it again and making infinite efforts for heaven to touch my heart, I still did not repent, and my feet conducted me to the station almost in spite of myself.

On reaching the platform I saw my ladies talking with an employee. Availing myself of the prodigious diplomatic aptitude with which heaven had been so good as to favor me, I passed along behind them at a slow pace and profoundly absorbed in the contemplation of a pile of beets.

"Ribot! Ribot!"

I stopped, filled with astonishment. I turned my head to the southeast, then to the north, next to the northeast, and so on successively towards all the points of the compass until, after many unfruitful efforts, I succeeded in locating the direction from which the voice proceeded.

"Oh, señoras!"

I approached them, overflowing with astonishment, and seized the hand of Doña Amparo. I started to do likewise with Cristina and—did I not say before that this lady was distinguished by a white skin? The statement must be corrected. At that moment she might have been born in Senegal.

I asked for her health without venturing to extend my hand, and she responded, looking in another direction.

"How is this, Captain Ribot?" asked Doña Amparo. "All day yesterday you did not come, or to-day either."

I excused myself, saying I had been occupied. Doña Amparo would not accept my explanation and talked to me fondly. This lady showed herself constantly more affectionate and amiable towards me. While we were talking, Doña Cristina did not open her lips. I felt hurt and confused. I did not venture to look her in the face, but observed her from the corner of my eye and noted that her face, instead of recovering its ordinary aspect, became more and more cloudy. Her eyes persisted in gazing in the opposite direction from where I stood.

Doña Amparo, not remarking anything, monopolized the conversation. On my part, I spoke little and incoherently. My having come at all was weighing me down fearfully, and I had an impulse to leave under some pretext, without awaiting the arrival of Martí. But before I could make up my mind the station-guard sounded his trumpet announcing the train. So it was no longer possible to go without grave discourtesy.

The train came into the station, and among the goodly number of heads that suddenly showed themselves at the car windows the eyes of Doña Cristina discovered that of her husband.

"Emilio!" she cried joyfully.

"Cristina!" he replied in a like tone.

And without waiting for the train to come to a full stop he leaped out and embraced and kissed her effusively. But she, blushing like a schoolgirl, and at the same time smiling with pleasure, brusquely freed herself from his arms.

"Always the same!" he exclaimed, laughing heartily, as he extended his hand to his mother-in-law.

She, however, was not satisfied with his hand and seized him by the head like a child and kissed him repeatedly, asking with hearty interest about his journey as he inquired about her health.

While they were talking I maintained a respectful distance from the group. And then it was that Doña Cristina turned her eyes towards me with a friendly smile, at the same time beckoning me to approach. That unexpected smile caused me such pleasure and surprise that I could scarcely hide my feelings. I hastened to obey.

"He saved mamma!" she said, with a little emphasis, presenting me to her husband.

He grasped my hands affectionately, expressing boundless thanks. He was a man of twenty-eight or thirty years, tall, slender, pale-faced and black-eyed, his beard also black, silky, and abundant; a Levantine type, like his wife—but delicate and fragile, at least in appearance.

"Thanks to his bravery, we are not mourning a misfortune to-day," continued the lady.

"Señora!" I exclaimed, "the action was of no merit whatever. Any passing sailor would have done the same."

But she, paying no attention, went on to relate what happened with all details, exaggerating my conduct.

This panegyric from her mouth, after what had happened, caused me more shame than pleasure. I felt the pangs of remorse, and what at first had seemed to me a slight imprudence now appeared a lack of delicacy.

Returning to the town I left them at the hotel door, refusing to stop with them, in spite of Martí's insistence. In these first moments the presence of a stranger might be unwelcome. But I agreed to take coffee with him that evening at the Suizo. I hoped that he might bring his wife, for she enjoyed taking a walk after dinner.

But the hope was not realized. Martí came alone, saying that his wife was fatigued and indisposed. I thought this a pretext, and it made me sad. Perhaps that first moment had exhausted her effusive gratitude, and distrust and rancor had returned to her heart.

In less than an hour, Martí and I were excellent friends. He struck me as a sympathetic person, of open nature, affectionate, cheerful, and candid. The hundred affairs that occupied him did not leave him much time to give to any one thing. In his conversation he sped lightly from one affair to another, but showed himself ever wide-awake and energetic. I let him talk, observing him with intense curiosity. The impression from that first conversation that best remains with me was his fashion of rumpling his wavy hair, running his fingers back through it after the manner of a comb, and giving a little cough when about to express some idea that he deemed important. This mannerism, which in another might perhaps seem ridiculous, had in him a gracious effect, boyish and attractive. I cannot clearly express the sentiments that Martí inspired in me at that time. They were an indefinable mixture of sympathy and repugnance, of curiosity and jealousy, which can be accounted for only by one who has found himself in a situation analogous to mine.

The Urano was to weigh anchor the next day at flood-tide in the afternoon. In the morning I presented myself at the hotel to take leave of my new friends. Martí and his mother-in-law warmly expressed their regret at my departure. Cristina did not make her appearance. She was shut in her chamber at her toilet, as I understood, and had not the kindness to have me asked to wait; on the contrary, she dismissed me so abruptly that she seemed to fear I might.

"Adios, Captain Ribot!" she called from within. "Pardon me for not coming out; it is impossible at this moment. May you have a most happy voyage; and again you have a million thanks from me. We can never forget what you have done. A pleasant trip!"

Martí urged me to breakfast with them, but I had much to do and declined. Moreover, I must confess I felt so melancholy that I wanted to get into the street. He, as well as Doña Amparo, offered me a thousand inducements to run down to Valencia on my return to Barcelona, where the steamer always stayed for eight or ten days. He, as well as his wife, would take great pleasure in entertaining me at their home. I was obliged to promise to do so, but with the definite intention of not complying.

It was always difficult to get away from the ship; and the coldness of Doña Cristina gave me no encouragement to make such a visit.

In the afternoon Martí came on board to press my hand once more before my departure. He again urged me cordially not to fail to make them a visit. Again I made the promise, with the mental reservation already mentioned. We finally bade each other a most affectionate farewell and I put to sea, continuing my voyage to Hamburg.