“Tell me how it happened,” ordered Maria-Teresa without returning the Indian’s salute5.
Under his rigid6 demeanor7, it was evident that he resented this tone before a stranger. Then he began to speak in Quichua, only to be interrupted and told to use Spanish. The Indian frowned and glanced haughtily8 at the listening engineer.
“I am waiting,” said Maria-Teresa. “So your Indians have killed one of my coolies?”
“The shameless ones laughed because our Indians fired cohetes in honor of the first quarter of the moon.”
“I do not pay your Indians to pass their time in setting off fireworks.”
“It was the occasion of the Noble Feast of the Moon.”
“Yes, I know! The moon, and the stars, and the sun, and every Catholic festival as well! Your Indians do nothing but celebrate. They are lazy, and drunkards. I have stood them, so far because they were your friends, and you have always been a good servant, but this is too much.”
“The shameless sons of the West are not your servants. They do not love you....”
“No, but they work.”
“For nothing... They have no pride.
“They are the sons of dogs.”
“They earn their wages.... Your men, I keep out of charity!”
“Charity!” The Indian stepped back as if struck, and his hand, swung clear of the poncho, was lifted over his head as if in menace. Then it dropped and he strode to the door. But before opening it, he turned and spoke9 rapidly in Quichua, his eyes flaming. Then, throwing his poncho oyer his shoulder, he went out.
Maria-Teresa sat silent for a while, toying with her pencil.
“What did he say?” asked Dick.
“That he was going, and that I should never see him again.”
“He looked furious.”
“Oh, he is not dangerous. It is a way they have. He says he did everything he could to prevent the trouble.... He is a good man himself, but his gang are hopeless. You have no idea what a nuisance these Indians are. Proud as Lucifer, and as lazy as drones.... I shall never employ another one.”
“Wouldn’t that make trouble?”
“It might! But what else can I do? I can’t have all my coolies killed off like that.”
“And what of Huascar?”
“He will do as he pleases.... He was brought up in the place, and was devoted10 to my mother.”
“It must be hard for him to leave.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you wouldn’t do anything to keep him?”
“No.... Goodness, we are forgetting all about your uncle!” She rang, and a man came in. “Order the motor.... By the way, what are the Indians doing?”
“They’ve left with Huascar.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, se?orita.”
“Without saying a word?”
“Not a word, se?orita.”
“Who paid them off?”
“They refused to take any money. Huascar ordered them to.”
“And what of the Island coolies?”
“They have not been near the place.”
“But the dead man... and the wounded?”
“The Chinamen take them back to their own quarters.”
“Funny people.... Tell them to bring the motor round.”
While speaking she had put on a bonnet11, and now drew on her gloves.
“I shall drive,” she said to the liveried negro boy who brought round the car.
As they shot toward the Muelle Darsena, Dick admired the coolness with which she took the machine through the twisting streets. The boy, crouching12 at their feet, was evidently used to the speed, and showed no terror as they grazed walls and corners.
“Do you do a great deal of motoring out here?”
“No, not very much. The roads are too bad. I always use this to get from Callao to Lima, and there are one or two runs to the seaside, to places like Ancon or Carillos—just a minute, Dick.”
She stopped the car, and waved her hand to a curly gray head which had appeared at a window, between two flower pots. This head reappeared at a low door, on the shoulders of a gallant13 old gentleman in sumptuous14 uniform. Maria-Teresa jumped out of the motor, exchanged a few sentences with him, and then rejoined Dick again.
“That was the Chief of Police,” she explained. “I told him about that affair. There will be no trouble unless the Chinamen take legal proceedings15, which is not likely.”
They reached the steamers’ landing stage in time. The tugs16 had only just brought alongside the Pacific Steam Navigation Company’s liner, on board which Uncle Francis was still taking notes:—“On entering the port of Callao, one is struck, etc., etc.” He lost precious material by not being with Maria-Teresa as she enthusiastically descriRed “her harbor” to Dick.... Sixty millions spent in improvements... 50,000 square meters of docks.... How she loved it all for its commercial bustle17, for its constant coming and going of ships, for its intense life, and all it meant—the riches that would flow through it after the opening of the Panama Canal... the renascence of Peru.... Chili18 conquered and Santiago crushed... the defeat of 1878 avenged19... and San Francisco yonder had best look to itself!
Dick, listening to the girl at his side, was amazed to hear her give figures with as much authority as an engineer, estimate profits as surely as, a shipowner. What a splendid little brain it was, and how much better than that imaginative, dreaming type which he deplored20 both in men and women, a type exemplified by his uncle with all his chimeric21 hypotheses.
“It would all be so splendid,” she added, frowning, “if we only stopped making fools of ourselves. But we are always doing it.”
“In what way?”
“With our revolutions!”
They were now standing22 on the quay23, while the liner gradually swung in.
“Oh, are they at it here as well? We found one on in Venezuela, and then another at Guayaquil. The city was under martial24 law, and some general or other who had been in power for about forty-eight hours was preparing to march on Quito and wipe out the government.”
“Yes, it is like an epidemic25,” went on the young girl, “an epidemic which is sweeping26 the Andes just now. The news from Boloisa is worrying me, too. Things are bad round Lake Titicaca.”
“Not really! That’s a nuisance... not a cheerful outlook for my business in the Cuzco.” Dick was evidently put out by the news.
“I had not intended telling you about it until to-morrow. You must not think of unpleasant things to-day... all that district is in the hands of Garcia’s men now.”
“Who is Garcia?”
“Oh, one of my old suitors.”
“Has everybody in the country been in love with you, Maria-Teresa?”
“Well, I had the attraction of having been brought up abroad... at the first presidential ball I went to after mother’s death there was no getting rid of them.... Garcia was there. And now he has raised the revolt among the Arequipa and Cuzco Indians.... He wants Vointemilla’s place as president.”
“I suppose they have sent troops against them?”
“Oh, yes, the two armies are out there... but, of course, they are not fighting.”
“Why?”
“Because of the festival of the Interaymi.”
“And what on earth is that?”
“The Festival of the Sun.... You see, three quarters, of the troops on both sides are Indian.... So, of course, they get drunk together during the fêtes.... In the end, Garcia will be driven over the Boloisan border, but in the meantime he is playing the very mischief27 with fertilizer rates.”
She turned toward the liner again, and, catching28 sight of Uncle Francis, raised her hand in reply to the frantic29 waving of a notebook.
“How are you, Mr. Montgomery?” she cried. “Did you enjoy the crossing?”
The gangways were run out, and they went on board.
Mr. Montgomery’s first question was the same as had been his nephew’s.
“Well, and how is business?”
For all those who knew her in Europe had marveled at the change which had come over the “little girl” at her mother’s death, and her sudden determination to return to Peru and herself take charge of the family’s fertilizer business and concessions31. She had also been influenced in this decision by the fact that there were her little brother and sister, Isabella and Christobal, who needed her care. And finally there was her father, perhaps the greatest child of the three, who had always royally spent the money which his wife’s business brought in.
Maria-Teresa’s mother, the daughter of a big Liverpool shipowner, met the handsome Marquis de la Torre one summer when he was an attaché at the Peruvian legation in London. The following winter she went back to Peru with him. Inheriting a great deal of her father’s business acumen32, she made a great success of a guano concession30 which her husband had hitherto left unexploited.
At first the marquis protested vigorously that the wife of Christobal de la Torre should not work, but when he found that he could draw almost to any extent on an ever-replenishing exchequer33, he forgave her for making him so wealthy. Yet on his wife’s death did he find it surprising that Maria-Teresa should have inherited her abilities, and allowed the daughter to take over all the duties which had been the mother’s.
“And where is your father, my dear?” asked Uncle Francis, still with a wary34 eye on his luggage.
“He did not expect to see you until to-morrow. They are going to give you such a reception! The whole Geographical35 Society is turning out in your honor.”
When his luggage had been taken to the station, and he had personally supervised its registration36 for Lima, Uncle Francis at last consented to take a seat in the motor, and Maria-Teresa put on full speed, for she wished to reach home before the early tropical nightfall.
After passing a line of adobe37 houses and a few comfortable villas38, they came to a long stretch of marshy39 ground, overgrown with reeds and willows40, and spotted41 with clumps42 of banana trees and tamarisks, with here and there an eucalyptus43 or an araucaria pine. The whole countryside was burnt yellow by the sun, by a drought hardly ever relieved by a drop of rain, and which makes the campo round Lima and Callao anything but enchanting44. A little further along they passed some scattered45 bamboo and adobe huts.
This parched46 landscape would have been infinitely47 desolate48 had it not been relieved at intervals49 by the luxuriant growth surrounding some hacienda—sugar-cane, maize50 and rice plantations51, making a brilliant green oasis52 round the white farm buildings. The badly-built clay roads which crossed the highway were peopled by droves of cattle, heavy carts, and flocks of sheep which mounted shepherds were bringing back to the farms. And all this animation53 formed a strange contrast to the arid54 aspect of the surrounding country. In spite of the jolting55 shaking of the car over a poorly kept road, Uncle Francis kept taking notes, and even more notes. Soon, with the lower spurs of the Cordilleras, they saw on the horizon the spires56 and domes57 which make Lima look almost like a Mussulman city.
They were now running alongside the Rimac, a stream infested58 by crayfish. Negro fishermen were to be seen every few yards dragging behind them in the water sacks attached to their belts, and in which they threw their catch to keep it alive. Turning to comment on them, Dick noticed Maria-Teresa’s preoccupied59 air, and asked her the cause.
“It is very strange,” she said, “we have not met a single Indian.”
The motor was almost in Lima now, having reached the famous Ciudad de los Reyes, the City of Kings founded by the Conquistador. Maria-Teresa, who loved her Lima, and wished to show it off, made a detour60, swerving61 from the road and running a short distance along the stony62 Red of dried-up Rimac, careless of the risk to her tires.
Certainly the picturesque63 corner to which she brought them was worth the detour. The walls of the houses could hardly be seen, overgrown, as it were, with wooden galleries and balconies. Some of them were for all the world like finely carved boxes, adorned64 with a hundred arabesques—little rooms suspended in mid-air, with mysterious bars and trellised shutters65, and strongly reminiscent of Peru or Bagdad. Only here it was not rare to see women’s faces half hidden in the shadows, though in no way hiding. For the ladies of Lima are famed for their beauty and coquetry. They were to be seen here in the streets, wearing the manta, that fine black shawl which is wrapped round the head and shoulders and which no woman in South America uses with so much grace as the girl of Lima. Like the haik of the Mor, the manta hides all but two great dark eyes, but its wearer can, when she wishes, throw it aside just enough to give a sweet glimpse of harmonious66 features and a complexion67 made even more white by the provoking shadow of the veil. Dick had this amply proved to him, and seemed so interested that Maria-Teresa began to scold.
“They are far too attractive in those mantas,” she said. “I shall show you some Europeans now.”
She turned the car up an adjoining street, which brought them to the new city, to broad roads and avenues opening up splendid vistas68 of the distant Andes. They crossed the Paseo Amancaes, which is the heart of the Mayfair of Lima, and Maria-Teresa several times exchanged bows with friends and acquaintances. Here the black manta was replaced by Paris hats overdressed from the rue69 de la Paix, for its discreet70 shadow is too discreet to be correct at nightfall. It was the hour at which all fashionable Lima was driving or walking, or gossiping in the tearooms, where one loiters happily over helados in an atmosphere of chiffons, flirting71 and politics. When they reached the Plaza72 Mayor, the first stars had risen on the horizon. The crowd was dense73, and carriages advanced only at a walking pace. Women dressed as for the ball, with flowers in their dark curls, passed in open carriages. Young men grouped round a fountain in the center of the square, raised their hats and smiled into passing victorias.
“It really is strange,” murmured Maria-Teresa, “not an Indian in sight!”
“Do they generally come to this part of the city, then?”
“Yes, there are always some who come to watch the people come past....”
Standing in front of a café was a group of half-breeds, talking politics. One could distinctly hear the names of Garcia and Vointemilla, the president, neither of them treated over gently. One of the group, evidently a shopkeeper, was moaning his fears of a return to the era of pronunciamentos.
The car turned at the corner of the cathedral, and entered a rather narrow street. Seeing the way clear, Maria-Teresa put on speed only to pull up sharply a second later, just in time to avoid running down a man wrapped in a poncho, who stood motionless in the middle of the street. Both young people recognized him.
“Huascar!” exclaimed Maria-Teresa.
“Huascar, se?orita, who begs you to take another road.”
“The road is free to all, Huascar. Stand aside.”
“Huascar has nothing more to say to the se?orita. To pass, she must pass over Huascar.”
Dick half rose in his seat, as if to intervene, but Maria-Teresa put a hand on his sleeve.
“You behave very strangely, Huascar,” she said. “Why are there no Indians in the town to-day?”
“Huascar’s brethren do as they please, they are free men.”
She shrugged74 her shoulders, thought a moment, and began to turn the car round.
Before starting again, however, she spoke to the Indian, who had not moved.
“Are you always my friend, Huascar?”
For an answer, the Indian slowly raised his sombrero, and looked up to the early stars, as if calling them to witness. With a brief “Adios!” Maria-Teresa drove on.
When the motor stopped again, it was before a big house, the door-keeper of which rushed out to help his young mistress to alight. He was forestalled75, however, by the Marquis de la Torre himself, who had just driven up, and who greeted the two Montgomerys with delight. “Enter, se?or. This house is yours,” he said grandly to Uncle Francis.
The Marquis was a slim little gentleman of excessive smartness, dressed almost like a young man. When he moved and he was hardly ever still, he seemed to radiate brilliancy: from his eyes, his clothes, his jewels. But for all that, he was never undignified, and kept his grand manner without losing his vivacity76 in circumstances when others would have had to arm themselves with severity. Outside his club and the study of geographical questions he cared for nothing so much as romping77 with his son Christobal, a sturdy youngster of seven. At times one might have taken them for playmates on a holiday from the same school, filling the house with their noise, while little Isabella, who was nearly six, and loved ceremony, scolded them pompously78, after the manner of an Infanta.
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1
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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poncho
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| n.斗篷，雨衣 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chimeric
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| adj.妄想的，荒诞不经的 | |
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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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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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49
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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50
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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51
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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52
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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57
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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58
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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59
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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