Читать книгу Val Sinestra - Martha Morton - Страница 12

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Julie crouched in the corner of the car, her dark pupils contracting, dilating; she was going home to prepare her mother. The contempt in that letter she had written to Martin was awful, but she had promised and she braced herself for the fight. She was used to battles, bitter, uncompromising; used to the struggle of antagonistic spirits; but she had always been kept out of all that agony, pampered, spoilt, worshipped by her mother, indulged by her grandfather—and now she must fight them both, and she would. If they stood out against Martin, she would keep her word and go away with him; this was her determination. She stepped out of the car and found her mother waiting for her in the hall; she knew what was coming. Mrs. Gonzola led the way upstairs to her bedroom—watched Julie take off her hat and coat, and smooth down her hair.

“How long have you been meeting this man without my knowledge?”

“You mean Martin?”

“Yes.”

“Since you forbade him the house.”

“This is the first time in your life that you have openly disobeyed me. Why did you do it?”

“I love him, Mother, and he loves me, and I am going to marry him.” She had rehearsed it in the car.

Mrs. Gonzola implored her not to marry that “ruffian” who had intrigued to get her affection. No man of honor would have acted like that. He was not the man for her—she was too young to realize it—she would hate him in the end. She begged, entreated her to wait a year. Julie burst into convulsed sobs.

“He won’t wait, Mother—I’ve been through all that with him. Mother! Mother! Don’t stop it, don’t, I must marry him! I must!”

Mrs. Gonzola gave a terrible cry.

“What do you mean—tell me! Why must you marry him? Why?”

“Because! because!—he says he’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Then Mrs. Gonzola warned her of the anger of Father Cabello, who would never marry her to an atheist, a heretic—warned her of her grandfather’s curses (and the old Jew could curse); she heard him again, as he stood over her on the day of her marriage, pouring out his anger. His curses had come true in her wretched life, and this disobedient child—she was suffering as he had suffered that day—but now the old man was her only hope; Julie worshipped him. She threatened her with his anger, the wrath of the great Jewish God who does not forgive, who would bring down punishment upon her and her children’s children.

The girl lay flat on the ground, quivering with horror, fear—then she became quite cold and stiff, and fell into a cataleptic trance, which lasted an hour. Mrs. Gonzola undressed her, put her into bed, and lay beside her, holding her close. The girl gradually grew warm, and smiled at her mother. The spasm of obstinacy over, she was again the submissive child. She would sacrifice herself and Martin, it was her duty; she became calm, almost cheerful, as was usual after those spells.

She wanted her mother to dress her as she did when she was a child. Mrs. Gonzola was happy; her life was bound up in this girl.

“You look so beautiful, Julie; go and show grandfather.”

Mrs. Gonzola stood at the bottom of the stairs till Julie went in where Joseph Abravanel sat reading, unconscious of the tragedy which had been enacted below. He blessed her, called her a good child, the hope of his life. Then she and her mother dined in the big room with its dark Spanish tapestry and gold plate; it was a festive occasion. Mrs. Gonzola praised Floyd and his devotion to the memory of his father.

“You always liked him best as a child, didn’t you, Julie?”

“No, Mother—I—I liked them both—” Then the fear came again of Martin!

“He will kill me, Mother. I’m afraid of him, afraid.”

“Julie, I have no strength to fight for you. Marry Floyd; he is a simple honest boy. He has always loved you.”

To her mother’s great amazement Julie answered in slow deliberate tones—

“That will be the only way to save myself—but it must be at once. I mustn’t have time to think about it—or I couldn’t do it.”