After leaving John and Candelaria's home of liberty and love, nothing further worth recording1 happened till I had nearly reached the desired haven2 of the Lomas de Rocha, a place which I was, after all, never destined3 to see except from a great distance. A day unusually brilliant even for this bright climate was drawing to a close, it being within about two hours of sunset, when I turned out of my way to ascend4 a hill with a very long, ridge-like summit, falling away at one end, appearing like the last sierra of a range just where it dies down into the level plain; only in this instance the range itself did not exist. The solitary5 hill was covered with short tussocks of yellow, wiry grass, with occasional bushes, while near the summit large slabs6 of sandstone appeared just above the surface, looking like gravestones in some old village churchyard, with all their inscriptions7 obliterated8 by time and weather. From this elevation9, which was about a hundred feet above the plain, I wished to survey the country before me, for I was tired and hungry, so was my horse, and I was anxious to find a resting-place before night. Before me the country stretched away in vast undulations towards the ocean, which was not, however, in sight. Not the faintest stain of vapour appeared on the immense crystalline dome10 of heaven, while the stillness and transparency of the atmosphere seemed almost preternatural. A blue gleam of water, south-east of where I stood and many leagues distant, I took to be the lake of Rocha; on the western horizon were faint blue cloud-like masses with pearly peaks. They were not clouds, however, but the sierras of the range weirdly11 named Cuchilla de las Animas—Ghost-haunted Mountains. At length, like a person who puts his binocular into his pocket and begins to look about him, I recalled my vision from its wanderings over illimitable space to examine the objects close at hand. On the slope of the hill, sixty yards from my standpoint, were some deep green, dwarf12 bushes, each bush looking in that still brilliant sunshine as if it had been hewn out of a block of malachite; and on the pale purple solanaceous flowers covering them some humble-bees were feeding. It was the humming of the bees coming distinctly to my ears that first attracted my attention to the bushes; for so still was the atmosphere that at that distance apart—sixty yards—two persons might have conversed13 easily without raising their voices. Much farther down, about two hundred yards from the bushes, a harrier hawk14 stood on the ground, tearing at something it had captured, feeding in that savage15, suspicious manner usual with hawks16, with long pauses between the bites. Over the harrier hovered17 a brown milvago hawk, a vulture-like bird in its habits, that lives by picking up unconsidered trifles. Envious18 at the other's good fortune, or fearing, perhaps, that not even the crumbs19 or feathers of the feast were going to be left, it was persecuting20 the harrier by darting21 down at intervals22 with an angry cry and aiming a blow with its wing. The harrier methodically ducked its head each time its tormentor23 rushed down at it, after which it would tear its prey24 again in its uncomfortable manner. Farther away, in the depression running along at the foot of the hill, meandered25 a small stream so filled with aquatic26 grasses and plants that the water was quite concealed27, its course appearing like a vivid green snake, miles long, lying there basking28 in the sunshine. At the point of the stream nearest to me an old man was seated on the ground, apparently29 washing himself, for he was stooping over a little pool of water, while behind him stood his horse with patient, drooping30 head, occasionally switching off the flies with its tail. A mile farther on stood a dwelling31, which looked to me like an old estancia house, surrounded by large shade trees growing singly or in irregular clumps32. It was the only house near, but after gazing at it for some time I concluded that it was uninhabited. For even at that distance I could see plainly that there were no human beings moving about it, no horse or other domestic animal near, and there were certainly no hedges or enclosures of any description.
Slowly I went down the hill, and to the old man sitting beside the stream. I found him engaged in the seemingly difficult operation of disentangling a luxuriant crop of very long hair, which had somehow—possibly from long neglect—got itself into great confusion. He had dipped his head into the water, and with an old comb, boasting about seven or eight teeth, was laboriously34 and with infinite patience drawing out the long hairs, a very few at a time. After saluting35 him, I lit a cigarette, and, leaning on the neck of my horse, watched his efforts for some time with profound interest. He toiled36 away in silence for five or six minutes, then dipped his head in the water again, and, while carefully wringing37 the wet out, he remarked that my horse looked tired.
“Yes,” I replied; “so is his rider. Can you tell me who lives in that estancia?”
“My master,” he returned laconically38.
“Is he a good-hearted man—one who will give shelter to a stranger?” I asked.
He took a very long time to answer me, then said:
“He has nothing to say about such matters.”
Another long pause; then he shook his head and tapped his forehead significantly; after which he resumed his mermaid40 task.
“Demented?” said I.
After a long silence, for I was anxious not to irritate him with too much questioning, I ventured to remark:
“Well, they will not set the dogs on me, will they?”
He grinned, and said that it was an establishment without dogs.
I paid him for his information with a cigarette, which he took very readily, and seemed to think smoking a pleasant relief after his disentangling labours.
“An estancia without dogs, and where the master has nothing to say—that sounds strange,” I remarked tentatively, but he puffed43 on in silence.
“What is the name of the house?” I said, after remounting my horse.
“It is a house without a name,” he replied; and after this rather unsatisfactory interview I left him and slowly went on to the estancia.
On approaching the house I saw that there had formerly44 been a large plantation45 behind it, of which only a few dead stumps46 now remained, the ditches that had enclosed them being now nearly obliterated. The place was ruinous and overgrown with weeds. Dismounting, I led my horse along a narrow path through a perfect wilderness47 of wild sunflowers, horehound, red-weed, and thorn-apple, up to some poplar trees where there had once been a gate, of which only two or three broken posts remained standing48 in the ground. From the old gate the path ran on, still through weeds, to the door of the house, which was partly of stone and partly of red brick, with a very steep, sloping, tiled roof. Beside the ruined gate, leaning against a post, with the hot afternoon sun shining on her uncovered head, stood a woman in a rusty-black dress. She was about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, and had an unutterably weary, desponding expression on her face, which was colourless as marble, except for the purple stains under her large, dark eyes. She did not move when I approached her, but raised her sorrowful eyes to my face, apparently feeling little interest in my arrival.
“Señora, my horse is tired, and I am seeking for a resting-place; can I have shelter under your roof?”
“Yes, caballero; why not?” she returned in a voice even more significant of sorrow than her countenance50.
I thanked her, and waited for her to lead the way; but she still remained standing before me with eyes cast down, and a hesitating, troubled look on her face.
“Señora,” I began, “if a stranger's presence in the house would be inconvenient—”
“No, no, señor, it is not that,” she interrupted quickly. Then, sinking her voice almost to a whisper, she said: “Tell me, señor, have you come from the department of Florida? Have you—have you been at San Paulo?”
I hesitated a little, then answered that I had.
“On which side?” she asked quickly, with a strange eagerness in her voice.
“Ah, señora,” I returned, “why do you ask me, only a poor traveller who comes for a night's shelter, such a question—”
“Why? Perhaps for your good, señor. Remember, women are not like men—implacable. A shelter you shall have, señor; but it is best that I should know.”
“You are right,” I returned, “forgive me for not answering you at once. I was with Santa Coloma—the rebel.”
She held out her hand to me, but, before I could take it, withdrew it and, covering her face, began to cry. Presently recovering herself and turning towards the house, she asked me to follow.
Her gestures and tears had told me eloquently51 enough that she too belonged to the unhappy Blanco party.
“Have you, then, lost some relation in this fight, señora?” I asked.
“No, señor,” she replied; “but if our party had triumphed, perhaps deliverance would have come to me. Ah, no; I lost my relations long ago—all except my father. You shall know presently, when you see him, why our cruel enemies refrained from shedding his blood.”
By that time we had reached the house. There had once been a verandah to it, but this had long fallen away, leaving the walls, doors, and windows exposed to sun and rain. Lichen52 covered the stone walls, while, in the crevices53 and over the tiled roof, weeds and grass had flourished; but this vegetation had died with the summer heats and was now parched54 and yellow. She led me into a spacious55 room, so dimly lighted from the low door and one small window that it seemed quite dark to me coming from the bright sunlight. I stood for a few moments trying to accustom56 my eyes to the gloom, while she, advancing to the middle of the apartment, bent57 down and spoke58 to an aged33 man seated in a leather-bound easy-chair.
“Papa,” she said, “I have brought in a young man—a stranger who has asked for shelter under our roof. Welcome him, papa.”
Then she straightened herself, and, passing behind the chair, stood leaning on it, facing me.
“I wish you good day, señor,” I said, advancing with a little hesitation59.
There before me sat a tall, bent old man, wasted almost to a skeleton, with a grey, desolate60 face and long hair and beard of a silver whiteness. He was wrapped in a light-coloured poncho61, and wore a black skull-cap on his head. When I spoke he leant back in his seatand began scanning my face with strangely fierce, eager eyes, all the time twisting his long, thin fingers together in a nervous, excited manner.
“What, Calixto,” he exclaimed at length, “is this the way you come into my presence? Ha, you thought I would not recognise you! Down—down, boy, on your knees!”
I glanced at his daughter standing behind him; she was watching my face anxiously, and made a slight inclination62 with her head.
Taking this as an intimation to obey the old man's commands, I went down on my knees, and touched my lips to the hand he extended.
“May God give you grace, my son,” he said, with tremulous voice. Then he continued: “What, did you expect to find your old father blind then? I would know you amongst a thousand, Calixto. Ah, my son, my son, why have you kept away so long? Stand, my son, and let me embrace you.”
He rose up tottering63 from his chair and threw his arm about me; then, after gazing into my face for some moments, deliberately64 kissed me on both cheeks.
“Ha, Calixto,” he continued, putting his trembling hands upon my shoulders and gazing into my face out of his wild, sunken eyes, “do I need ask where you have been? Where should a Peralta be but in the smoke of the battle, in the midst of carnage, fighting for the Banda Orientál? I did not complain of your absence, Calixto—Demetria will tell you that I was patient through all these years, for I knew you would come back to me at last wearing the laurel wreath of victory. And I, Calixto, what have I worn, sitting here? A crown of nettles65! Yes, for a hundred years I have worn it—you are my witness, Demetria, my daughter, that I have worn this crown of stinging-nettles for a hundred years.”
He sank back, apparently exhausted66, in his chair, and I uttered a sigh of relief, thinking the interview was now over. But I was mistaken. His daughter placed a chair for me at his side. “Sit here, señor, and talk to my father, while I have your horse taken care of,” she whispered, and then quickly glided67 from the room. This was rather hard on me, I thought; but while whispering those few words she touched my hand lightly and turned her wistful eyes with a grateful look on mine, and I was glad for her sake that I had not blundered.
Presently the old man roused himself again and began talking eagerly, asking me a hundred wild questions, to which I was compelled to reply, still trying to keep up the character of the long-lost son just returned victorious68 from the wars.
“Tell me where you have fought and overcome the enemy,” he exclaimed, raising his voice almost to a scream. “Where have they flown from you like chaff69 before the wind?—where have you trodden them down under your horses' hoofs70?—name—name the places and the battles to me, Calixto?”
I felt strongly inclined just then to jump up and rush out of the room, so trying was this mad conversation to my nerves; but I thought of his daughter Demetria's white, pathetic face, and restrained the impulse. Then in sheer desperation I began to talk madly as himself. I thought I would make him sick of warlike subjects. Everywhere, I cried, we had defeated, slaughtered71, scattered72 to the four winds of heaven, the infamous73 Colorados. From the sea to the Brazilian frontier we have been victorious. With sword, lance, and bayonet we have stormed and taken every town from Tacuarembó to Montevideo. Every river from the Yaguaron to the Uruguay had run red with Colorado blood. In forests and sierras we had hunted them, flying like wild beasts from us; we had captured them in thousands, only to cut their throats, crucify them, blow them from guns, and tear them limb by limb to pieces with wild horses.
“Aha!” he shouted, his eyes sparkling, while he wildly clutched my arm with his skinny, claw-like hands, “did I not know—have I not said it? Did I not fight for a hundred years, wading75 through blood every day, and then at last send you forth76 to finish the battle? And every day our enemies came and shouted in my ears, 'Victory—victory!' They told me you were dead, Calixto—that their weapons had pierced you, that they had given your flesh to be devoured77 of wild dogs. And I shouted with laughter to hear them. I laughed in their faces, and clapped my hands and cried out, 'Prepare your throats for the sword, traitors78, slaves, assassins, for a Peralta—even Calixto, devoured of wild dogs—is coming to execute vengeance79! What, will God not leave one strong arm to strike at the tyrant's breast—one Peralta in all this land! Fly, miscreants80! Die, wretches81! He has risen from the grave—he has come back from hell, armed with hell-fire to burn your towns to ashes—to extirpate82 you utterly83 from the earth!'”
His thin, tremulous voice had risen towards the close of this mad speech to a reedy shriek84 that rang through the quiet, darkening house like the long, shrill85 cry of some water-fowl heard at night in the desolate marshes86.
Then he loosened his hold on my arm and dropped back moaning and shivering into his seat. His eyes closed, his whole frame trembled, and he looked like a person just recovering from an epileptic fit; then he seemed to sink to sleep. It was now getting quite dark, for the sun had been down some time, and it was with the greatest relief that I saw Doña Demetria gliding87 like a ghost into the room. She touched me on the arm and whispered, “Come, señor, he is asleep now.”
I followed her out into the fresh air, which had never seemed so fresh before; then, turning to me, she hurriedly whispered, “Remember, señor, that what you have told me is a secret. Say not one word of it to any other person here.”
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1
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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2
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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3
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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4
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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5
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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6
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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7
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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8
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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9
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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10
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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11
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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13
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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14
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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15
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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17
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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21
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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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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tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aquatic
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| adj.水生的，水栖的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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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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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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36
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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40
mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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41
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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42
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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44
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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46
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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47
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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48
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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49
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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50
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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51
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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52
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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53
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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54
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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55
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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56
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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57
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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58
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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59
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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60
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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61
poncho
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| n.斗篷，雨衣 | |
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62
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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63
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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64
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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65
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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66
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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67
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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68
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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69
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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70
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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73
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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74
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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75
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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76
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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78
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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79
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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80
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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81
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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82
extirpate
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| v.除尽，灭绝 | |
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83
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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84
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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85
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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86
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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87
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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