When Manuel awoke next morning it was already twelve. For so long his first sensations, upon awakening1, had been of cold, hunger or anguish2, that now, finding himself under a blanket, sheltered, in a narrow room with little light in it, he wondered whether he were dreaming.
Then all at once the suicide at the Virgen del Puerto came to his mind; there followed his encounter with Vidal, the dance at the Romea and the conversation with La Rabanitos in the bun shop.
“Can better times have come at last?” he asked himself. He sat up in bed, and catching3 sight of his rags strewn across a chair, was at a loss. “If they find me dressed like this, they’ll throw me out,” he thought. And in his hesitancy he slipped back under the sheets.
It must have been almost two when he heard the door to his room being opened. It was Vidal.
“Why, man! Do you know what time it is? Why don’t you get up?”
“If they see me with those things on,” replied[246] Manuel, pointing to his shreds4 and patches, “they’ll throw me out.”
“The truth is that you can’t very well dress in the height of fashion,” commented Vidal, contemplating5 his cousin’s wardrobe. “A fine pair of dancing slippers,” he added, lifting up a misshapen, mud-caked boot by the laces and holding it comically aloft the better to observe it. “The latest style worn by sewer-men. As to socks, none; drawers, the same, of the same cloth as the socks. You’re splendidly outfitted6!”
“As you see.”
“But you can’t stay here for ever. You’ve got to get out. I’ll fetch you some of my own clothes. I think they’ll fit you.”
“Yes. You’re a bit taller.”
“Very well. Wait a moment.”
Vidal left the room and soon returned with some of his own clothes. Manuel dressed hastily. The trousers were somewhat too long for him and had to be rolled up at the bottom; on the other hand, the shoes were not high enough, and were tight.
“You have a small foot,” murmured Manuel. “You were born to be a gentleman.”
Vidal thereupon thrust forward his well-shod foot with a certain feminine pride.
“Some young women would give a great deal to have a pair of pinreles[5] like these, wouldn’t they? I don’t like a woman with big feet. Do you?”
“I? My boy, I like them all sizes, even the old ones. There’s so little to choose from.... Give[247] me a newspaper, will you. I want to wrap up these precious garments of mine.”
“What for?”
“So’s they won’t be discovered here. That spoils a fellow’s name. I’ll throw them into the street. Likely as not, the chap who picks them up will think he’s come upon a windfall.”
Manuel wrapped up the rags with great care, made a neat package, tied it with twine8 and took it in his hand.
“Shall we start?”
“Come along.”
They went out. It seemed to Manuel that everybody’s gaze was fixed9 upon him and upon the package that he was carrying. He did not dare to leave it anywhere.
“Get rid of it. Don’t be a simpleton,” said Vidal, and snatching the bundle from Manuel’s hand he threw it over a wall into a lot.
The two youths walked through the Calle de la Magdalena to the Plaza10 de Anton Martín and went into the Café de Zaragoza.
They took seats. Vidal ordered two coffees and toast.
“How self-possessed he is,” thought Manuel.
The waiter returned with the order and Manuel threw himself ravenously11 upon one of the slices.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Vidal, gazing at him from time to time. “What a vagabond’s face you have!”
“Why?”
“How do I know? Because you have.”
[248]
“What’s a fellow going to do about it? He looks like what he is.”
“But have you been working? Have you learned a trade?”
“Yes. I’ve been a servant, a baker12, a ragpicker, a typesetter, and now a tramp. And of all these things, I can’t say which is the worst.”
“You must have gone hungry many a time, eh?”
“Uf!... Plenty.... If only they were the last times!”
“They surely will be, man. They will, if you really want them to be.”
“What do you mean? By going to work again?”
“Or some other way.”
“Well, I don’t know any other way of making a living, boy. Either work or steal; either be wealthy or beg alms. I’ve lost the habit of working; I haven’t the nerve to rob. I’m not rich; so I’ll have to go out begging. Unless I enlist13 in the army one of these days.”
“All this chatter14 of yours,” replied Vidal, “is pure rot. Can anybody say that I work? No. That I rob or beg alms? Not that, either. That I’m rich? Hardly.... Yet you see, I get along.”
“You sure do. You must have some secret.”
“Maybe.”
“And might a fellow know what that secret is?”
“If you knew it, would you tell me?”
“Why, man ... you’ll see. If I had a secret and you wanted to rob it from me, to tell the truth I’d keep it to myself. But if you didn’t mean to steal it from me altogether, but simply to use it for[249] your own livelihood15 and not prevent me from using it, too, then I’d certainly let you know what it was.”
“Right you are. You’re frank enough.... What the devil! See here, I’d do anything for you, and I don’t mind letting you in on how we fellows live. You’re a queer, good-natured duck. You’re not one of those brutes16 who think of nothing but murdering and assassinating17 folks. I’ll tell you openly—why shouldn’t I?—I’m not much of a hero....”
“Nor I!” exclaimed Manuel.
“Bah! You’re brave. Even El Bizco had respect for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“You don’t say!”
“As you wish. But getting back to what we were talking about: you and I,—especially me—were born to be rich. But as cursed luck would have it, we’re not. It’s impossible to make a fortune by working, and nobody can tell me different. To save up anything at all, you’ve got to poke18 yourself into a corner and work away like a mule19 for thirty years. And how much does a fellow manage to get together? A few measly pesetas. Total: nothin’. You can’t make money? Then you’ve got to see to it that you take it from somebody else, and take it without danger of doing time.”
“And how do you manage that?”
“That’s the question. There’s the rub. See here: When I came to the heart of the city from Casa Blanca, I was a petty-thief, a pickpocket20. For[250] nothing at all they sent me up for two weeks to the cage in El Abanico, and when I think of it, kid, I get goose-flesh. I was more afraid than ashamed of being a robber, that’s a fact; but what was I to do? One day, when I stole some electric bulbs from a house on the Calle del Olivo, the janitress, an ugly old hag, caught me in the act and began to run after me, crying, ‘Stop thief! Stop thief!’ I grew wings on my feet, as you may imagine. Reaching the San Luis church I dropped the bulbs, slipped in among the crowd in church and crouched21 into a pew; they didn’t catch me. But ever since that day, boy, I’ve been scared out of my wits. Yet, as you see, despite my fright, I haven’t changed my ways.”
“Did you go back to stealing bulbs?”
“No, sirree. I stayed in the Apolo patio22 with that flower-girl that La Rabanitos hated so much. Do you remember?”
“I sure do.”
“There was an interesting girl for you. Well, I was staying there when once I saw a fat guy in a white waistcoat chatting with some skirts. There were many people about; I side up to him, get a hold of his watch chain, tug23 at it gently till I pull the watch out of his pocket, then turn the ring so as to loosen it. As the chain was rather heavy there was the danger that, on separating it from the watch I’d hit the gentleman in the belly24 and so let him see that he’d been picked; but at this very moment there was some applause, people began to shove into the theatre; so I loosened the chain and made my escape. I was making off opposite San José for the Calle de[251] las Torres, when I felt a hand clutch mine. Boy, didn’t I break into a sweat ...! ‘Let me go!’ I said.—‘Shut up, or I’ll call a cop!’ says the other guy. (And I shut up.) ‘I saw you lift that duffer’s watch,’ he says. ‘I?’—‘Yes, you. You’ve got the watch in your trousers pocket. So don’t be foolish and come on have a drink on me in the Brígido tavern25.’—‘Come on,’ says I to myself. ‘This is a clever guy who must be in the game.’ We went into the tavern and there the fellow spoke26 straight from the shoulder. ‘See here,’ he says to me. ‘You want to get on at any cost, don’t you? But you hate the Abanico, and I can easily understand that, for you’re no idiot. Very well, then; how do you expect to get on? What weapons have you for the struggle in life? You’re nothing but a fledgling; you don’t know people; you don’t the world. You come to my house tomorrow; I’ll take you to a shop where they sell ready made clothes, you’ll buy a suit, a hat, and a trunk, and I’ll recommend you to a good boarding-house. I’ll see to it that you make plenty of money, for you can just bet the softest snap in the world is getting the dough27 where there’s plenty of it. Now hand over that watch. They’d fool you.’”
“And did you hand it over to him?”
“Yes. Next day....”
“You must have been left empty-handed....”
“The next day I was already making money.”
“And who’s this man?”
“Marcos Calatrava.”
“Old Cripple? The soldier’s friend?”
“That’s the guy. So now you know. What he[252] said to me, I say to you. Do you want to join the gang?”
“But what am I supposed to do?”
“That depends on the business in hand.... If you accept, you’ll live an easy life, have a swell28 dame29 ... and there’ll be no danger.... It’s up to you.”
“I don’t know what to say, boy. If it means being up to rascality30, I almost prefer living as I am.”
“Man! That depends upon what you call rascality. Do you call deceiving rascality? Then you have to deceive. There’s no other way out. Either work or trick people out of it, for as to being presented with money, make up your mind they don’t do such things.”
“Yes, that’s true enough.”
“Why, my boy, everything is trickery. Business and robbery are the same thing. The only difference is that in business you’re a respectable person, while for robbery they take you to jail.”
“Do you really believe so ...?”
“Sure I do. What’s more, I believe that there are only two kinds of men in the world: the first live well and rob either labour or money; the second live badly and are robbed.”
“Say, you’re talking sense, you are!”
“You bet.... It’s eat or be eaten. Well, what do you say?”
“What should I say? I accept. Another Society like the Three.”
[253]
“Don’t make any comparisons. We don’t want to recall the other one. There’s no Bizco in this combination.”
“But there’s a Cripple.”
“Is he the chief of the party?”
“I’ll tell you the truth, kid.... I don’t know. I deal with the Cripple, the Cripple deals with the Master, and the Master with Lord knows whom. What I do know is that higher up, at the very top, there are some big guns. Let me give you one word of advice: see, hear, and keep your mouth shut. If you ever get wind of anything, let me know; outside, not a word. Understand?”
“I get you.”
“It’s all a matter of cleverness in this game,—keeping your eyes open and not letting anybody put anything over on you. If things go well, within a few years we can be on Easy street, as respectable as any one could wish.... A cinch....”
“Listen,” said Manuel. “Have you come up yet for military service? For I’ll be damned if I know whether I have.”
“Sure. I was dismissed. You’d better see to that. Otherwise they’ll seize you as a deserter.”
“Pse!”
“We’ll let Old Cripple know about it.”
“When shall we see him?”
“He ought to be here in a moment.”
And surely enough, shortly after, the Cripple entered the café. Vidal, in a few words,[254] told him what he had proposed to his cousin.
“Will he do?” asked Calatrava, eyeing Manuel sharply.
“Yes. He’s cleverer than he looks,” answered Vidal, laughing.
Manuel drew himself up proudly to his full height.
“Very well; we’ll see. For the present he won’t have very much to do,” answered the Cripple.
Thereupon Calatrava and Vidal entered upon a discussion of their private affairs, while Manuel passed the time with a newspaper.
After they had finished talking, Calatrava left the café and the two cousins were once more alone.
“Let’s go to the Círculo,” suggested Vidal.
The Círculo was on one of the central thoroughfares. They went in; the ground floor contained a billiard and pool room, and several restaurant tables.
Vidal took a seat at one of these, struck a bell, and to the waiter who answered this summons, said:
“For two.”
“Right away.”
“Listen,” added Vidal, to Manuel: “From the moment we get into here, not a word. Ask me nothing; say nothing. Whatever you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
They ate; Vidal chattered32 about theatres, clubs, things that Manuel had never heard about. He remained silent.
“Let’s take coffee upstairs,” said Vidal.
Near the counter there was a door; from this rose a very narrow winding33 stairway to the mezzanine.[255] The stairway led to a door of ground glass. Vidal pushed it open and they walked into a corridor flanked with green screens.
At the end of this passage, a man sat at a table, writing. He looked up at Vidal and Manuel and then resumed his work. Vidal opened another door, drew aside a heavy curtain and made way for them both.
They found themselves in a large room with three little balconies that looked out upon the street and three others giving upon the patio. On the side toward the street stood a large green table, sunken in at the two longer sides; near the patio was a smaller table, illuminated34 by two lamps, around which were crowded some thirty or forty persons. There was a deep silence; nothing was heard save the voices of the two croupiers and the sounds of their rakes scraping in the money laid upon the green carpet.
After each play there would be a discussion among the players. Then the monotonous35 voice of the banker would say:
“Faites vos jeux, messieurs.”
The murmur7 of conversation would cease and the silence would be so great that one might hear the shuffling36 of the cards between the fingers of the croupier.
“This looks like a church, doesn’t it?” whispered Vidal. “As one of the gentlemen who comes here says, gambling37 is the only religion that’s left.”
They had some coffee and a glass of whiskey.
“Have you any cigars?” asked Vidal.
“No.”
[256]
“Have one. Watch this game closely. I’m going.”
“Might a fellow know what it’s called?”
“Sure. Baccarat. Listen: at eight, in the Café de Lisboa.”
Vidal went out and Manuel was left alone. He watched the money pass to and fro between the bank and the players, the players and the bank. Then he amused himself by watching the gamblers. The participants were so intent upon their game that no one paid any attention to his neighbour.
Those who were seated had in front of them heaps of silver and chips which they placed upon the carpet. The croupier would lay out the French cards and shortly afterward38 pay out or take in the money thus placed.
Those who were standing39 around the table, the majority of whom were not taking part in the game, seemed as deeply interested as, if not more so than, the persons seated and playing heavily.
They were specimens40 of poverty and horrible sordidness41; they wore threadbare coats, greasy42 hats, baggy43 trousers spattered with mud.
Their eyes were aflame with the passion of the game, and they followed the progress of the plays with their arms clasped behind their backs and their bodies bent44 forward, holding in their breath.
The scene finally bored Manuel. He gazed into the street from the balconies. He watched players leave and new ones take their places. Toward nightfall he left for the Café de Lisboa.
Vidal arrived; they ate supper, and as they did[257] so, Manuel expressed his doubts as to the game.
“That’s all right. You’ll pick it up soon enough,” assured Vidal. “Besides, the first few days I’ll give you a little card with information as to when you’re to play.”
“Fine. And the money?”
“Here’s enough for tomorrow. Fifty duros.”
“Is this good money?”
“Show it to anybody you please.”
“Then this is a scheme something like El Pastiri’s?”
“The very thing.”
The following afternoon, with the fifty duros that his cousin gave him and according to the instructions written upon a card, he played and won twenty duros, which he handed over to Vidal.
A few days later he was summoned to a barracks, sent to an office, where his name was asked, and then was told to go.
“You’ve been dismissed,” said Vidal.
“Good,” replied Manuel gleefully. “I’m glad I’m not going to be a soldier.”
He continued to visit the Círculo on every day that he was sent there. At the end of a certain time he knew every one of the personnel. There were numerous employees attached to the place; several dandified croupiers with neat, perfumed hands; a number of bullies45, as many pimps and still others who kept watch over all visitors and the pimps as well.
These were all specimens who lacked anything like a moral sense,—who, some through poverty and[258] hard life, others through inclination46 to a disorderly existence, had ruined and beclouded their conscience and broken the mainspring of will.
Without clearly realizing it, Manuel felt repugnance47 for these surroundings and vaguely48 heard the protest of his conscience.
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收听单词发音
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1
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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2
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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3
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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4
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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5
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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6
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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8
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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9
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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10
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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11
ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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12
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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13
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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14
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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15
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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16
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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17
assassinating
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的现在分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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18
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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19
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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20
pickpocket
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| n.扒手；v.扒窃 | |
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21
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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23
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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24
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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25
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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26
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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27
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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28
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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29
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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30
rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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31
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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32
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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33
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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34
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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35
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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36
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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37
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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38
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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39
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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40
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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41
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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42
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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43
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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44
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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45
bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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46
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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47
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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48
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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