Near the station stretched a line of carriages; the cabmen had lighted a fire. Here Jesús and Manuel warmed themselves for a moment.
“We’ll have to go to that town,” muttered Jesús.
“Which?”
“That uninhabited place the fellow was telling us about. Vaciamadrid.”
“I’m ready.”
A train had just pulled into the station, so Manuel and Jesús took up a position at the entrance, where the passengers were coming out; they hoped to earn a few coins by carrying some valise.
Manuel was lucky enough to lug1 a gentleman’s bundle to a carriage, for which service he received a modest fee.
Manuel and Jesús proceeded now to the Prado. They were passing the Museo when they beheld2 a hackman whipping up his horses, and, behind the carriage, running with all his might, Don Alonso, dressed in a suit that seemed nothing but rents and tatters.
“Hey, there!” shouted Manuel to him.
[212]
Don Alonso turned around, came to a stop and walked back to Jesús and Manuel.
“Where were you bound in such a hurry?” they asked him.
“I was after that carriage, to carry up the gentleman’s trunk for him. But I’m exhausted3. My legs are caving in.”
“And what are you doing?” asked Manuel.
“Pse!... Starving to death.”
“Better times haven’t come yet?”
“Will they ever come? Napoleon met his finish at Waterloo, didn’t he? Well, my life is one continuous Waterloo.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I’ve been selling smutty books. I ought to have one here,” he added, showing Manuel a pamphlet, the title of which read: “The Wiles4 of Women on The First Night.”
“Is that a good one?” asked Manuel.
“Oh, so so. Let me warn you beforehand that you’re supposed to read only every other line. To think of me, fallen to such things! I, who have been director of a circus in Niu Yoc!”
“Better times are coming.”
“A few nights ago I went out staggering, famished5, and made my way to an Emergency Hospital. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I was asked by an attendant. ‘Hunger.’ ‘That’s not a disease,’ he replied. Then I went begging and now I go every night to the Salamanca quarter, and I tell passing women that a little boy of mine has just died and that I need a few reales with which to purchase[213] candles. They are horrified6 and usually come across with something. I’ve also found a place to sleep. It’s over yonder by the river.”
The trio ate their next meal at the María Cristina barracks, and in the afternoon the Snake-Man left for his centre of operations in the Salamanca quarter.
“I’ve made a peseta and a half today,” he said to Manuel and Jesús. “Let’s go for supper.”
They supped at the Barcelona hostelry, on the Calle del Caballero de Gracia, and spent whatever was left on whisky.
Thereupon they repaired to the spot that had been discovered by Don Alonso,—a tumbledown dwelling7 near the Toledo bridge. They christened it the Black House. Nothing was left of it save the four walls, which had been levelled to the height of the first story.
It stood in the centre of an orchard8; for roof it had a wattle over which projected a number of beams as black and straight as smokestacks.
The three entered the ruin. They crossed the patio9, leaping over débris, tiles, rotten wood and mounds10 of ordure. They made their way through a corridor. Don Alonso struck a match, holding it lighted in the hollow of his palms. Some gipsy families and several beggars dwelt here in secret. Some had made their beds of rags and straw; others were asleep, leaning against matweed ropes that were fastened to the wall.
Don Alonso had his special corner, to which he took Manuel and Jesús.
[214]
The floor was damp, earthen; a few of the house walls were still standing11; the holes in the roof were plugged with bunches of cane12 that had been gathered by the river, and with pieces of matting.
“Deuce take it all!” exclaimed Don Alonso as he stretched himself out. “A fellow has always got to be on the lookout13 for a place. If I could only be a snail14!”
“Better times are coming,” promised Manuel, ironically.
“That’s the only hope,” replied the Snake-Man. “By tomorrow our luck may have shifted. You don’t know life. Fate is to man what the wind is to the weathervane.”
“The trouble is,” grumbled17 Jesús, “that our weathervane, when it isn’t pointing to hunger, is pointing to cold and always to poverty and wretchedness.”
“Things may change tomorrow.”
The trio fell asleep in the lap of these flattering illusions. Manuel awoke at daybreak; the light of the dawn filtered in through the spaces of the wattle that served as roof, and with this pale glow the interior of the Black House assumed a sinister18 aspect.
They slept in a bunch, rolled up in a ball of rags and newspaper sheets. Some of the men sought out the women in the semi-gloom, and their grunts19 of pleasure could be heard.
Near Manuel a woman whose features betrayed[215] idiocy20 as well as physical degeneration, begrimed and garbed21 in patches, was cradling a child in her arms. She was a beggar, still young,—one of those poor wandering creatures who roam over the road without direction or goal, at the mercy of fate.
The opening of her dirty waist revealed a flat, blackish bosom22. One of the gipsy youths glided23 over to her and seized her by the breast. She laid the infant to one side and stretched herself out on the floor....
Just before the dawn of one April day the cold was so terrible inside the Black House that they made a fire. The flames leaped high, and at the moment least expected the wattle roof blazed up. At once the fire spread. As the canes24 burned they burst with an explosion. Soon a vast flame had risen into the air.
The denizens25 escaped in terror. Manuel, Jesús and Don Alonso made their way quickly through the Paseo de los Pontones to the Ronda.
The blazing roof shone through the dark night like a gigantic torch. Soon, however, it was extinguished, and only sparks were left, leaping and flying through the air.
The three walked along the Ronda. Yonder they could see the long lines of gas lanterns, and at intervals26, luminous27 points like shining islands dotting the obscurity. On the solitary28 Ronda could be heard, very rarely, the hastening footsteps of some passerby29 and the distant barking of the dogs.
It occurred to Manuel to go to La Blasa’s tavern30.[216] Instead of taking the Paseo Imperial, they entered Las Injurias through a lane lit up by oil lamps and skirting the Gas House.
Black and red smoke rose from the lofty chimneys. The round paunches of the tanks were down near the ground, and around them rose the girders, which, in the darkness, produced an eerie31 effect.
La Blasa’s tavern was not open. Shivering with the cold they proceeded along the Ronda. They passed a factory whose windows filled the gloom of the night with the violent brilliance32 of arc lights.
In the midst of this silence the factory seemed to roar, belching33 clouds of smoke through the chimney.
“There shouldn’t be any factories,” burst out Jesús with sudden indignation.
“And why not?” asked Don Alonso.
“Because there shouldn’t.”
“And how are people going to live? What’s going to become of business if there aren’t any factories?”
“Let it suffer, as we’re suffering. The earth ought to provide enough for all of us to live on,” added Jesús.
“And how about civilization?”
“Civilization! Much good civilization does us. Civilization is all very good for the rich. But what does it mean to the poor?...”
“And electric light? And steamships34? And the telegraph?”
“Yes, what about them? Do you use them?”
“No. But I have used them.”
“When you had money. Civilization is made for[217] the fellow with money, and whoever hasn’t the hard cash,—let him starve. Formerly35, the rich man and the poor got their light alike from the same sort of lamp; today the poor man continues with his humble36 lamp and the rich man lights his house with electricity; before, if the poor man went on foot, the rich man went on horseback; today the poor man continues to go on foot, and the rich man rides in an automobile37; before, the rich man had to dwell among the poor; today, he lives apart; he’s raised a wall of cotton and can hear nothing. Let the poor howl; he can’t hear. Let them die of hunger; he’ll never learn of it....
“You’re wrong,” protested Don Alonso.
“Hardly....”
The distant barking of the dogs could still be heard. It was getting colder with every moment. They walked through the Rondas of Valencia and Atocha.
“Inside there, at least, a fellow isn’t cold,” murmured the Snake-Man in a jovial39 tone that echoed like a painful plaint.
It was beginning to grow light; the grey mists of morning were scattering40. Over the road some ox-carts came creaking. Far off the hens were cackling....
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1
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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2
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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3
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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4
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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5
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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6
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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7
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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8
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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9
patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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10
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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11
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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13
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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14
snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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15
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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16
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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17
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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18
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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19
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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20
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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21
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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23
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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24
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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25
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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26
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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27
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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28
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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29
passerby
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| n.过路人，行人 | |
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30
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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31
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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32
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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33
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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34
steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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35
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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36
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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37
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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38
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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39
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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40
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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