She then led me to the kitchen at the end of the house. It was one of those roomy, old-fashioned kitchens still to be found in a few estancia houses built in colonial times, in which the fireplace, raised a foot or two above the floor, extends the whole width of the room. It was large and dimly lighted, the walls and rafters black with a century's smoke and abundantly festooned with sooty cobwebs; but a large, cheerful fire blazed on the hearth1, while before it stood a tall, gaunt woman engaged in cooking the supper and serving maté. This was Ramona, an old servant on the estancia.
There also sat my friend of the tangled2 tresses, which he had evidently succeeded in combing well out, for they now hung down quite smooth on his back and as long as a woman's hair. Another person was also seated near the fire, whose age might have been anything from twenty-five to forty-five, for he had, I think, a mixture of Indian blood in his veins3, and one of those smooth, dry, dark faces that change but little with age. He was an undersized, wiry-looking man with a small, intensely black moustache, but no whiskers or beard. He seemed to be a person of some consequence in the house, and when my conductress introduced him to me as “Don Hilario,” he rose to his feet and received me with a profound bow. In spite of his excessive politeness I conceived a feeling of distrust towards him from the moment I saw him; and this was because his small, watchful4 eyes were perpetually glancing at my face in a furtive5 manner, only to glance swiftly away again whenever I looked at him; for he seemed quite incapable6 of meeting the gaze of another. We drank maté and talked a little, but were not a lively party. Doña Demetria, though she sat with us, scarcely contributed a word to the conversation; while the long-haired man—Santos by name, and the only peon on the establishment—smoked his cigarette and sipped7 his maté in absolute silence.
Bony old Ramona at length dished up the supper and carried it out of the kitchen; we followed to the large living-room, where I had been before, and gathered round a small table; for these people, though apparently8 poverty-stricken, ate their meals after the manner of civilised beings. At the head of the table sat the fierce old white-haired man, staring at us out of his sunken eyes as we entered. Half rising from his seat, he mentioned to me to take a chair near him, then, addressing Don Hilario, who sat opposite, he said, “This is my son Calixto, just returned from the wars, where, as you know, he has greatly distinguished9 himself.”
Don Hilario rose and bowed gravely. Demetria took the other end of the table, while Santos and Ramona occupied the two remaining seats.
I was greatly relieved to find that the old man's mood had changed; there were no more wild outbursts like the one I had witnessed earlier in the evening; only occasionally he would fix his strange, burning eyes on me in a way that made me exceedingly uncomfortable. We began the meal with broth10, which we finished in silence; and while we ate, Don Hilario's swift glances incessantly11 flew from face to face; Demetria, pale and evidently ill at ease, keeping her eyes cast down all the time.
“Is there no wine this evening, Ramona?” asked the old man in querulous tones when the old woman rose to remove the broth basins.
“The master has not ordered me to put any on the table,” she replied with asperity12, and strongly emphasising the obnoxious13 word.
“What does this mean, Don Hilario?” said the old man, turning to his neighbour. “My son has just returned after a long absence; are we to have no wine for an occasion like this?”
Don Hilario, with a faint smile on his lips, drew a key from his pocket and passed it silently to Ramona. She rose, muttering, from the table and proceeded to unlock a cupboard, from which she took a bottle of wine. Then, going round the table, she poured out half a tumblerful for each person, excepting herself and Santos, who, to judge from his stolid14 countenance15, did not expect any.
“No, no,” said old Peralta, “give Santos wine, and pour yourself out a glass also, Ramona. You have both been good, faithful friends to me, and have nursed Calixto in his infancy16. It is right that you should drink his health and rejoice with us at his return.”
She obeyed with alacrity17, and old Santos' wooden face almost relaxed into a grin when he received his share of the purple fluid (I can scarcely call it juice) which maketh glad the heart of man.
Presently old Peralta raised his glass and fixed18 his fierce, insane eyes on me. “Calixto, my son, we will drink your health,” he said, “and may the curse of the Almighty19 fall on our enemies; may their bodies lie where they fall, till the hawks20 have consumed their flesh, and their bones have been trodden into dust by the cattle; and may their souls be tormented21 with everlasting22 fire.”
Silently they all raised their glasses to their lips, but when they set them down again, the points of Don Hilario's black moustache were raised as if by a smile, while Santos smacked23 his lips in token of enjoyment24.
After this ghastly toast nothing more was spoken by anyone at the table. In oppressive silence we consumed the roast and boiled meat set before us; for I dared not hazard even the most commonplace remark for fear of rousing my volcanic25 host into a mad eruption26. When we had finished eating, Demetria rose and brought her father a cigarette. It was the signal that supper was over; and immediately afterwards she left the room, followed by the two servants. Don Hilario politely offered me a cigarette and lit one for himself. For some minutes we smoked in silence, until the old man gradually dropped to sleep in his chair, after which we rose and went back to the kitchen. Even that sombre retreat now seemed cheerful after the silence and gloom of the dining-room. Presently Don Hilario got up, and, with many apologies for leaving me, explaining that he had been invited to assist at a dance at a neighbouring estancia, took himself off. Soon afterwards, though it was only about nine o'clock, I was shown to a room where a bed had been prepared for me. It was a large, musty-smelling apartment, almost empty, there being only my bed and a few tall, upright chairs bound with leather and black with age. The floor was tiled, and the ceiling was covered with a dusty canopy27 of cobwebs, on which flourished a numerous colony of long-legged house-spiders. I had no disposition28 to sleep at that early hour, and even envied Don Hilario, away enjoying himself with the Rocha beauties. My door, looking out to the front, was standing29 wide open; the full moon had just risen and was filling the night with its mystic splendour. Putting out my candle, for the house was now all dark and silent, I softly went out for a stroll. Under a clump30 of trees not far off I found an old rustic31 bench, and sat down on it; for the place was all such a tangled wilderness32 of great weeds that walking was scarcely practicable and very unpleasant.
The old, half-ruined house in the midst of the dusky desolation began to assume in the moonlight a singularly weird33 and ghost-like appearance. Near me on one side was an irregular row of poplar-trees, and the long, dark lines cast from them by the moon fell across a wide, open space where the rank-growing thorn-apples predominated. In the spaces between the broad bands made by the poplar-tree shadows, the foliage34 appeared of a dim, hoary35 blue, starred over with the white blossoms of this night-flowering weed. About these flowers several big, grey moths36 were hovering37, suddenly appearing out of the black shadows and when looked for, noiselessly vanishing again in their mysterious ghost-like manner. Not a sound disturbed the silence except the faint, melancholy38 trill of one small night-singing cicada from somewhere near—a faint, aerial voice that seemed to be wandering lost in infinite space, rising and floating away in its loneliness, while earth listened, hushed into preternatural stillness. Presently a large owl39 came noiselessly flying by, and, perching on the topmost boughs40 of a neighbouring tree, began hooting41 a succession of monotonous42 notes, sounding like the baying of a bloodhound at a vast distance. Another owl by and by responded from some far-off quarter, and the dreary43 duet was kept up for half an hour. Whenever one bird ceased his solemn boo-boo-boo-boo-boo, I found myself with stilled breath straining my sense to catch the answering notes, fearing to stir lest I should lose them. A phosphorescent gleam swept by close to my face, making me start at its sudden appearance, then passed away, trailing a line of faint light over the dusky weeds. The passing firefly served to remind me that I was not smoking, and the thought then occurred to me that a cigar might possibly have the effect of relieving me from the strange, indefinable feeling of depression that had come over me. I put my hand into my pocket and drew out a cigar, and bit the end off; but when about to strike a vesta on my matchbox, I shuddered44 and dropped my hand.
The very thought of striking a loud, exploding match was unendurable to me, so strangely nervous did I feel. Or possibly it was a superstitious45 mood I had fallen into. It seemed to me at that moment that I had somehow drifted into a region of mystery, peopled only by unearthly, fantastic beings. The people I had supped with did not seem like creatures of flesh and blood. The small, dark countenance of Don Hilario, with its shifty glances and Mephistophelian smile; Demetria's pale, sorrowful face; and the sunken, insane eyes of her old, white-haired father—were all about me in the moonlight and amongst the tangled greenery. I dared not move; I scarcely breathed; the very weeds with their pale, dusky leaves were like things that had a ghostly life. And while I was in this morbid46 condition of mind, with that irrational47 fear momentarily increasing on me, I saw at a distance of about thirty yards a dark object, which seemed to move, fluttering in an uncertain way towards me. I gazed intently on it, but it was motionless now, and appeared like a black, formless shadow within the shade of the trees. Presently it came again towards me, and, passing into the clear moonlight, revealed a human figure. It flitted across the bright space and was lost in the shade of other trees; but it still approached, a waving, fluttering figure, advancing and receding48, but always coming nearer. My blood turned cold in my veins; I could feel my hair standing up on my head, until, unable to endure the terrible suspense49 longer, I jumped up from my seat. A loud exclamation50 of terror came from the figure, and then I saw that it was Demetria. I stammered51 out an apology for frightening her by jumping up, and, finding that I had recognised her, she advanced to me.
“Ah, you are not asleep, señor,” said she quietly. “I saw you from my window come out here more than an hour ago. Finding you did not return, I began to grow anxious, and thought that, tired with your journey, you had fallen asleep out here. I came to wake you, and to warn you that it is very dangerous to lie sleeping with your face exposed to the full moon.”
I explained that I had felt restless and disinclined to sleep, regretted that I had caused her anxiety, and thanked her for her thoughtful kindness.
Instead of leaving me then, she sat quietly down on the bench. “Señor,” she said, “if it is your intention to continue your journey to-morrow, let me advise you not to do so. You can safely remain here for a few days, for in this sad house we have no visitors.”
I told her that, acting52 on Santa Coloma's advice, given to me before the fight, I was going on to the Lomas de Rocha to see a person named Florentino Blanco in that place, who would probably be able to procure53 me a passport from Montevideo.
“How fortunate it is that you have told me this!” she replied. “Every stranger now entering the Lomas is rigorously examined, and you could not possibly escape arrest if you went there. Remain with us, señor; it is a poor house, but we are well disposed towards you. To-morrow Santos shall go with a letter from you to Don Florentino, who is always ready to serve us, and he will do what you wish without seeking you.”
I thanked her warmly and accepted the offer of a refuge in her house. Somewhat to my surprise, she still remained seated on the bench. Presently she said:
“It is natural, señor, that you should not be glad to remain in a house so triste. But there will be no repetition of all you were obliged to endure on first entering it. Whenever my father sees a young man, a stranger to him, he receives him as he received you to-day, mistaking him for his son. After the first day, however, he loses all interest in the new face, becoming indifferent, and forgetting all he has said or imagined.”
This information relieved me, and I remarked that I supposed the loss of his son had been the cause of his malady54.
“You are right; let me tell you how it happened,” she replied. “For this estancia must seem to you a place unlike all others in the world, and it is only natural that a stranger should wish to know the reason of its sad condition. I know that I can speak without fear of these things to one who is a friend to Santa Coloma.”
“And to you, I hope, señorita,” I said.
“Thank you, señor. All my life has been spent here. When I was a child my brother went into the army, then my mother died, and I was left here alone, for the siege of Montevideo had begun and I could not go there. At length my father received a terrible wound in action and was brought here to die, as we thought. For months he lay on his bed, his life trembling in the balance. Our enemies triumphed at last; the siege was over, the Blanco leaders dead or driven into exile. My father had been one of the bravest officers in the Blanco forces, and could not hope to escape the general persecution55. They only waited for his recovery to arrest him and convey him to the capital, where, doubtless, he would have been shot. While he lay in this precarious56 condition every wrong and indignity57 was heaped upon us. Our horses were seized by the commander of the department, our cattle slaughtered58 or driven off and sold, while our house was searched for arms and visited every week by an officer who came to report on my father's health. One reason for this animosity was that Calixto, my brother, had escaped and maintained a guerilla war against the government on the Brazilian frontier. At length my father recovered so far from his wounds as to be able to creep out for an hour every day leaning on someone for support; then two armed men were sent to keep guard here to prevent his escape. We were thus living in continual dread59 when one day an officer came and produced a written order from the Comandante. He did not read it to me, but said it was an order for every person in the Rocha department to display a red flag on his house in token of rejoicing at a victory won by the government troops. I told him that we did not wish to disobey the Comandante's orders, but had no red flag in the house to hang up. He answered that he had brought one for that purpose with him. He unrolled it and fastened it to a pole; then, climbing to the roof of the house, he raised and made it fast there. Not satisfied with these insults, he ordered me to wake my father, who was sleeping, so that he also might see the flag over his house. My father came out leaning on my shoulder, and when he had cast up his eyes and seen the red flag he turned and cursed the officer. 'Go back,' he cried, 'to the dog, your master, and tell him that Colonel Peralta is still a Blanco in spite of your dishonourable flag. Tell that insolent60 slave of Brazil that when I was disabled I passed my sword on to my son Calixto, who knows how to use it, fighting for his country's independence.' The officer, who had mounted his horse by this time, laughed, and, tossing the order from the comandancia at our feet, bowed derisively61 and galloped62 away. My father picked up the paper and read these words: 'Let there be displayed on every house in this department a red flag, in token of joy at the happy tidings of a victory won by the government troops, in which that recreant63 son of the republic, the infamous64 assassin and traitor65, Calixto Peralta, was slain66!' Alas67, señor, loving his son above all things, hoping so much from him, and enfeebled by long suffering, my poor father could not resist this last blow. From that cruel moment he was deprived of reason; and to that calamity68 we owe it that he was not put to death and that our enemies ceased to persecute69 us.”
Demetria shed some tears when telling me this tragical70 story. Poor woman, she had said little or nothing about herself, yet how great and enduring must have been her grief. I was deeply moved, and, taking her hand, told her how deeply her sad story had pained me. Then she rose and bade me good night with a sad smile—sad, but the first smile that had visited her grief-clouded countenance since I had seen her. I could well imagine that even the sympathy of a stranger must have seemed sweet to her in that dreary isolation71.
After she left me I lit my cigar. The night had lost its ghostly character and my fantastic superstitions72 had vanished. I was back once more in the world of men and women, and could only think of the inhumanity of man to man, and of the infinite pain silently endured by many hearts in that Purple Land. The only mystery still unsolved in that ruinous estancia was Don Hilario, who locked up the wine and was called master with bitter irony73 by Ramona, and who had thought it necessary to apologise to me for depriving me of his precious company that evening.
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1
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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3
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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4
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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6
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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7
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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9
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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10
broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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14
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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15
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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16
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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17
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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18
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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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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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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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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25
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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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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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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37
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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41
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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42
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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44
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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45
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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46
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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47
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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48
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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49
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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50
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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51
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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53
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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54
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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55
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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56
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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57
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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58
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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59
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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60
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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61
derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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62
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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63
recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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64
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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65
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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66
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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67
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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68
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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69
persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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70
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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71
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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72
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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73
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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