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diff --git a/31898-h/31898-h.htm b/31898-h/31898-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8904cea --- /dev/null +++ b/31898-h/31898-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6368 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Bright Shawl, by Joseph Hergesheimer, a Project Gutenberg eBook</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + .adbox p {text-align: left; margin: 0;} + .adbox p.section {border-top: solid 1px black;} + .center, .center p {text-align: center;} + .larger {font-size: large;} + .padtop {margin-top: 2em;} + .smcap i {font-variant: normal;} + div.adbox {border: solid 1px black; text-align: center; margin: auto; width: 20em; padding: .5em .5em .5em 1em;} + div.poem {text-align: center; width: 20em; margin: auto;} + h1,h2 {text-align: center;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em; clear: both;} + + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + div.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em;} + div.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bright Shawl, by Joseph Hergesheimer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Bright Shawl + +Author: Joseph Hergesheimer + +Release Date: April 6, 2010 [EBook #31898] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT SHAWL *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='center'> +<h1>THE<br /> +BRIGHT SHAWL</h1> +<p class='larger'><b>JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER</b></p> +<p class='padtop'>NEW YORK<br /> +ALFREDˇAˇKNOPF<br /> +1922</p> +<p class='padtop'><span class='smcap'>COPYRIGHT, 1922, by<br /> +ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc.</span></p> +<p><i>Published, October, 1922<br /> +Second Printing, October, 1922</i></p> +<p class='padtop'>Set up and electrotyped by the Vail-Ballou Co., Binghamton, N. Y.<br /> +Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York, N. Y.<br /> +Printed and bound by the Plimpton Press, Norwood, Mass.</p> +<p>MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p> <i>For<br /> +Hamilton and Phoebe Gilkyson junior<br /> + in their fine drawing-room<br /> + at Mont Clare</i></p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='adbox smcap'> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='center'><i>The Works Of Joseph Hergesheimer</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='center'><i>Novels</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>The Lay Anthony [1914]</p> +<p>Mountain Blood [1915]</p> +<p>The Three Black Pennys [1917]</p> +<p>Java Head [1918]</p> +<p>Linda Condon [1919]</p> +<p>Cytherea [1922]</p> +<p>The Bright Shawl [1922]</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='center'><i>Shorter Stories</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>Wild Oranges [1918]</p> +<p>Tubal Cain [1918]</p> +<p>The Dark Fleece [1918]</p> +<p>The Happy End [1919]</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='center'><i>Travel</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>San Cristobal de la Habana [1920]</p> +</div></div> +<p class='section center'><i>New York: Alfred A. Knopf</i></p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='THE_BRIGHT_SHAWL' id='THE_BRIGHT_SHAWL'></a> +<h2>THE BRIGHT SHAWL</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<p>When Howard Gage had gone, his +mother’s brother sat with his head +bowed in frowning thought. The +frown, however, was one of perplexity rather +than disapproval: he was wholly unable to comprehend +the younger man’s attitude toward his +experiences in the late war. The truth was, +Charles Abbott acknowledged, that he understood +nothing, nothing at all, about the present +young. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the thoroughly +absurd, the witless, things they constantly +did, dispensing with their actual years he would +have considered them the present aged. They +were so—well, so gloomy.</p> +<p>Yet, in view of the gaiety of the current parties, +the amounts of gin consumed, it wasn’t precisely +gloom that enveloped them. Charles Abbott +searched his mind for a definition, for light +on a subject dark to a degree beyond any mere +figure of speech. Yes, darkness particularly +described Howard. The satirical bitterness of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +his references to the “glorious victory in France” +was actually a little unbalanced. The impression +Abbott had received was of bestiality choked +in mud. His nephew was amazingly clear, +vivid and logical, in his memories and opinions; +they couldn’t, as he stated them in a kind of +frozen fury, be easily controverted.</p> +<p>What, above everything else, appeared to dominate +Howard Gage was a passion for reality, for +truth—all the unequivocal facts—in opposition +to a conventional or idealized statement. Particularly, +he regarded the slightest sentiment +with a suspicion that reached hatred. Abbott’s +thoughts centered about the word idealized; +there, he told himself, a ray of perception might +be cast into Howard’s obscurity; since the most +evident fact of all was that he cherished no ideals, +no sustaining vision of an ultimate dignity behind +men’s lives.</p> +<p>The boy, for example, was without patriotism; +or, at least, he hadn’t a trace of the emotional +loyalty that had fired the youth of Abbott’s day. +There was nothing sacrificial in Howard Gage’s +conception of life and duty, no allegiance outside +his immediate need. Selfish, Charles Abbott decided. +What upset him was the other’s coldness: +damn it, a young man had no business to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +be so literal! Youth was a time for generous +transforming passions, for heroics. The qualities +of absolute justice and consistency should +come only with increasing age—the inconsiderable +compensations for the other ability to be +rapt in uncritical enthusiasms.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott sighed and raised his head. +He was sitting in the formal narrow reception +room of his city house. The street outside was +narrow, too; it ran for only a square, an old +thoroughfare with old brick houses, once no more +than a service alley for the larger dwellings back +of which it ran. Now, perfectly retaining its +quietude, it had acquired a new dignity of residence: +because of its favorable, its exclusive, +situation, it was occupied by young married +people of highly desirable connections. Abbott, +well past sixty and single, was the only person +there of his age and condition.</p> +<p>October was advanced and, though it was +hardly past four in the afternoon, the golden +sunlight falling the length of the street was already +darkling with the faded day. A warm +glow enveloped the brick façades and the window +panes of aged, faintly iridescent glass; there was +a remote sound of automobile horns, the illusive +murmur of a city never, at its loudest, loud; and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +through the walls, the notes of a piano, charming +and melancholy.</p> +<p>After a little he could distinguish the air—it +was Liszt’s Spanish Rhapsody. The accent of +its measure, the jota, was at once perceptible and +immaterial; and overwhelmingly, through its +magic of suggestion, a blinding vision of his own +youth—so different from Howard’s—swept over +Charles Abbott. It was exactly as though, again +twenty-three, he were standing in the incandescent +sunlight of Havana; in, to be precise, the +Parque Isabel. This happened so suddenly, so +surprisingly, that it oppressed his heart; he +breathed with a sharpness which resembled a +gasp; the actuality around him was blurred as +though his eyes were slightly dazzled.</p> +<p>The playing continued intermittently, while +its power to stir him grew in an overwhelming +volume. He had had no idea that he was still +capable of such profound feeling, such emotion +spun, apparently, from the tunes only potent +with the young. He was confused—even, alone, +embarrassed—at the tightness of his throat, and +made a decided effort to regain a reasonable +mind. He turned again to the consideration +of Howard Gage, of his lack of ideals; and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +still in the flood of the re-created past, he saw, +in the difference between Howard and the boy +in Havana, what, for himself anyhow, was the +trouble with the present.</p> +<p>Yes, his premonition had been right—the +youth of today were without the high and romantic +causes the service of which had so +brightly colored his own early years. Not +patriotism alone but love had suffered; and +friendship, he was certain, had all but disappeared; +such friendship as had bound him to +Andrés Escobar. Andrés! Charles Abbott hadn’t +thought of him consciously for months. Now, +with the refrain of the piano, the jota, running +through his thoughts, Andrés was as real as he +had been forty years ago.</p> +<p>It was forty years almost to the month since +they had gone to the public ball, the danzón, in +the Tacon Theatre. That, however, was at the +close of the period which had recurred to him +like a flare in the dusk of the past. After the +danzón the blaze of his sheer fervency had been +reduced, cooled, to maturity. But not, even in +the peculiarly brutal circumstances of his transition, +sharply; only now Charles Abbott definitely +realized that he had left in Cuba, lost there, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +the illusions which were synonymous with his +young intensity.</p> +<p>After that nothing much had absorbed him, +very little had happened. In comparison with +the spectacular brilliancy of his beginning, the +remainder of life had seemed level if not actually +drab. Certainly the land to which he had returned +was dull against the vivid south, the +tropics. But he couldn’t go back to Havana, +he had felt, even after the Spanish Government +was expelled, any more than he could find in the +Plaza de Armas his own earlier self. The whole +desirable affair had been one—the figures of +his loves and detestations, the paseos and +glorietas and parques of the city, now, he had +heard, so changed, formed a unity destroyed by +the missing of any single element.</p> +<p>He wasn’t, though, specially considering himself, +but rather the sustaining beliefs that so +clearly marked the divergence between Howard’s +day and his own. This discovery, he felt, was +of deep importance, it explained so much that +was apparently inexplicable. Charles Abbott +asserted silently, dogmatically, that a failure of +spirit had occurred ... there was no longer such +supreme honor as Andrés Escobar’s. The dance +measure in the Spanish Rhapsody grew louder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +and more insistent, and through it he heard the +castanets of La Clavel, he saw the superb flame +of her body in the brutal magnificence of the +fringed mantón like Andalusia incarnate.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He had a vision of the shawl itself, and, once +more, seemed to feel the smooth dragging heaviness +of its embroidery. The burning square of +its colors unfolded before him, the incredible magentas, +the night blues and oranges and emerald +and vermilion, worked into broad peonies and +roses wreathed in leaves. And suddenly he felt +again that, not only prefiguring Spain, it was +symbolical of the youth, the time, that had gone. +Thus the past appeared to him, wrapped bright +and precious in the shawl of memory.</p> +<p>No woman that Howard Gage might dream of +could have worn La Clavel’s mantón; it would +have consumed her like a breath of fire, leaving +a white ash hardly more than distinguishable +from the present living actuality. Women cast +up a prodigious amount of smoke now, a most +noisy crackling, but Charles Abbott doubted the +blaze within them. Water had been thrown on +it. Their grace, too, the dancing about which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +they made such a stir,—not to compare it with La +Clavel’s but with no better than Pilar’s—was +hardly more than a rapid clumsy posturing. +Where was the young man now who could dance +for two hours without stopping on a spot scarcely +bigger than the rim of his silk hat?</p> +<p>Where, indeed, was the silk hat!</p> +<p>Even men’s clothes had suffered in the common +decline: black satin and gold, nicely cut +trousers, the propriety of pumps, had all vanished. +Charles Abbott recalled distinctly the +care with which he had assembled the clothing +to be taken to Cuba, the formal dress of evening, +with a plum-colored cape, and informal linens +for the tropical days. The shirt-maker had +filled his box with the finest procurable cambrics +and tallest stocks. Trivialities, yet they indicated +what had once been breeding; but now, +incredibly, that was regarded as trivial.</p> +<p>The Spanish Rhapsody had ceased, and the +sun was all but withdrawn from the street; +twilight was gathering, particularly in Charles +Abbott’s reception room. The gilded eagle of +the old American clock on the over-mantel seemed +almost to flutter its carved wings, the fragile rose +mahogany spinet held what light there was, but +the pair of small brocaded sofas had lost their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +severe definition. Charles Abbott’s emotion, as +well, subsided, its place taken by a concentrated +effort to put together the details of a scene which +had assumed, in his perplexity about Howard, a +present significance.</p> +<p>He heard, with a momentarily diverted attention, +the closing of the front door beyond, +women’s voices on the pavement and the changing +gears of a motor: Mrs. Vauxn and her +daughter were going out early for dinner. +They lived together—the girl had married into +the navy—and it was the former who played the +piano. The street, after their departure, was +silent again. How different it was from the +clamorous gaiety of Havana.</p> +<p>Not actual sickness, Charles Abbott proceeded, +but the delicacy of his lungs, following scarlet +fever, had taken him south. A banking associate +of his father’s, recommending Cuba, had, +at the same time, pointedly qualified his suggestion; +and this secondary consideration had determined +Charles on Havana. The banker had +added that Cuba was the most healthful place +he knew for anyone with no political attachments. +There political activity, more than an indiscretion, +was fatal. What did he mean? +Charles Abbott had asked; and the other had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +replied with a single ominous word, Spain.</p> +<p>There was, it was brought out, a growing +and potent, but secretive, spirit of rebellion +against the Government, to which Seville was +retaliating with the utmost open violence. This +was spread not so much through the people, the +country, at large, as it was concentrated in the +cities, in Santiago de Cuba and Havana; and +there it was practically limited to the younger +members of aristocratic families. Every week +boys—they were no more for all their sounding +pronunciamientos—were being murdered in the +fosses of Cabańas fortress. Women of the greatest +delicacy, suspected of sympathy with nationalistic +ideals, were thrown into the filthy pens of +town prostitutes. Everywhere a limitless system +of espionage was combating the gathering +of circles, tertulias, for the planning of a +Cuba liberated from a bloody and intolerable +tyranny.</p> +<p>Were these men, Charles pressed his query, +really as young as himself? Younger, some of +them, by five and six years. And they were shot +by a file of soldiers’ muskets? Eight students +at the university had been executed at +once for a disproved charge that they had +scrawled an insulting phrase on the glass +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +door of the tomb of a Cuban Volunteer. At +this the elder Abbott had looked so dubious that +Charles hastily abandoned his questioning. +Enough of that sort of thing had been shown; already +his mother was unalterably opposed to +Cuba; and there he intended at any price to go. +But those tragedies and reprisals, the champion +of his determination insisted, were limited, as he +had begun by saying, to the politically involved. +No more engaging or safer city than Havana existed +for the delight of young travelling Americans +with an equal amount of money and good +sense. He had proceeded to indicate the temperate +pleasures of Havana; but, then, Charles Abbott +had no ear for sensuous enjoyment. His +mind was filled by the other vision of heroic +youth dying for the ideal of liberty.</p> +<p>He had never before given Cuba, under Spanish +rule, a thought; but at a chance sentence it +dominated him completely; all his being had +been tinder for the spark of its romantic +spirit. This, naturally, he had carefully concealed +from his parents, for, during the days that +immediately followed, Cuba as a possibility was +continuously argued. Soon his father, basing +his decision on Charles’ gravity of character, +was in favor of the change; and in the end his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +mother, at whose prescience he wondered, was +overborne.</p> +<p>Well, he was for Havana! His cabin on the +Morro Castle was secured, that notable trunkful +of personal effects packed; and his father, greatly +to Charles’ surprise, outside all women’s knowledge, +gave him a small derringer with a handle +of mother-of-pearl. He was, now, the elder told +him, almost a man; and, while it was inconceivable +that he would have a use for the pistol, he +must accustom himself to such responsibility. +He wouldn’t need it; but if he did, there, with its +greased cartridges in their short ugly chambers, +it was. “Never shoot in a passion,” the excellent +advice went on; “only a cool hand is steady, +and remember that it hasn’t much range.” It +was for desperate necessity at a very short distance.</p> +<p>With the derringer lying newly in his grasp, his +eyes steadily on his father’s slightly anxious gaze, +Charles asseverated that he would faithfully attend +every instruction. At the identical moment +of this commitment he pictured himself firing +into the braided tunic of a beastly Spanish officer +and supporting a youthful Cuban patriot, +dying pallidly of wounds, in his free arm. The +Morro Castle hadn’t left its New York dock before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +he had determined just what part he would +take in the liberation of Cuba—he’d lead a hopeless +demonstration in the center of Havana, at +the hour when the city was its brightest and the +band playing most gaily; his voice, sharp like a +shot, so soon to be stilled in death, would stop +the insolence of music.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>This was not a tableau of self-glorification or +irresponsible youth, he proceeded; it was more +significant than a spirit of adventure. His determination +rested on the abstraction of liberty +for an oppressed people; he saw Cuba as a place +which, after great travail, would become the haunt +of perfect peace. That, Charles felt, was not +only a possibility but inevitable; he saw the forces +of life drawn up in such a manner—the good on +one side facing the bad on the other. There was +no mingling of the ranks, no grey; simply, conveniently, +black and white. And, in the end, the +white would completely triumph; it would be +victorious for the reason that heaven must reign +over hell. God was supreme.</p> +<p>Charles wasn’t at all religious, he came of a +blood which delegated to its women the rites and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +responsibilities of the church; but there was no +question in his mind, no doubt, of the Protestant +theological map; augustness lay concretely +behind the sky; hell was no mere mediæval fantasy. +He might ignore this in daily practice, yet +it held him within its potent if invisible barriers. +Charles Abbott believed it. The supremacy of +God, suspended above the wickedness of Spain, +would descend and crush it.</p> +<p>Ranged, therefore, squarely on the side of the +angels, mentally he swept forward in confidence, +sustained by the glitter of their invincible pinions. +The spending of his life, he thought, was a +necessary part of the consummation; somehow +without that his vision lost radiance. A great +price would be required, but the result—eternal +happiness on that island to which he was taking +linen suits in winter! Charles had a subconscious +conception of the heroic doctrine of the destruction +of the body for the soul’s salvation.</p> +<p>The Morro Castle, entering a wind like the +slashing of a stupendous dull grey sword, slowly +and uncomfortably steamed along her course. +Most of the passengers at once were seasick, and +either retired or collapsed in a leaden row under +the lee of the deck cabins. But this indisposition +didn’t touch Charles, and it pleased his sense +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +of dignity. He appeared, erect and capable, at +breakfast, and through the morning promenaded +the unsteady deck. He attended the gambling +in the smoking saloon, and listened gravely +to the fragmentary hymns attempted on Sunday.</p> +<p>These human activities were all definitely outside +him; charged with a higher purpose, he +watched them comprehendingly, his lips bearing +the shadow of a saddened smile; essentially he +was alone, isolated. Or at least he was at the +beginning of the four days’ journey—he kept colliding +with the rotund figure of a man wrapped +to the eyes in a heavy cloak until, finally, from +progressing in opposite directions, they fell +into step together. To Charles’ delight, the +other was a Cuban, Domingo Escobar, who lived +in Havana, on the Prado.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott learned this from the flourishing +card given in return for his own. Escobar +he found to be a man with a pleasant and considerate +disposition; indeed, he maintained a scrupulous +courtesy toward Charles far transcending +any he would have had, from a man so much +older, at home. Domingo Escobar, it developed, +had a grown son, Vincente, twenty-eight years +old; a boy perhaps Charles’ own age—no, Andrés +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +would be two, three, years younger; and Narcisa. +The latter, his daughter, Escobar, unashamed, +described as a budding white rose.</p> +<p>Charles wasn’t interested in that, his thoughts +were definitely turned from girls, however flower-like; +but he was engaged by Vincente and Andrés. +He asked a great many questions about +them, all tending to discover, if possible, the activity +of their patriotism. This, though, was a +subject which Domingo Escobar resolutely ignored.</p> +<p>Once, when Charles put a direct query with +relation to Spain in Cuba, the older man, +abruptly replying at a tangent, ignored his question. +It would be necessary to ask Andrés +Escobar himself. That he would have an opportunity +to do this was assured, for Andrés’ +parent, who knew the Abbotts’ banking friend +intimately, had told Charles with flattering sincerity +how welcome he would be at the Escobar +dwelling on the Prado.</p> +<p>The Prado, it began to be clear, of all the +possible places of residence in Havana, was the +best; the Escobars went to Paris when they +willed; and, altogether, Charles told himself, he +had made a very fortunate beginning. He +picked up, from various sources on the steamer, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +useful tags of knowledge about his destination:</p> +<p>The Inglaterra, to which he had been directed, +was a capital hotel, but outside the walls. Still, +the Calle del Prado, the Paseo there, were quite +gay; and before them was the sweep of the +Parque Isabel, where the band played. At the +Hotel St. Louis, next door, many of the Spanish +officers had their rooms, but at the hour of dinner +they gathered in the Café Dominica. The +Noble Havana was celebrated for its camarones—shrimps, +Charles learned—and the Tuileries, +at the juncture of Consulado and San Rafael +Streets, had a salon upstairs especially for +women. Most of his dinners, however, he would +get at the Restaurant Français, excellently kept +by François Garçon on Cuba Street, number +seventy-two.</p> +<p>There he would encounter the majority of +his young fellow countrymen in Havana; the +Café El Louvre would serve for sherbets after +the theatre, and the Aguila de Oro.... The +Plaza de Toros, of course, he would frequent: it +was on Belascoin Street near the sea. The afternoon +fights only were fashionable; the bulls +killed in the morning were no more than toro +del aguadiente. And the cockpit was at the +Valla de Gallo.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></div> +<p>There were other suggestions as well, put +mostly in the form of ribald inquiry; but toward +them Charles Abbott persisted in an attitude of +uncommunicative disdain. His mind, his whole +determination, had been singularly purified; he +had a sensation of remoteness from the flesh; his +purpose killed earthly desire. He thought of +himself now as dedicated to that: Charles reviewed +the comfortable amount of his letter of +credit, his personal qualifications, the derringer +mounted in mother-of-pearl, in the light of one +end. It annoyed him that he couldn’t, at once, +plunge into this with Domingo Escobar; but, +whenever he approached that ordinarily responsive +gentleman with anything political, he grew +morose and silent, or else, more maddening still, +deliberately put Charles’ interest aside. The +derringer, however, brought out an unexpected +and gratifying stir.</p> +<p>Escobar had stopped in Charles’ cabin, and +the latter, with a studied air of the casual, displayed +the weapon on his berth. “You must +throw it away,” Escobar exclaimed dramatically; +“at once, now, through the porthole.”</p> +<p>“I can’t do that,” Charles explained; “it was +a gift from my father; besides, I’m old enough +for such things.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div> +<p>“A gift from your father, perhaps,” the other +echoed; “but did he tell you, I wonder, how you +were going to get it into Cuba? Did he explain +what the Spanish officials would do if they found +you with a pistol? Dama de Caridad, do you +suppose Cuba is New York! The best you +could hope for would be deportation. Into the +sea with it.”</p> +<p>But this Charles Abbott refused to do, though +he would, he agreed, conceal it beyond the ingenuity +of Spain; and Escobar left him in a muttering +anger. Charles felt decidedly encouraged: +a palpable degree of excitement, of tense anticipation, +had been granted him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Yet his first actual breath of the tropics, of +Cuba, was very different, charged and surcharged +with magical peace: the steamer was enveloped +in an evening of ineffable lovely blueness. +The sun faded from the world of water +and left an ultramarine undulating flood with +depths of clear black, the sky was a tender gauze +of color which, as night approached, was sewn +with a glimmer that became curiously apparent, +seemingly nearby, stars. The air that brushed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +Charles’ cheek was slow and warm; its warmth +was fuller, heavier with potency, than any summer +he had known. Accelerating his imagination it +dissipated his energies; he lounged supine in his +chair, long past midnight, lulled by the slight +rise and fall of the sea, gathered up benignly +into the beauty above him.</p> +<p>Later he had to stir himself into the energy +of packing, for the Morro Castle was docking +early in the morning. He closed his bag +thoughtfully, the derringer on a shelf. Escobar +had spoken about it, warning him, again; and +it was apparent that no obvious place of concealment +would be sufficient. At last he hit on an +excellent expedient—he would suspend it inside +the leg of a trouser. He fell asleep, still saturated +with the placid blue immensity without, and +woke sharply, while it was still dark. But it was +past four, and he rose and dressed. The deck +was empty, deserted, and the light in the pilot +house showed a solitary intent countenance +under a glazed visor. There was, of course, no +sign of Cuba.</p> +<p>A wind freshened, it blew steadily with no +change of temperature, like none of the winds +with which he was familiar. It appeared to +blow the night away, astern. The caged light +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +grew dull, there were rifts in the darkness, +gleams over the tranquil sea, and the morning +opened like a flower sparkling in dew. The +limitless reach of the water flashed in silver +planes; miniature rainbows cascaded in the spray +at the steamer’s bow; a flight of sailing fish skittered +by the side. Far ahead there was a faint +silhouette, like the print of a tenuous green-grey +cloud, on the sea. It grew darker, bolder; and +Charles Abbott realized that it was an island.</p> +<p>Cuba came rapidly nearer; he could see now +that it wasn’t pale; its foliage was heavy, glossy, +almost sombre. The Morro Castle bore to the +left, but he was unable to make out an opening, +a possible city, on the coast. The water regained +its intense blue, at once transparent, clear, and +dyed with pigment. The other travellers were +all on deck: Charles moved toward Domingo +Escobar, but he eluded him. Undoubtedly +Escobar had the conjunction of the derringer +and the Spanish customs in mind. A general +uneasiness permeated the small throng; they conversed +with a forced triviality, or, sunk in +thought, said nothing.</p> +<p>Then, with the sudden drama of a crash of +brass, of an abruptly lifting curtain, they swung +into Havana harbor. Charles was simultaneously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +amazed at a great many things—the narrowness +of the entrance, the crowded ships in +what was no more than a rift of the sea, a long +pink fortress above him at the left, and the city, +Havana itself, immediately before him. His +utmost desire was satisfied by that first glimpse. +Why, he cried mentally, hadn’t he been told that +it was a city of white marble? That was the +impression it gave him—a miraculous whiteness, +a dream city, crowning the shining blue tide.</p> +<p>Every house was hung with balconies on long +shuttered windows, and everywhere were parks +and palms, tall palms with smooth pewter-like +trunks and short palms profusely leaved. Here, +then, white and green, was the place of his dedication; +he was a little dashed at its size and vigor +and brilliancy.</p> +<p>The steamer was scarcely moving when the +customs officials came on board; and, as the drift +ceased, a swarm of boats like scows with awnings +aft clustered about them. Hotel runners clambered +up the sides, and in an instant there was a +pandemonium of Spanish and disjointed English. +A man whose cap bore the sign Hotel +Telégrafo clutched Charles Abbott’s arm, but +he sharply drew away, repeating the single word, +“Inglaterra!” The porter of that hotel soon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +discovered him, and, with a fixed reassuring +smile, got together all the baggage for his guests.</p> +<p>Charles, instructed by Domingo Escobar, ignored +the demand for passports, and proceeded +to the boat indicated as the Inglaterra’s. It was +piled with luggage, practically awash; yet the +boatmen urged it ashore, to the custom house, in +a mad racing with the whole churning flotilla. +The rigor of the landing examination, Charles +thought impatiently, had been ridiculously exaggerated; +but, stepping into a hack, two men in +finely striped linen, carrying canes with green +tassels, peremptorily stopped him. Charles was +unable to grasp the intent of their rapid Spanish, +when one ran his hands dexterously over his +body. He explored the pockets, tapped Charles’ +back, and then drew aside. When, at last, he was +seated in the hack, the position of the derringer +was awkward, and carefully he shifted it.</p> +<p>An intimate view of Havana increased rather +than diminished its evident charms. The heat, +Charles found, though extreme, was less oppressive +than the dazzling light; the sun blazing on +white walls, on walls of primrose and cobalt, +in the wide verdant openings, positively blinded +him. He passed narrow streets over which awnings +were hung from house to house, statues, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +fountains, a broad way with files of unfamiliar +trees, and stopped with a clatter before the Inglaterra.</p> +<p>It faced on a broad covered pavement, an +arcade, along which, farther down, were companies +of small iron tables and chairs; and it was +so foreign to Charles, so fascinating, that he +stood lost in gazing. A hotel servant in white, +at his elbow, recalled the necessity of immediate +arrangements, and he went on into a high cool +corridor set with a marble flooring. At the office +he exchanged his passport for a solemn printed +warning and interminable succession of directions; +and then, climbing an impressive stair, he +was ushered into a room where the ceiling was so +far above him that once more he was overcome +by strangeness and surprise.</p> +<p>He unpacked slowly, with a gratifying sense +of the mature significance of his every gesture; +and, in the stone tub hidden by a curtain in a +corner, had a refreshing bath. There was a +single window rising from the tiled floor eight or +ten feet, and he opened double shutters, discovering +a shallow iron-railed balcony. Before him +was a squat yellow building with a wide complicated +façade; it reached back for a square, and +Charles decided that it was the Tacon Theatre. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +On the left was the Parque de Isabel, with its +grass plots and gravel walks, its trees and iron +settees, gathered about the statue of Isabel II.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott’s confidence left him little by +little; what had seemed so easy in New York, so +apparent, was uncertain with Havana about him. +The careless insolence of the inspectors with the +green-tasseled canes at once filled him with indignation +and depression. How was he to begin +his mission? Without a word of Spanish he +couldn’t even make it known. There was +Andrés Escobar to consider: his father had told +Charles that he knew a few words of English. +Meanwhile, hungry, he went down to the eleven +o’clock breakfast.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A ceremonious head waiter led him to a small +table by a long window on the Parque, where, +gazing hastily at the breakfasts around him, he +managed, with the assistance of his waiter’s +limited English, to repeat their principal features. +These were fruit and salads, coffee flavored +with salt, and French bread. Clear white +curtains swung at the window in a barely perceptible +current of air, and he had glimpses of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +expanse without, now veiled and now intolerably +brilliant. His dissatisfaction, doubts, vanished +in an extraordinary sense of well-being, or settled +importance and elegance. There were many +people in the dining-room, it was filled with the +unfamiliar sound of Spanish; the men, dark, +bearded and brilliant-eyed, in white linens, with +their excitable hands, specially engaged his attention, +for it was to them he was addressed.</p> +<p>The women he glanced over with a detached +and indulgent manner: they were, on the whole, +a little fatter than necessary; but their voices +were soft and their dress and jewels, even so +early in the day, nicely elaborate. All his interest +was directed to the Cubans present; other travellers, +like—or, rather, unlike—himself, Americans, +French and English, planning in their +loud several tongues the day’s excursions, or +breakfasting with gazes fastened on Hingray’s +English and Spanish Conversations, Charles +carefully ignored.</p> +<p>He felt, because of the depth of his own implication, +his passionate self-commitment, here, +infinitely superior to more casual, to blinder, +journeyings. He disliked the English arrogance, +the American clothes, and the suspicious parsimony +of the French. Outside, in the main corridor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +of the hotel, he paused undecided; practically +no one, he saw, in the Parque Isabel, was +walking; there was an unending broad stream of +single horse victorias for hire; but he couldn’t +ask any driver he saw to conduct him to the +heart of the Cuban party of liberty.</p> +<p>The strongest of all his recognitions was the +fact that he had no desire—but a marked distaste—for +sightseeing; he didn’t want to be identified, +in the eyes of Havana, with the circulating +throng of the superficially curious. In the end +he strolled away from the Inglaterra, to the left, +and discovered the Prado. It was a wide avenue +with the promenade in the center shaded by rows +of trees with small burnished leaves. There, he +remembered, was where the Escobars lived, and +he wondered which of the imposing dwellings, +blue or white, with sweeping pillars and carved +balconies and great iron-bound doors, was theirs. +He passed a fencing school and gymnasium; a +dilapidated theatre of wood pasted with old +French playbills; fountains with lions’ heads; +and came to the sea. It reached in an idyllic +and unstirred blue away to the flawless horizon, +with, on the rocks of its shore, a company of +parti-colored bath-houses. There was an old +fort, a gate—which, he could see, once formed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +part of the city wall—bearing on its top a row +of rusted and antiquated cannon. Slopes of +earth led down from the battery, and beyond he +entered a covered stone way with a parapet dropping +to the tranquil tide. After an open space, +the Maestranza, he came to a pretty walk; it was +the Paseo de Valdez, with trees, stone seats and +a rippling breeze.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott indolently examined an arch, +fallen into disrepair, erected, its tablet informed +him, by the corps of Royal Engineers. He sat on +a bench, saturated by the hot vivid peace; before +him reached the narrow entrance of the bay with, +on the farther hand, the long pink wall of the +Cabańas. A drift of military music came to him +from the fortress.... A great love for Havana +stirred in his heart; already, after only a few +hours, he was familiar, contented, there. It +seemed to Charles that he understood its spirit; +the beauty of palms and marble was what, in the +bleak north, all his life he had longed for. The +constriction of his breathing had vanished.</p> +<p>The necessity for an immediate and violent +action had lessened; he would, when the time +came, act; he was practically unlimited in days +and money. Charles decided, however, to begin +at once the study of Spanish; and he’d arrange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +for lessons at the Fencing School. Both of those +accomplishments were imperative to his final intention. +He lingered on the beach without an inclination +to move—he had been lower physically +than he realized. The heat increased, the breeze +and band stopped, and finally he rose and returned +to the Inglaterra. There the high cool +shadow of his room was so soothing that he fell +into a sound slumber and was waked only by a +pounding at his door past the middle of afternoon.</p> +<p>A servant tendered him a card that bore engraved +the name Andrés Escobar. He would see +Mr. Escobar, he sent word, as soon as he could +be dressed. And, choosing his garb in a mingling +of haste and particular care, he was permeated +by an indefinable excitement. Facing +Andrés, he had a sensation of his own clumsiness, +his inept attitude; for the other, younger than +he in appearance, was faultless in bearing: in +immaculately ironed linen, a lavender tie and +sprig of mimosa, he was an impressive figure of +the best fashion. But Andrés Escobar was far +more than that: his sensitive delicately modelled +dark face, the clear brown eyes and level lips, +were stamped with a superfine personality.</p> +<p>His English, as his father had said, was halting, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +confined to the merest formal phrases, but +his tones were warm with hospitality.</p> +<p>“It was polite of you to come so soon,” Charles +replied; “and your father was splendid to me on +the steamer.”</p> +<p>“How do you like Havana?” Andrés asked.</p> +<p>“I love it!” Charles Abbott exclaimed, in a +burst of enthusiasm, but of which, immediately +after, he was ashamed. “I was thinking this +morning,” he continued more stiffly, “when I +had hardly got here, how much at home I felt. +That’s funny, too; for it’s entirely different from +all I have known.”</p> +<p>“You like it!” Andrés Escobar reflected his +unreserved tone. “That’s good; I am very, very +glad. You must come to our house, Papa sends +you this.” He smiled delightfully.</p> +<p>They were standing, and Charles waved toward +the dining-room. “Suppose we go in there and +have a drink.” In Havana he continually +found himself in situations of the most gratifying +maturity—here he was, in the dining-room of +the Inglaterra Hotel, with a tall rum punch before +him, and a mature looking cigar. He was a +little doubtful about the latter, its length was formidable; +and he delayed lighting it until Andrés +had partly eclipsed himself in smoke. But, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +his private satisfaction, Charles enjoyed the cigar +completely.</p> +<p>He liked his companion enormously, noticing, +as they sat in a comfortable silence, fresh details: +Andrés’ hair, ink-black, grew in a peak on his +forehead; the silk case which held his cigars +was bound in gold; his narrow shoes were patent +leather with high heels. But what, above all +else, impressed Charles, was his evidently worldly +poise, the palpable air of experience that clung +to him. Andrés was at once younger and much +older than himself.</p> +<p>“How are you interested?” Andrés asked, +“in ... girls? I know some very nice ones.”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” Charles Abbott replied +decidedly; “the only thing I care for is politics +and the cause of justice and freedom.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Andrés Escobar gazed swiftly at the occupied +tables around them; not far away there was a +party of Spanish officers in loose short tunics and +blue trousers. Then, without commenting on +Charles’ assertion, he drank from his glass of +punch. “Some very nice girls,” he repeated. +Charles was overwhelmed with chagrin at his indiscretion; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +Andrés would think that he was a +babbling idiot. At the same time he was +slightly impatient: his faith in the dangers of +Havana had been shaken by the city’s aspect of +profound placidity, its air of unalloyed pleasure. +“You should know my friends,” Andrés went on +conversationally; “Remigio Florez, they are +great coffee planters, and Jaime—Jaime Quintara—and +Tirso Labrador. They will welcome you, +as I.”</p> +<p>Charles explained his intention of learning +Spanish, of fencing; and the other promised his +unreserved assistance. He would have a teacher +of languages sent to the hotel and himself take +Charles to the Fencing School. “Tomorrow,” +he promised. The drinks were finished, the +cigars consumed in long ashes, and Andrés Escobar +rose to go. As they walked toward the Paseo +the Cuban said, “You must be very careful, +liberty is a dangerous word; it is discussed only +in private; in our tertulia you may speak.” +He held out a straight forward palm. “We +shall be friends.”</p> +<p>Again in his room, Charles dwelt on Andrés, +conscious of the birth of a great liking, the +friendship the other had put into words. He +wanted to be like Andrés, as slender and graceful, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +with his hair in a peak and a worldly, contained +manner. Charles was thin, rather than +slender, more awkward than not; decidedly fragile +in appearance. And his experience of life +had been less than nothing. Yet he would make +up for this lack by the fervor of his attachment +to the cause of Cuba. He recalled all the stories +he knew of foreign soldiers heroic in an adopted +cause; that was an even more ideal form of service +than the natural attachment to a land of +birth.</p> +<p>He moved a chair out on his balcony, and +sat above the extended irregular roof of the +Tacon Theatre, watching the dusk flood the +white marble ways. The lengthening shadows of +the Parque blurred, joined in one; the façades +were golden and then dimly violet; the Gate of +Montserrat lost its boldness of outline. Cries +rose from the streets, “Cuidado! Cuidado!” and +“Narranjas, narranjas dulces.” The evening +news sheets were called in long falling inflections.</p> +<p>What surprised him was that, although he had +more than an ordinary affection for his home, +his father and mother, now, here, they were of +no importance, no reality, to him. He never, +except by an objective effort, gave the north, the +past, a thought. He was carried above personal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +relationships and familiar regard; at a blow his +old ties had been severed; the new held him in +the grip of their infinite possibilities. All the +petty things of self were obscured in the same +way that the individual aspects of the city below +him were being merged into one dignity of tone.</p> +<p>Yet, at the same time, his mood had a charming +reality—the suaveness of Andrés Escobar. +His, Charles Abbott’s, would be a select, an aristocratic, +fate; the end, when it overtook him, +would find him in beautiful snowy linens, dignified, +exclusive, to the last. His would be no +pot-house brawling. That was his double +necessity, the highest form of good in circumstances +of the first breeding. One, perhaps, to +his æsthetic fibre, was as important as the other. +And, dressing for dinner, he spoiled three shirts +in the exact right fixing of his studs.</p> +<p>In the dining-room, he pressed a liberal sum +of American money on the head waiter, and was +conducted to the table he had occupied at breakfast. +Everyone, practically, except some unspeakable +tourists, was in formal clothes; and +the conversations, the sparkling light, were like +the champagne everywhere evident. Charles +chose a Spanish wine, the Marquis de Riscal; +and prolonged his sitting over coffee and a cigar, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +a Partagas, like those in Andrés’ silk case. He +had never before tasted coffee with such a rich +thick savor, its fragrance alone, blending with the +blue smoke of his cigar, filled him with pleasure.</p> +<p>The room was long, tiled, and had, against +the far wall, a great mirror which held in reverse +the gay sweep of the tables, the heavily powdered +shoulders of women, the prismatic flashes of +diamonds and men’s animated faces. The reflections +were almost as fascinating as the reality, +and Charles gazed from one to the other.</p> +<p>Drinking, he saw, was universal, but none of +the Cubans were drunk; and for that reason his +attention was held by two men at the table next +to his: the waiter had left a bottle of brandy, and +the individual facing Charles, with a sallow face +from which depended, like a curtain, a square-cut +black beard, was filling and refilling his +thimble-sized glass. He was watching, with a +shifting intentness of gaze, all who entered; and +suddenly, as Charles’ eyes were on him, he put +down his half-lifted brandy and a hand went +under the fold of his coat.</p> +<p>Charles turned, involuntarily, and saw a +small immaculate Cuban with grey hair and a +ribband in his buttonhole advancing among the +tables. He was a man of distinguished appearance, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +important it was evident, for a marked +number of people bowed as he passed. When he +had gone on, the bearded individual rose, swaying +slightly, and, with his hand still in his coat +rapidly overtook the other.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott had an impulse to cry out; +but, oppressed by a sense of helpless dread, impending +disaster, without a sound or power of +movement he followed the course of the second +figure. The two were now at the end of the +dining-room, close to the mirror, when the man +with the decoration stopped and turned sharply. +There was the sudden stabbing report of a pistol, +and, immediately following, a loud splintering +crash. Charles had the crazy illusion that a +man who had been shot was made of china, and +would be found in broken bits on the floor.</p> +<p>There was an instantaneous hysterical uproar, +dominated by the screams of women; in the panic +which rose there was a rush for the entrance, a +swirl of tearing satin and black dress coats. +Then, even before he heard the concerted derisive +amazement, Charles realized that, dazed +by the brandy, the intended murderer had fired +at the reflection of his mark in the glass.</p> +<p>What an utterly ridiculous error; and yet his +hands were wet and cold, his heart pounding. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +Something of the masking gaiety, the appearance +of innocent high spirits, was stripped from +the dining-room of the Inglaterra, from Havana. +There was an imperative need for Andrés Escobar’s +caution. Charles’ equanimity returned: +with a steady hand he poured out more coffee. +He was ashamed of his emotion; but, by heaven, +that was the first of such violence he had witnessed; +he knew that it happened, to a large +degree its possibility had brought him to Cuba; +yet directly before him, in a square beard and +a decorating ribband!... On the floor were the +torn painted gauze and broken ivory sticks of a +woman’s fan.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The echo of that futile shot followed Charles +Abbott to the Escobars’, where, because of the +often repeated names of its principals, he recognized +that the affair was being minutely discussed. +The room in which they sat was octagonal, +with the high panels of its walls no more +than frames for towering glass doors set in +dark wood; above were serrated openings, Eastern +in form, and the doors were supported by +paired columns of glacial white marble. It was +entered through a long corridor of pillars capped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +in black onyx with wicker chairs, a tiling laid in +arabesques and potted palms; and opposite was +the balcony over the Prado. A chandelier of +crystal, hanging by a chain from the remote ceiling, +with a frosted sparkle like an illuminated +wedding cake, unaffected by prismatic green and +red flashes, filled the interior with a chilly brightness. +The chairs of pale gilt set in a circle, +the marble pattern of the floor, the dark heads +of the Escobars, looked as though they were +bathed in a vitreous fluid preserving them in a +hard pallor forever.</p> +<p>But it was cool; the beginning constant night +breeze fluttered the window curtains and swayed +the pennants of smoke from the cigars. Domingo +Escobar finished what was evidently a +satirical period with a decisive clearing of his +throat—a-ha! He was a small rotund man with +a gigantic moustache laid without a brown hair +misplaced over a mouth kindly and petulant. +His wife, Carmita, obese with indulgent indolence, +her placid expression faintly acid, +waved a little hand, like a blanched almond, indicative +of her endless surprise at the clamor of +men. Andrés was silent, immobile, faultless in +a severity of black and white.</p> +<p>Charles had begun to admire him inordinately: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +above everything, Andrés possessed a simple +warmness of heart, a generosity of emotion, +together with a fastidious mind. Fortunate +combination. And his person, his gestures +and flashing speech, his brooding, were invested +by an intangible quality of romance; +whatever he did was absorbing, dramatic and—and +fateful. He was a trifle aloof, in spite of +his impulsive humanity, a thought withdrawn as +though by a shadow that might have been but +his unfailing dignity.</p> +<p>Charles’ gaze wandered from him to Narcisa, +who, Domingo Escobar had said, resembled a +flower bud. As she sat in pale yellow ruffles, +with her slim hands clasped and her composed +face framed in a wide dense stream of hair, she +was decidedly fetching. Or, rather, she gave promise +of charm; at present, she was too young to engage +him in any considerable degree. Narcisa, he +concluded, was fourteen. At very long intervals +she looked up and he caught a lustrous, momentary +interrogation of big black eyes. A very +satisfactory sister for Andrés Escobar to have; +and, wondering at the absence of Vincente, the eldest +son, Charles asked Andrés about his brother.</p> +<p>A marked constraint was immediately visible +in the family around him. Vincente, he was informed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +abruptly, was out of Havana, he had +had to go to Matanzas. Later, on the balcony +over the Prado, Andrés added an absorbing detail. +“Vincente, we think, is in the Party of +Liberation. But you must say nothing. I do +not know, Vincente will not speak; but mama has +noticed the gendarmes in front of the house, and +when she drives.”</p> +<p>“I should like to talk to him,” Charles Abbott +declared; “you must arrange it for me. Look +here, there’s nobody around, I might as well tell +you that’s why I came to Cuba, to fight the cursed +Spanish. I’m—I’m serious, there’s nothing I +wouldn’t do; and if I have to be killed, why, I +am ready for that. It’s all worked out in my +head, except some petty little details. Cuba +ought to be free; this oppression is horrible, like +a spell on you—you’re all afraid to more than +whisper—that must be broken. It must! I +have a good little bit of money and I can get +more. You’ve got to help me.”</p> +<p>Andrés clasped his hand. “That is wonderful!” +His lowered exclamation vibrated with +feeling. “How can you have such nobility! +I am given to it, and Jaime and Remigio Florez +and Tirso. But we are going to wait, we think +that is better; Spain shall pay us when the time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +comes. Those students, eight of them, who were +shot, were well known to us. They put them +against a wall by the prison and fired. You could +hear it clearly. But, when we are ready, the +Spanish Volunteers—” hatred closed his throat, +drew him up rigidly. “Not yet,” he insisted; +“this shall be different, forever. Perhaps your +country will help us then.”</p> +<p>Charles was increasingly impatient; he +couldn’t, he felt, wait, delay his gesture for freedom. +He conceived the idea that he might kill +the Captain-General of Spain in Cuba, shoot +him from the step of his carriage and cry that it +was a memorial of the innocent boys he had murdered. +Andrés dissuaded him; it would, he +said, only make the conditions of living more +difficult, harsh, put off the other, the final, consummation.</p> +<p>Below, on the promenade, the rows of gas +lamps shone wanly through the close leaves of +the India laurels; there was a ceaseless sauntering +throng of men; then, from the Plaza de +Armas, there was the hollow rattat of drums, of +tattoo. It was nine o’clock. The night was +magnificent, and Charles Abbott was choked by +his emotions; it seemed to him that his heart +must burst with its expanding desire of heroic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +good. He had left the earth for cloudy glories, +his blood turned to a silver essence distilled in +ethereal honor; he was no longer a body, but a +vow, a purpose.</p> +<p>One thing, in a surpassing humility, he decided, +and turned to Andrés. “Very well, if you +think the other is best. Listen to me: I swear +never to leave Cuba, never to have a different +thought or a hope, never to consider myself at all, +until you are free.”</p> +<p>The intent face of Andrés Escobar, dim in the +gloom of the balcony, was like a holy seal upon +his dedication. A clatter of hoofs rose from below—the +passage of a squad of the gendarmes +on grey horses, their white coats a chalky glimmer +in the night. Andrés and Charles watched +them until they vanished toward the Parque +Isabel; then Andrés swore, softly.</p> +<p>Again in his room at the Inglaterra Charles +speculated about the complications of his determination +to stay in Cuba until it was liberated +from Spain. That, he began to realize, might +require years. Questions far more difficult rose +than any created by a mere immediate sacrifice; +the attitude of his father, for example; he, conceivably, +would try to force him home, shut off +the supply of money. Meanwhile, since the Inglaterra +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +was quite expensive, he would move to a +less pretentious place. And, in the morning, +Charles installed himself at the Hotel San Felipe, +kept on Ancha del Norte Street, near the bay, by +a German woman.</p> +<p>His room was on the top floor, on, really, a +gallery leading to the open roof that was much +frequented after dinner in a cooling air which +bore the restrained masculine chords of guitars. +On the right he could see the flares of Morro +Castle, and, farther, the western coast lying black +on the sea. He had his room there, and the first +breakfast, but his formal breakfast and dinner he +took at the Restaurant Français, the Aguila +d’Oro, or the Café Dominica. Late, with Andrés +and their circle, their tertulia, Charles would idle +at the El Louvre over ice-cream or the sherbets +called helados in Havana. On such occasions +they talked with a studied audible care of the +most frivolous things; while Charles cherished +close at heart the sensation of their dangerous +secret and patient wisdom, the assurance that +some day their sacred resolution would like +lightning shatter their pretence of docility.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></div> +<p>Yet, in spite of the dark texture of their minds, +they were, at times, casually happy, intent, together, +on mundane affairs. They were, all +five, inseparable: Jaime Quintara, the eldest, +was even more of an exquisite than Andrés; he +imported his lemon-colored gloves by the box +from Paris, where they were made to his measure; +and in them, it was the common jest, he went to +bed. He was almost fat, with absurdly small +feet and a perceptible moustache. In addition, +he was in love with a public girl who lived on +Gloria Street; altogether he was a man of the +world. Remigio Florez was absolutely different: +the son of a great coffee estate in Pinar del +Rio, of limitless riches, he was still simple and +unaffected, short, with a round cheerful face and +innocent lips. Tirso Labrador was tall and +heavy, he had the carriage of a cavalry officer, +a dragoon; and, slow mentally, his chief characteristic +was a remarkable steadfastness, a loyalty +of friendship, admiration, for his more brilliant +companions. Tirso Labrador was very strong, +and it was his boast, when they were alone, that +he intended to choke a Spaniard slowly to death +with his naked hands.</p> +<p>Except, however, for the evening, Charles was +rarely idle; upheld by his fervor he studied +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +Spanish with an instructor through most of the +morning, and rode or fenced in the sala in the +afternoon. His knowledge of Spanish, supplemented +by his friends, grew rapidly; he had, his +teacher declared, a very special aptitude for the +language. Domingo Escobar got great delight +from throwing sentences, queries, at him with inconceivable +rapidity, and in pretending that every +reply Charles attempted was senseless.</p> +<p>Narcisa, when he was present, contrived to sit +with her gaze on her hands folded in her ruffled +lap and to lift her widely opened eyes for breathless +interrogations. She was, Charles was forced +to admit, notably pretty; in fact, for a little girl, +she was a beauty. Now if she had been thirty +he might have had a hopeless passion for her, +hopeless not because she failed to return it, but +for the reason that he was a man without a +future—some day, they both knew, he would +desert love for stark death.</p> +<p>They went, Charles and Andrés, Tirso and +Remigio and Jaime, to the Tacon Theatre for +every play, where they occupied a box in the first +row, the primer piso, and lounged, between the +acts, on the velvet rail with their high silk hats +and canes and boutonničres. At times there were +capital troupes of players and dancers from Andalusia, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +and the evening was well spent. They +liked, too, the zarzuelas, the operettas of one act, +largely improvised with local allusions. But they +most warmly applauded the dancers.</p> +<p>One, La Clavel, from Seville, had been announced +by posters all over the city; and, at the +moment she appeared on the Tacon stage, Tirso +had his heavy arm about Remigio’s shoulders, +Jaime’s gloved hands were draped over his cane, +and Charles was sitting in the rear of the box +with Andrés. The orchestra began a sharply +accented dance measure—it was a jota—and a +lithe figure in a mantón of blazing silks and a +raked black felt hat made a sultry bow.</p> +<p>La Clavel was indolent; she tapped a heel +and sounded her castanets experimentally; a +reminiscent smile hovered on the sombre beauty +of her face. Suddenly Charles’ attention was +wholly captured by the dancer; he leaned forward, +gazing over Remigio’s shoulder, vaguely +conscious of the sound of guitars and suppressed +drums, the insistent ring of a triangle. She +stamped her foot now, and the castanets were +sharp, exasperated. Then slowly she began to +dance.</p> +<p>She wove a design of simple grace with her +hips still and her arms lifted and swaying; she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +leaned back, her eyes, under the slanted brim of +her hat, half closed; and her movements, the +rhythm, grew more pronounced. Through the +music Charles could hear the stamp of her heels, +the augmented shrilling of the castanets. Her +fire increased; there were great scarlet peonies +on her shawl, and they fluttered as though they +were troubled by a rising wind. La Clavel +swept in a widening circle on her hips, and her +arms were now extended and now thrust down +rigidly behind her.</p> +<p>She dominated the cruel colors of her shawl +with a savage intensity that made them but the +expressions of her feelings—the scarlet and magenta +and burning orange and blue were her +visible moods, her capriciousness and contempt +and variability and searing passion. Her hat +was flung across the stage, and, with her bound +hair shaking loose from its high shell comb, she +swept into an appalling fury, a tormented human +flame, of ecstasy. When Charles Abbott felt that +he could support it no longer, suddenly she was, +apparently, frozen in the immobility of a stone; +the knotted fringe of her mantón hung without +a quiver.</p> +<p>An uproar of applause rose from the theatre, +a confusion of cries, of Olé! Olé! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +Anda! Anda! Chiquella! A flight of +men’s hats sailed like birds around her. Jaime +Quintara pounded his cane until it broke, and, +with the others, Charles shouted his unrestrained +Spanish approbation. They crowded into the +front of the box, intent on every movement, every +aspect, of the dancer. Afterwards, at the Tuileries, +Andrés expressed their concerted feeling:</p> +<p>“The most magnificent woman alive!”</p> +<p>Jaime went across the café to speak to a man +who had a connection with the Tacon Theatre. +He returned with an assortment of information—La +Clavel was staying at the St. Louis; she would +be in Havana for a month; and she had been seen +with Captain Ceaza y Santacilla, of the regiment +of Isabel II. This latter fact cast them into a +gloom; and Remigio Florez so far broke the ban +of sustained caution as to swear, in the name of +the Lady of Caridad, at Santacilla and his kind.</p> +<p>Nothing, though, could reduce their enthusiasm +for La Clavel; they worshipped her severally +and together, discussing to the last shading +her every characteristic. She was young, but already +the greatest dancer the world had—would +ever have, Charles added. And Andrés was instructed +to secure the box for her every appearance +in Havana; they must learn, they decided, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +if she were to dance in Santiago de Cuba, in +Mexico City, Rio de Janeiro, Lima, in Cathay. +They, if it were mortally possible, would be +present. Meanwhile none of them was to take +advantage of the others in the contingency that +she should miraculously come to love him. +That incredible happiness the individual must +sacrifice to his friendship, to his oath above all +other oaths—Cuba. The country’s name was not +spoken, but it was entirely understood.</p> +<p>They were seated on the lower floor, by the +stairs which led up to the salon for women; and, +sharply, Charles grasped Andrés’ arm. Passing +them was a slender woman muffled in a black +silk capote, with no hat to cover the intricate +mass of her hair piled against a high comb. Behind +her strode a Spanish officer of cavalry, his +burnished scabbard hooked on his belt against its +silver chain; short, with a thick sanguine neck +above the band of his tunic, he had morose pale +blue eyes and the red hair of compounded but +distinct bloods.</p> +<p>“La Clavel,” Charles whispered; “and it must +be that filthy captain, Santacilla, with her.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>Seated on the roof of the Hotel San Felipe, +the night’s trade wind faintly vibrant with +steel strings, Charles Abbott thought at length +about La Clavel. Two weeks had passed since +she first danced at the Tacon Theatre; she +had appeared on the stage three times afterward; +and she was a great success, a prodigious favorite, +in Havana. Charles and Andrés, Jaime and +Remigio and Tirso Labrador, had, frankly, become +infatuated with her; and it was this feeling +which Charles, at present, was examining. If +it endangered the other, his dedication to an ordeal +of right, he had decided, he must resolutely +put the dancer wholly outside his consideration.</p> +<p>This, he hoped, would not be necessary: his +feeling for La Clavel lay in the realm of the impersonal. +It was, in fact, parallel with the other +supreme cause. La Clavel was a glittering thing +of beauty, the perfection of all that in a happier +world, an Elysium—life and romance might be. +He regarded her in a mood of decided melancholy +as something greatly desirable and never to be +grasped. When she danced his every sensibility +was intensified; life, for the moment, was immeasurably +lovely, flooded with lyrical splendor, +vivid with gorgeous color and aching happiness. +Charles’ pleasure in every circumstance of being +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +was acutely expanded—his affection for Andrés, +the charm of Havana, the dignity of his impending +fate.</p> +<p>Ordinarily he would not have been content +with this; he would have striven to turn such +abstractions into the concrete of an actual experience. +But now an unusual wisdom held him intent +on the vision; that, he recognized, was real; +but what the reality, the woman herself, was, +who could be sure? No, he wasn’t in love with +La Clavel in the accepted sense of that indefinite +term; he was the slave of the illusion, the emotions, +she spun; he adored her as the goddess of +his youth and aspirations.</p> +<p>He tried to explain this, in halting and inadequate +Spanish, to his tertulia; and because of his +spirit rather than his words, his friends understood +him. They were standing by the marble +statue of Ferdinand VII in the Plaza de Armas, +waiting for the ceremony of Retrata, to begin in +a few moments. The square was made of four +gardens, separated by formal walks, with a circular +glorieta; and the gardens, the royal palms +and banyans and flambeau trees, were palely +lighted by gas lamps which showed, too, the circling +procession of carriages about the Plaza. +The square itself was filled with sauntering men, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +a shifting pattern of white linens, broad hats and +glimmering cigars, diversified by the uniforms of +Spain.</p> +<p>At eight o’clock a sergeant’s guard and the +band marched smartly into position before the +Governor-General’s palace, where they stood at +rest until the drums of the barracks announced +retreat. Then, at attention, the gun of El Morro +sounded, and the band swept into the strains of +Philemon et Baucis.</p> +<p>Jaime Quintara smiled sceptically at Charles’ +periods: Platonic sentiments might satisfy Abbott, +he declared, but for himself.... At this, +Remigio insisted on their moving out to inspect +the carriages. They were, for the most part, +quitrins, drawn with two horses, one outside the +shafts ridden by a calesero in crimson velvet +laced with gold and a glazed hat. The quitrins +had two wheels, a leather hood strapped back, +and held three passengers by means of a small +additional seat, called, Andrés explained, la +nińa bonita, where the prettiest woman was invariably +placed. None of the women wore hats, +but they were nearly all veiled, and the carriages +were burdened with seductive figures in wide +dresses of perfumed white waving slow fans.</p> +<p>There was, however, little conversation between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +the men on foot and the women carefully +cultivating expressions of remote unconcern. +Rarely, if she were accompanied by a masculine +member of her family, a woman came to earth +for a short stroll in the gardens. Charles was +absolutely inattentive to them, but his companions, +particularly Tirso and Jaime, noted and, +with dismaying freedom, commented on every +feminine detail that struck their fancy. It was +Tirso who excitedly called their attention to one +of the new volantas in which sat La Clavel. +Ceaza y Santacilla was not with her; the place at +her side was occupied by the man to whom Jaime +had spoken about the dancer in the Tuileries. +Quintara, capturing his attention, spoke in his +profoundest manner. There was a halt in the +movement of carriages, and La Clavel was directly +before them.</p> +<p>She wore the high comb and a mantilla of +black lace falling in scalloped folds around the +vivid flower of her face—her beauty, at least to +Charles, was so extraordinary, her dark loveliness +was so flaming, that the scarlet camellia in +her hair seemed wan. They were, all four, presented +to the dancer; and four extreme bows, four +fervid and sonorous acknowledgments, rose to +the grace, the divinity, above. It seemed to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +Charles that, perhaps because he was an American, +La Clavel noticed him more than the others: +certainly she smiled at him and the brilliancy of +her gaze was veiled, made enigmatic, by the lowering +of her sweeping eyelashes.</p> +<p>The checked restlessness of the horses was +again released in a deliberate progress, but, as +La Clavel was carried on, the man with her +added that, after Retreta, they would stop at the +El Louvre for an ice cream, a mantecado. +Remigio Florez drew in a deep breath which he +allowed to escape in the form of a sigh; Jaime +smoothed the wrists of his bright yellow gloves; +Tirso Labrador settled his guardsman’s shoulders +into his coat. “She won’t get out of the volanta,” +Charles said thoughtfully; “and someone will +have to bring out her refresco. We’d better +get there early and stand at the door.”</p> +<p>“No hurry,” the suave Jaime put in; “no one +will leave here until after tattoo.”</p> +<p>At nine o’clock the drums and bugles sounded +from various parts of the city. There was one +more tune played directly under the palace windows, +after which the band and its guards left +briskly to the measure of a quickstep. Charles +led the way through the crowd to the Prado and +the Parque Isabel. A number of carriages were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +there before them, the occupants mostly eating +ices, and the café was being rapidly filled. +Waiting keen-eyed at the entrance, they saw the +volante with La Clavel before it drew up, and the +calesero had scarcely dismounted from his horse +when the dancer was offered her choice of the +available sweets. She preferred, rather than an +ice, an orchata, and sipped it slowly with an air +of complete enjoyment. Her every movement, +Charles Abbott saw, the turn of the hand holding +the glass, her chin and throat against the black +film of lace, her slender body’s poise, was utterly +and strongly graceful: it was, more than any +other quality, the vigor of her beauty that impressed +him. It seemed as though she must be +superbly young, and dance magnificently, forever.</p> +<p>As Charles was considering this he was unceremoniously +thrust aside for the passage of +Captain Santacilla with another cavalry officer +whose cinnamon colored face was stamped with +sultry ill-humor. Santacilla addressed the dancer +aggressively with the query of why she misspent +her evening with the cursed Cuban negroes.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>La Clavel made no reply, but tended her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +empty glass to Andrés; then she glanced indifferently +at the captains. “Their manners,” she +said, “are very pretty; and as for the negro—” +she shrugged her delectable shoulders.</p> +<p>“My blood is as pure, as Castilian, as your +own,” Tirso Labrador began hotly; but Remigio +stilled him with a hand on his arm. In an uncolored +voice he begged the dancer to excuse +them; and, sweeping off their hats, they were +leaving when Santacilla’s companion stepped +forward in a flash of ungoverned anger like an +exposed knife:</p> +<p>“I’ve noticed you before,” he addressed Tirso, +“hanging and gabbling around the cafés and +theatres, and it’s my opinion you are an insurrectionist. +If the truth were known, I dare say, +it would be found you are a friend to Cespedes. +Anyhow, I’m tired of looking at you; if you are +not more retiring, you will find yourself in the +Cabańas.”</p> +<p>“Good evening,” Remigio repeated in an even +tone. With his hand still on Tirso’s arm he +tried to force him into the café; but the other, +dark with passion, broke away.</p> +<p>“You have dishonored my father and the name +of a heroic patriot,” he said to the officer of cavalry. +“In this I am alone.” With a suspicious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +quickness he leaned forward and his big hands +shut about the Spaniard’s throat.</p> +<p>Charles, with a suppressed exclamation, recalled +Tirso’s determination to choke one of the +enemies of Cuba. The man in the gripping fingers +stiffened and then, grotesquely, lost his aspect +of a human form; suddenly he was no more +than a thing of limp flesh and gay fabrics. Instantly +an uproar, a surging passionate excitement +grew, at the heart of which Tirso Labrador +was curiously still. Heaving bodies, at once +closing in and prudently scattering, hid from +Charles his friend. There was an onrush of +gendarmes, harsh exclamations and oaths; then, +at the flash of steel, a short agonized cry—Tirso’s +voice at once hoarse and inhuman with death.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott, hurrying away at Andrés’ urgent +insistence, caught a final glimpse of a big +young body sunk on the flagging of the Paseo; he +saw a leaden face and a bubbling tide of blood. +Beyond the Montserrat gate they halted, and he +was shocked to hear Remigio Florez curse Tirso +as brutally as any Spaniard. Andrés, white and +trembling, agreed. “Here is what I warned you +of,” he turned to Charles; “it is fatal to lose +your temper. You think that what Tirso did +ends with him in purgatory ... ha! Perhaps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +he is best out of it among us all. It might be +better for you to go back to America tomorrow +and forget about Cuba.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Remigio added, “probably we are all +ruined; and certainly the police spies will be +waiting for us at home.”</p> +<p>“It would have been better if we had dissipated +more,” Jaime added: “we have been entirely +too high-minded and unnatural. Young +men meet together only to conspire or find love—the +Spaniards know that and we were +fools.”</p> +<p>“We haven’t been suspected of anything,” +Andrés pointed out; “and it may be said that +Tirso was killed defending his name. No, the +trouble is to come; and it wasn’t our fault. We +must see less of each other, at least in public, and +be quite overcome about Tirso; that is another +account I charge to Spain: I knew him when I +was a child ... in the Vuelta Arriba—” Andrés +Escobar began to cry wholly and unaffectedly; +he leaned against an angle of the gate, his head +in an arm, and prolonged sobs shook his body. +Tears were silently streaming over Jaime’s face, +but Charles Abbott’s eyes were dry. He was filled +by an ecstasy of horror and detestation at the +brutal murder of Tirso. Fear closed his throat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +and pinched his heart with icy fingers; but he +ignored, rose above, himself, in a tremendous accession +of his determination to drive injustice—if +not yet from the world—from Cuba.</p> +<p>How little, he thought, anyone knew him who +advised a return to America. Before the cold +violent fact of death a great part of his early +melodramatic spirit evaporated; the last possible +trace of any self-glorification left him, the lingering +mock-heroics of boyhood were gone. His +emotion, now, was almost exultant; like a blaze +of insuperable white light it drowned all the individual +colors of his personality; it appeared to +him almost that he had left the earth, that he was +above other men.</p> +<p>More than anything, he continued, he would require +wisdom, the wisdom of patience, maturity; +Tirso had been completely wasted. He was +seated, again, on the roof of his hotel, and again +it was night: the guitars were like a distant +sounding of events evolved in harmonies, and +there was the gleam of moonlight on the sea, a +trace of the moon and the scent of mignonette +trees.</p> +<p>He was, he felt, very old, grave, in deportment; +this detachment from living must be the +mark of age. Charles had always been a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +removed from activity by sickness; and now his +almost solitary, dreaming habit of existence had +deepened in him. He thought, from time to time, +of other periods than his own, of ages when such +service as his had been, for gentlemen, the commonplace +of living: he saw, in imagination, before +the altar of a little chapel, under the glimmer +of tall candles, a boyish figure kneeling in armor +throughout the night. At morning, with a faint +clashing of steel, the young knight under a vow +rode into black forests of enchanted beasts and +men and impure magic, from which he delivered +the innocent and the pure in heart.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott recalled the burning of the +Protestant Cranmer, and, as well, the execution +of John Felton for posting the Papal bull against +the Queen on the door of London House. They +too, like the knights of Arthurian legend, had +conquered the flesh for an ideal. He was carried +in spirit into a whole world of transcendent +courage, into a company who scorned ease and +safety in the preservation of an integrity, a devotion, +above self. This gave him a release, the +sense that his body was immaterial, that filled +him with a calm serious fervor.</p> +<p>He was conscious, through this, of the ceaseless +playing of the guitars, strains of jotas and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +malagueńas, laden with the seductiveness, the +fascination, of sensuous warm life. It was, in +its persistence, mocking; and finally it grew into +a bitter undertone to the elevation of his thought: +he wanted, like Savonarola, to bring to an end +the depravity of the city; he wanted to cleanse +Havana of everything but the blanched heavenly +ardor of his own dedication. The jotas continued +and the scent of mignonette increased. The +moon, slipping over the sea, shone with a vague +brightness on the leaves of the laurels below, on +the whiteness of marble walks, and in the liquid +gleam of fountains. A woman laughed with a +note of uncertainty and passion.... It was all +infinitely removed from him, not of the slightest +moment. What rose, dwelt, in Charles was a +breath of eternity, of infinitude; he was lost in a +vision of good beyond seasons, changeless, and +for all men whomsoever. It must come, he told +himself so tensely that he was certain he had cried +his conviction aloud. The music sustained its +burden of earthly desire to which the harsh whispering +rustle of the palm fronds added a sound +like a scoffing laughter.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>At the Plaza de Toros, the following Sunday +afternoon, Charles saw La Clavel; she was seated +on an upper tier near the stand of the musicians, +over the entrance for the bulls; and, in an audience +composed almost entirely of men, she was +brilliantly conspicuous in a flaming green mantón +embroidered in white petals; her mantilla +was white, and Charles could distinguish the +crimson blot of the flower by her cheek. The +brass horns and drums of the band were making +a rasping uproar, and the crowded wooden amphitheatre +was tense with excitement. Andrés +Escobar, beside Charles, was being gradually +won from a settled melancholy; and, in an interested +voice, he spoke to Charles about the espada, +José Ponce, who had not yet killed a bull in +Cuba, but who was a great hero of the ring in +Spain and South America.</p> +<p>“There is La Clavel,” Charles said by way of +reply; “she is with Captain Santacilla, and I +think, but I can’t be sure, the officer Tirso tried +to choke to death. What is his name—de Vaca, +Gaspar Arco de Vaca.”</p> +<p>“Even that,” Andrés answered, “wasn’t accomplished. +La Clavel’s engagement in Havana is +over; I suppose it will be Buenos Aires next. +Do you remember how we swore to follow her all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +over the world, and how Tirso wanted to drag +her volanta in place of the horses? At heart, it’s +no doubt, she is Spanish, and yet.... There’s +the procession.”</p> +<p>The key bearer, splendid in velvet and gold +and silver, with a short cloak, rode into the ring +followed by the picadores on broken-down horses: +their legs were swathed in leather and their +jackets, of ruby and orange and emerald, were +set with expensive lace. They carried pikes with +iron points; while the banderilleros, on foot, with +hair long and knotted like a woman’s, hung their +bright cloaks over an arm and bore the darts gay +with paper rosettes.</p> +<p>The espada, José Ponce, was greeted with a +savage roar of approbation; he was dressed in +green velvet, his zouave jacket heavy with gold +bullion; and his lithe slender dark grace recalled +to Charles Abbott La Clavel. Charles paid little +attention to the bull fighting, for he was far in +the sky of his altruism; his presence at the Plaza +de Toros was merely mechanical, the routine of +his life in Havana. Across from him the banked +humanity in the cheaper seats ŕ sol, exposed to the +full blaze of mid-afternoon, made a pattern without +individual significance; he heard the quick +bells of the mules that dragged out the dead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +bulls; a thick revolting odor rose from the hot +sand soaked with the blood and entrails of horses.</p> +<p>At times, half turning, he saw the brilliant +shawl of the dancer, and more than once he distinguished +her voice in the applause following a +specially skilful or daring pass. He thought of +her with a passionate admiration unaffected by +the realization that she had brought them the +worst of luck: perhaps any touch of Spain was +corrupting, fatal. And the sudden desire seized +him to talk to La Clavel and make sure that her +superb art was unshadowed by the disturbing +possibilities voiced by Andrés.</p> +<p>There were cries of fuego! fuego! and +Charles Abbott was conscious of a bull who had +proved indifferent to sport. A banderillero, fluttering +his cloak, stepped forward and planted in +the beast’s shoulder a dart that exploded loudly +with a spurt of flame and smoke; there was a +smothered bellow, and renewed activities went +forward below. “What a rotten show!” Charles +said to Andrés, and the latter accused him of being +a tender sentimentalist. José Ponce, Andrés +pronounced with satisfaction, was a great sword. +The espada was about to kill: he moved as gracefully +as though he were in the figure of a dance; +his thrust, as direct as a flash of lightning, went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +up to the hilt, and the vomiting bull fell in crashing +death at his feet.</p> +<p>“Suppose, for a change, we go to the Aguila de +Oro,” Andrés suggested; “the air is better there.” +By that he meant that the café was relatively free +from Spaniards. The throng moved shoulder to +shoulder slowly to the doors; but Charles managed +to work his way constantly nearer the conspicuous +figure of La Clavel. He despaired, +however, of getting close to her, when an unforeseen +eddy of humanity separated the dancer from +her companions and threw her into Charles’ path. +She recognized him immediately: but, checking +his formal salutation, she said, in a rapid lowered +voice, that she would very much like to see +him ... at the St. Louis late on the afternoon +of tomorrow. They were separated immediately, +leaving in Charles a sense of excited anticipation. +He joined Andrés soon after and told him +what had occurred.</p> +<p>“I suppose it is safe for you,” Andrés decided; +“you are an American, no one has yet connected +you with the cause of Cuba. But this woman—What +do we know of her?—you’ll have to be prudent!”</p> +<p>Andrés Escobar had grown severe in the last +week, he had hardened remarkably; his concentration, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +Charles felt, his bitterness, even excluded +his friends. Charles Abbott’s affection for him +increased daily; his love, really, for Andrés was +a part of all that was highest in him. Unlike +the love of any woman, Andrés made no demand +on him, what only mattered was what each intrinsically +was: there were no pretence, no weary +protestations, nothing beside the truth of their +mutual regard, their friendship. What Charles +possessed belonged equally, without demand, to +Andrés; they had, aside from their great preoccupation, +the same thoughts and prejudices, the +same taste in refrescos and beauty and clothes. +They discovered fresh identical tastes with a rush +of happiness.</p> +<p>It was, like the absorbing rest, immaterial, the +negation of ordinary aims and ideas of comfort +and self-seeking. Charles would have died for +Andrés, Andrés for Charles, without of a moment’s +hesitation; indeed, the base of their feeling lay +in the full recognition of that fact. This they +admitted simply, with no accent of exaggeration +or boasting: on the present plane of their being +it was the most natural thing in the world.</p> +<p>At the Aguila de Oro, spinning the paddle of a +molinillo, and individual chocolate mill, Andrés +informed Charles that Vincente was home. “He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +has told me everything,” Andrés Escobar continued +with pride. “We are now more than Escobars—brother +Cubans. He has been both shot +and sabred and he has a malaria. But nearly all +his friends are dead. Soon, he says, we, Jaime +and Remigio—and, I added, you—will have to +go out. He is to let us know when and how.”</p> +<p>“Do the police know he is in Havana?”</p> +<p>“We think not; they haven’t been about the +house since the investigation of the de Vaca +affair, and our servants are not spies. You must +come and see Vincente this evening, for he may +leave at any hour. It seems that he is celebrated +for his bravery and the Spaniards have marked +him for special attention. Papa and mama are +dreadfully disturbed, and not only because of +him; for if he is discovered, all of us, yes, little +Narcisa, will be made to pay—to a horrible degree, +I can tell you.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There was, apparently, nothing unusual in the +situation at the Escobars’ when Charles called in +the evening. The family, exactly as he had +known it, was assembled in the drawing-room, +conversing under the icy flood of the crystal chandelier. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +He found a chair by Narcisa, and +listened studiously to the colloquial Spanish, running +swiftly around the circle, alternating with +small thoughtful silences. Soon, however, +Charles Abbott could see that the atmosphere was +not normal—the vivacity palpably was forced +through the shadow of a secret apprehension. +Domingo Escobar made sudden seemingly irrelevant +gestures, Carmita sighed out of her rotundity. +Only Narcisa was beyond the general subdued +gloom: in her clear white dress, her clocked +white silk stockings, and the spread densely black +curtain of her hair, she was intent on a wondering +thought of her own. Her gaze, as usual, was +lowered to her loosely clasped hands; but, growing +conscious of Charles’ regard, she looked up +quickly, and, holding his eyes, smiled at him +with an incomprehensible sweetness.</p> +<p>He regarded her with a gravity no more than +half actual—his mind was set upon Vincente—and +her even pallor was invaded by a slow soft +color. Charles nodded, entirely friendly, and she +turned away, so abruptly that her hair swung out +and momentarily hid her profile. He forgot her +immediately, for he had overheard, half understood, +an allusion to the Escobars’ elder son. +With a growing impatience he interrogated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +Andrés, and the latter nodded a reassurance. +Then Andrés Escobar rose, punctiliously facing +his father—he would, with permission, take +Charles to the upper balconies, the wide view +from which he had never seen. Domingo was +plainly uneasy, displeased; but, after a long +frowning pause, gave his reluctant consent. +Charles Abbott was acutely aware of his heels +striking against the marble steps which, broad, +imposing and dark, led above. Vincente, it developed, +without actually being in hiding, was +limited to the scope of the upper hall, where, +partly screened in growing palms, its end formed +a small salon.</p> +<p>There was a glimmer of light though sword-like +leaves, and a lamp on an alabaster table set +in ormolu cast up its illumination on a face from +which every emotion had been banished by a +supreme weariness. Undoubtedly at one time +Vincente Escobar had been as handsome as +Andrés; more arbitrary, perhaps, with a touch of +impatience resembling petulance; the carriage, +the air, of a youth spoiled by unrestrained inclination +and society. The ghost of this still lingered +over him, in the movement of his slender +hands, the sharp upflinging of his chin; but it +was no more than a memento of a gay and utterly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +lost past. The weariness, Charles began to realize, +was the result of more than a spent physical +and mental being—Vincente was ill. He had +acquired a fever, it was brought out, in the +jungles of Camagüey.</p> +<p>At first he was wholly indifferent to Charles; +at the end of Andrés’ enthusiastic introduction, +after a flawless but perfunctory courtesy, Vincente +said:</p> +<p>“The United States is very important to us; we +have had to depend almost entirely on the New +York Junta for our life. We have hope, too, in +General Grant. Finally your country, that was +so successful in its liberation, will understand us +completely, and sweep Spain over the sea. But, +until that comes, we need only money and courage +in our, in Cuban, hearts. You are, I understand +from Andrés, rich; and you are generous, +you will give?”</p> +<p>That direct question, together with its hint at +the personal unimportance of his attachment to +a cause of pure justice, filled Charles with both +resentment and discomfort. He replied stiffly, +in halting but adequate Spanish, that there had +been a misunderstanding: “I am not rich; the +money I have you would think nothing—it might +buy a stand or two of rifles, but no more. What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +I had wanted to spend was myself, my belief in +Cuba. It seemed to me that might be worth +something—” he stopped, in the difficulty of giving +expression to his deep convictions; and +Andrés warmly grasped his hand. He held +Charles’ palm and addressed his brother in a passionate +flood of protest and assertion: Charles +Abbott, his dear friend, was as good a patriot as +any Escobar, and they should all embrace him +in gratitude and welcome; he was, if not the gold +of the United States, its unselfish and devoted +heart; his presence here, his belief in them, was +an indication of what must follow.</p> +<p>“If he were killed,” Andrés explained. “That +alone would bring us an army; the indignation +of his land would fall like a mountain on our +enemies.”</p> +<p>This, giving Charles a fresh view of his usefulness, +slightly cooled his ardor; he was willing +to accept it, in his exalted state he would make +any sacrifice for the ideal that had possessed him; +but there was an acceptance of brutal unsentimental +fact in the Latin fibre of the Escobars +foreign to his own more romantic conceptions. +Vincente wasn’t much carried away by the possibility +Andrés revealed.</p> +<p>“He’d be got out of the way privately,” he explained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +in his drained voice; “polite letters and +no more, regrets, would be exchanged. The politicians +of Washington are not different from those +of Cuba. If he is wise he will see Havana as +an idler. Even you, Andrés, do not know yet +what is waiting for you. It is one thing to conspire +in a balcony on the Prado and another to lie +in the marshes of Camagüey. You cannot realize +how desperate Spain is with the debt left from +her wars with Morocco and Chile and Peru. +Cuba, for a number of years, has been her richest +possession. While the Spaniards were paying +taxes of three dollars and twenty some cents, +we, in Cuba, were paying six dollars and sixty-nine. +After our declaration of independence at +Manzanillo—” an eloquent pause left his hearers +to the contemplation of what had followed.</p> +<p>“You know how it has gone with us,” Vincente +continued, almost exclusively to the younger Escobar. +“Carlos Cespedes left his practice of the +law at Bayamo for a desperate effort with less +than a hundred and thirty men. But they were +successful, and in a few weeks we had fifteen +thousand, with the constitution of a republican +government drawn. We ended slavery,” here, +for a breath, he addressed Charles Abbott. “But +in that,” he specified, “we were different from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +you. In the United States slavery was considered +as only a moral wrong. Your Civil War +was, after all, an affair of philanthropy; while +we freed the slaves for economic reasons.</p> +<p>“Well, our struggle went on,” he returned to +Andrés, “and we were victorious, with, at the +most, fifty thousand men against how many? +One, two, hundred thousand. And we began to +be recognized abroad, by Bolivia and Columbia +and the Mexican Congress. The best Cubans, +those like ourselves, were in sympathy with the +insurrection. Everything was bright, the climate, +too, was fighting for us; and then, Andrés, +we lost man after man, the bravest, the youngest, +first: they were murdered, as I may be tonight, +killed among the lianas, overtaken in the villages, +smothered in small detachments by great +forces, until now. And it is for that I have said +so much, when it is unnecessary to pronounce a +word. What do you think is our present situation? +What do you think I left of our splendid +effort in the interior? General Agramonte and +thirty-five men. That and no more!</p> +<p>“Their condition you may see in me—wasted, +hardly stronger than pigeons, and less than half +armed. What, do you think, one boy from Pennsylvania +is worth to that? Can he live without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +food more than half the time, without solid land +under his feet, without protection against the mosquitoes +and heat and tropical rains? And in +Havana: but remember your friend, Tirso Labrador! +You, Andrés, have no alternative; but +your Charles Abbott he would be a danger +rather than an assistance.” Charles, with a +prodigious effort at a calm self-control, answered +him.</p> +<p>“You are very thoughtful, and it is right to +be cautious, but what you say is useless. Andrés +understands! I’d never be satisfied to be anything +except a Cuban patriot. It isn’t necessary +for you to understand that in a minute, an evening. +I might be no good in Camagüey, but I +am not as young as Tirso; I am more bitter and +patient. By heaven, I will do something, I +will be a part of your bravery! Not only the +soldiers in the field, not only Agramonte, but +sacrifice—”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Charles’ throat was closed, his words stopped, +by the intensity of his feeling; his longing to be +identified, lost, in the spirit of General Agramonte +and the faithful thirty-five burned into a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +desperation of unhappiness. Vincente Escobar, +it was evident, thought that he wasn’t capable +of sustaining such a trust. Still there was nothing +to be gained by protests, hot asseverations; +with difficulty he suppressed his resentment, and +sat, to all appearances, calm, engaged with a +cigar and attending Vincente’s irregular vehement +speech. Andrés was silent, dark and serious; +but the gaze he turned upon Charles was +warm with affection and admiration. Nothing, +Vincente insisted, could be done now; they must +wait and draw into their cause every possible +ultimate assistance and understanding. If the +truth were known, he repeated again and again, +the world would be at their feet.</p> +<p>Finally, his enthusiasm, his power, ebbed; his +yellow pinched face sank forward: he was so +spent, so delivered to a loose indifference of body, +that he might well have been dead. Charles +rose with a formal Spanish period voicing the +appreciation of the honor that had been his.</p> +<p>“We are all worried about Vincente,” Andrés +proceeded, as they were descending the vault-like +stairs; “there is a shadow on him like bad +luck. But it may be no more than the fever. +Our mother thinks he needs only her love and +enough wine jelly.” They were again in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +drawing-room with the Escobars; and Charles +momentarily resumed the seat he had left beside +Narcisa.</p> +<p>Domingo and his wife were submerged in +gloomy reflection, and Andrés sat with his gaze +fixed on the marble, patterned in white and black, +of the floor. Suddenly Narcisa raised her head +with an air of rebellion. “It’s always like the +church,” she declared incredibly. “Everything +has got so old that I can’t bear it—Vincente as +good as dead and Andrés resembling a Jesuit +father! Must all my life go on in this funeral +march?” The elder Escobars regarded her in a +voiceless amazement; but Andrés said severely:</p> +<p>“You are too young to understand the tragedy +of Cuba or Vincente’s heroic spirit. I am +ashamed of you—before Charles Abbott.”</p> +<p>Narcisa rose and walked swiftly out upon the +balcony. They had been, it seemed to Charles, +rather ridiculous with her; it was hard on Narcisa +to have been thrust, at her age, into such a +serious affair. The Escobars, and particularly +Vincente, took their responsibility a little too +ponderously. Following a vague impulse, made +up both of his own slightly damaged pride and +a sympathy for Narcisa, he went out to the balcony +where she stood with her hands lightly resting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +on the railing. Veiled in the night, her youth +seemed more mysterious than immature; he was +conscious of an unsteady flutter at her unformed +breast; her face had an aspect of tears.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t mind them,” he told her; “they +are tremendously bothered because they see a +great deal farther than you can. The danger to +Vincente, too, in Havana, spies—”</p> +<p>She interrupted him, looking away so that he +could see only a trace of her cheek against the +fragment fall of her hair. “It isn’t that, but +what Andrés said about you.”</p> +<p>This admission startled him, and he studied +Narcisa—her hands now tightly clasping the +iron railing—with a disturbed wonder. Was it +possible that she cared for him? At home, +ignored by a maturity such as his, she would +have been absorbed in the trivial activities of +girls of her own age. But Havana, the tropics, +was different. It was significant, as well, that +he was permitted to be with her, practically alone, +beyond the sight and hearing of her mother; the +Escobars, he thought, had hopes of such a consummation. +It was useless, he was solely wedded +to Cuba; he had already pictured the only dramatic +accident of the heart that could touch him. +Not little Narcisa! She was turned away from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +him completely: a lovely back, straight and narrow, +virginal—Domingo Escobar had said this—as +a white rose bud, yet with an impalpable +and seductive scent. In other circumstances, a +happier and more casual world, she would have +been an adorable fate. An increasing awkwardness +seized him, a conviction of impotence. +“Narcisa,” he whispered at her ear; but, before +he could finish his sentence, her face was close to +his, her eyes were shut and the tenderness of her +lips unprotected.</p> +<p>Charles put an arm about her slim shoulders +and pressed his cheek against hers. “Listen,” +he went on, in his lowered voice, patching the +deficiencies of his Spanish with English words +clear in their feeling if not in sound, “nothing +could have shown me myself as well as you, for +now I know that I can never give up a thought +to anything outside what I have promised my +life to. A great many men are quite happy with +a loving wife and children and a home—a place +to go back to always; and, in a way, since I +have known you, I envy them. Their lives are +full of happiness and usefulness and specially +peace; but, dearest Narcisa, I can’t be like that, +it isn’t for me. You see, I have chosen to love +a country; instead of being devoted only to you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +there are thousands of women, rich and poor +and black and white, I must give myself for. +I haven’t any existence, any rights, of my own; +I haven’t any money or time or security to offer. +I didn’t choose it, no, it chose me—it’s exactly +as though I had been stopped on the street and +conscripted. A bugle was blown in my ear. +Love, you must realize, is selfish; it would be +selfish to take you on a steamer, for myself, and +go north. If I did that, if I forgot what I have +sworn, I’d die. I should seem to the world to be +alive, and I’d walk about and talk and go into +the city on some business or other; but, in reality, +I should be as dead as dust.</p> +<p>“There are men like that everywhere, Narcisa, +perhaps the most of life is made up of them. +They look all right and are generally respected; +yet, at some time or other, they killed themselves, +they avoided what they should have met, tried +to save something not worth a thought. I don’t +doubt a lot never find it out, they think they are +as good as ever—they don’t remember how they +once felt. But others discover it, or the people +who love them discover it for them. And that +would happen to me, to us.”</p> +<p>In reply to all this she whispered that she +loved him. Her arm slipped up across his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +shoulder and the tips of her fingers touched his +left cheek. A momentary dizziness enveloped +him at her immeasurable sweetness: it might be +that she was a part of what he was to find, to +do, in Cuba; and then his emotion perished in +the bareness of his heart to physical passion. +Its place was taken by a deep pride in his aloofness +from the flesh; that alone, he felt, dignified +him, set him above the mischances of self-betrayal.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott kissed her softly and then took +her hands. “You wouldn’t want me, Narcisa,” +he continued; “if I failed in this, I should fail +you absolutely. If I were unfaithful now I +could never be faithful to you.”</p> +<p>She drew her hands sharply away. “It’s you +who are young and not I,” she declared; “you +talk like a boy, like Andrés. All you want is a +kind of glory, like the gold lace the officers of +Isabella wear. Nothing could be more selfish.”</p> +<p>“You don’t understand,” he replied patiently.</p> +<p>Narcisa, he felt, could never grasp what was +such a profound part of his masculine necessity. +Abstractions, the liberty, for example, of an alien +people, would have little weight against her instinct +for the realities in her own heart. Her +emotion was tangible, compared with his it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +deeply reasonable; it moved in the direction of +their immediate good, of the happiness, the fullness, +of their beings; while all his desire, his +hope, was cloudy, of the sky. In the high silver +radiance of his idealism, the warmer green of +earth, the promise of Narcisa’s delicate charm, +the young desire in his blood, were, he felt, far +away, dim ... below.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The conviction fastened upon him that this +chance realization would determine, where women +were concerned, the whole of his life. But that +space, he reminded himself, short at best, was, +in him, to terminate almost at once. All his +philosophy of resistance, of strength, was built +upon the final dignity of a supreme giving. His +thoughts went back to Narcisa as he sat in La +Clavel’s room in the St. Louis, watching a hairdresser +skilfully build up the complicated edifice +of the dancer’s hair. Soon, he grasped, it +would be ready for the camellia placed back of +the lobe of an ear. A towel was pinned about +her naked shoulders, she had on a black fringed +petticoat and dangling slippers of red morocco +leather. La Clavel was faced away from +Charles, but, in the mirror before which she sat, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +he could see her features and vivid changing +expressions.</p> +<p>The truth was that, close, he had found her +disconcerting, almost appalling. Climbing the +long stairs at the message that she would see him +in her room, he had surrendered himself to the +romantic devotion which had overwhelmed the +small select circle of his intimates. This had +nothing to do with the admirable sentiment of a +practical all-inclusive love; it was æsthetic rather +than social. They all worshipped La Clavel as +a symbol of beauty, as fortunately unattainable +in a small immediate measure; and, bowing inside +the door of her chamber, he had been positively +abashed at the strange actuality of her charm.</p> +<p>La Clavel was at once more essentially feminine +than any other woman he had encountered +and different from all the rest. A part of the +impression she created was the result of her pallor, +the even unnatural whiteness under the night +of her hair. Her face was white, but her lips—a +carmine stick lay close at her hands—were +brutally red. She hurt him, struck savagely at +the idealism of his image; indeed, in the room +permeated with a dry powdered scent, at the +woman redolent of vital flesh, he had been a little +sickened. However, that had gone; and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +watched the supple hands in the crisp coarse mass +of her hair with a sense of adventure lingering +faintly from his earlier youth: he was, in very +correct clothes, holding his hat and stick and +gloves, idling through the toilet of a celebrated +dancer and beauty.</p> +<p>Or, rather, he saw himself objectively, as he +had been say a year ago, at which time his present +situation would have surpassed his most +splendid worldly hopes. It was strange, he +thought, how life granted one by one every desire +... when it was no longer valued: the +fragrance, the tender passion, of Narcisa, the +preference in La Clavel singling him out from a +city for her interest!</p> +<p>She smiled at him over her shoulder, and, in +return, he nodded seriously, busy with a cigarette; +maintaining, in a difficult pass, his complete +air of indifference, of experience. The hairdresser +must have pulled roughly at a strand for, +with a sudden harsh vulgarity, she described +him as a blot on the virginity of his mother; in +an instant every atom of her was charged with +anger. It was, Charles told himself, exactly as +though a shock of dried grass had caught fire; +ignited gun powder rather than blood seemed to +fill her veins.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></div> +<p>Her ill-temper, tempestuous in its course, was +over as quickly as it had flared into being. She +paid the hairdresser from a confusion of silver +and gold on her dressing-table and dismissed +him with a good nature flavored by a native proverb. +Then, bending above a drawer, she +brought out the vivid shawl in which she had +danced. La Clavel folded its dragging brilliancy +squarely along its length, laid it across +her breast, brought the fringed ends under and +up over her arms, crossed them in a swift twist, +and she was wholly, magnificently, clothed. +She sat on the edge of a bed covered with gay +oddments of attire—fans and slippers with vermilion +heels, lace mantillas, a domino in silver +tissue lined in carnation and a knife with a +narrow blade and holder of silk.</p> +<p>Charles offered her his cigarette case, but she +declined in favor of the long pale cigars Andrés +and he himself affected. With its smoke drifting +bluely across her pallid face, her eyes now +interrogating him, and now withdrawn in +thought, she asked him about Tirso Labrador. +Charles Abbott quickly gathered that his presence +was for that sole purpose.</p> +<p>“I heard all that was said,” she warned him; +“and I don’t want that repeated. Why did he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +try to garotte de Vaca with his hands? There +was more in it than appeared. But all Ceaza +will say is that he was a cursed traitor to the +Crown. Signor American, I like Cuba, they +have been very good to me here; I like you and +your polite friends. But whenever I try to +come closer to you, to leave the stage, as it were, +for the audience, we are kept apart. The Spanish +officers who take up so much of my time +warn me that I must have nothing to do +with disaffected Cubans; the Cubans, when +I reach out my arms to them, are only polite.</p> +<p>“Certainly I know that there has been a rebellion; +but it is stamped out, ended, now; there +are no signs of it in Havana, when I dance the +jota; so why isn’t everyone sensible and social; +why, if they are victorious, are not Gaspar Arco +de Vaca and Ceaza y Santacilla easier? If, as +it must be, Cuba is subjected, why doesn’t it ignore +the unpleasant and take what the days and +nights always offer? There can be no longer, +so late in the history of the world, a need +for the old Inquisition, the stabbers Philip commanded.”</p> +<p>Charles Abbott had an impulse to reply that, +far from being conquered, the spirit of liberty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +in Cuba was higher than ever before; he wanted +to tell her, to cry out, that it was deathless; and +that no horrors of the black past were more appalling +than those practiced now by the Spanish +soldiery. Instead of this he watched a curl of +smoke mount through the height of the room to +a small square window far up on the wall where +it was struck gold by a shaft of sunlight.</p> +<p>“He was particularly a friend of yours?” she +insisted, returning to Tirso. “You were always +together, watching me dance from your box in the +Tacon Theatre, and eating ices at the El Louvre +or at the Tuileries.”</p> +<p>He spoke slowly, indifferently, keeping his +gaze elevated toward the ceiling. “Tirso Labrador +was a braggard, he was always boasting +about what he could do with his foolish muscles. +What happened to him was unavoidable. We +weren’t sorry—a thorough bully. As for the +others, that dandy, Quintara, and Remigio +Florez, who looks like a coffee berry from their +plantation at Vuelta Arriba, and Escobar, I am +very much in their debt—I bring the gold and +they provide the pleasures of Havana. They are +my runners. I haven’t the slightest interest in +their politics; if they support the Revolution or +Madrid, they keep all that out of my knowledge.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>A prolonged silence followed, a period devoted +to the two cigars. “That Escobar,” La +Clavel said, “is a very beautiful boy. What +you tell me is surprising; he, at any rate, seems +quite different. And I have seen you time after +time sitting together, the two or three or four of +you, with affectionate glances and arms. I am +sensitive to such things, and I think you are lying.”</p> +<p>An air of amused surprise appeared on his +countenance, “If you are so taken with Andrés +Escobar,” he observed, “why did you make this +appointment with me? May I have the pleasure +of taking him a note from you? he is very +fond of intrigues.”</p> +<p>Leaning forward she laid a firm square palm +on his knee. “You have told me all that I +wanted—this Tirso, who was killed, he was your +dear friend and his death an agony; the smaller, +the coffee berry, you are devoted to his goodness +and simplicity; beneath Quintara’s waistcoats +you find a heart of gold. But Escobar—is it +Andrés?—you love better than your life. They +care nothing for your American dollars; it is +evident they all have much more than you. +What is it, then, you are united by? I shall tell +you—Cuba. You are patriots, insurrectionists; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +Santacilla was right. And neither is your rebellion +crushed, not with Agramonte alive.” She +leaned back with glimmering eyes and the cruel +paint of her mouth smiling at him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was, then, Charles Abbott reflected, an +agent of Spain’s; calmly he rehearsed all they +had said to each other, he examined every sentence, +every inflection of voice. He could not +have been more circumspect; the position he had +taken, of a pleasure-loving young American, was +so natural that it was inevitable. No, La Clavel +knew nothing, she was simply adopting another +method in her task of getting information for +Santacilla. At this, remembering the adoration +of his circle for her, he was brushed by a swift +sorrow. For them she had been the symbol, the +embodiment, of beauty; the fire and grace of her +dancing had intensified, made richer, their sense +of life. She had been the utmost flashing peak +of their desire; and now it was clear to him that +she was rotten at the core, La Clavel was merely +a spy; what had engaged them was nothing more +than a brilliant flowery surface, a bright shawl.</p> +<p>“You are wasting your efforts,” he assured +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +her, with an appearance of complete comfort. +“Even if you were right, I mean about the others, +what, do you think, would make them confide in +me, almost a stranger? You understand this so +much better than I that, instead of questioning +me, you ought to explain the whole Cuban situation. +Women like yourself, with genius, know +everything.”</p> +<p>She utterly disconcerted Charles by enveloping +him in a rapid gesture, her odorous lips were +pressed against his cheek. “You are as sweet as +a lime flower,” La Clavel declared. “After the +others—” her expression of disgust was singularly +valid. “That is what I love about you,” +she cried suddenly, “your youth and freshness +and courage. Tirso Labrador dying so gallantly +... all your beardless intent faces. The revolt +in Cuba, I’ve felt it ever since I landed at +Havana, it’s in the air like wine. I am sick of +officers: look, ever since I was a child the army +has forced itself upon me. I had to have their +patronage when I was dancing and their company +when I went to the cafés; and when it wasn’t the +cavalry it was the gentlemen. They were always +superior, condescending; and always, inside me, +I hated them. They thought, because I was +peasant born, that their attentions filled me with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +joy, that I should be grateful for their aristocratic +presences. But, because I was what I was, +I held them, with their ladies’ hands and sugared +voices, in contempt. There isn’t one of them +with the entrails to demand my love.</p> +<p>“I tell you I was smothering in the air about +me. My dancing isn’t like the posturing of the +court, it’s the dancing of the people, my people, +passionate like a knife. I am from the Morena, +and there we are not the human sheep who +live in the valleys, along the empty rivers. How +shall I explain? But how can you explain yourself? +You are not a Cuban; this rebellion, in +which you may so easily be killed almost before +you begin to live, it isn’t yours. What drew you +into it? You must make it plain, for I, too, am +caught.”</p> +<p>“Men are different from women,” he replied, +putting into words his newly acquired wisdom; +“whatever happened to me would be useless for +you, you couldn’t be helped by it.” Yet he was +forced to admit to himself that all she had said +was reasonable; at bottom it didn’t contradict his +generalization, for it was based on a reality, on +La Clavel’s long resentment, on indignities to her +pride, on, as she had said, the innate freedom of +the mountain spirit. If she were honest, any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +possible attachment to Cuba might result from +her hatred of Spain, of Sevilla and Madrid. +Hers, then, would be the motive of revenge.</p> +<p>“You are right about the difference in our experiences,” +she agreed; “I was dancing for a +living at six; at ten I had another accomplishment. +I have lived in rooms inlaid with gold, +and in cellars with men where murder would +have been a gracious virtue. Yes, lime flower, +there is little you know that could be any assistance +to me. But the other, your purity, your +effort of nobility, that I must learn from +you.”</p> +<p>He explained his meaning more fully to her, +and she listened intently. “You think,” she interrupted, +“that a woman must be attached to +something real, like your arm or a pot of gold. +You know them, and that at your age, at any age, +is a marvel enough in itself. The wisest men in +Europe have tried to understand the first movement +of my dancing—how, in it, a race, the +whole history of a nation, is expressed in the +stamp of a heel, the turn of a hip. They wonder +what, in me, had happened to the maternal +instinct, why I chose to reflect life, as though I +were a mirror, rather than experience it. And +now, it seems, you see everything, all is clear to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +you. You have put a label, such as are in museums, +on women; good!”</p> +<p>She smiled at him, mocking but not unkind.</p> +<p>“However,” he told her crossly, “that is of +very little importance. How did we begin? I +have forgotten already.”</p> +<p>“In this way,” she said coolly; “I asked if +it would be of any interest to—let us say, your +friends, to learn that the United States, in spite +of the Administration, will not recognize a Republican +Cuba. Fish is unchangeably opposed to +the insurgents. You may expect no help there.”</p> +<p>“That might be important to the insurgents,” +he admitted; “but where are they to be found—in +the cabildos of Los Egidos?”</p> +<p>“At least repeat what you have heard to Escobar: +is it Andrés or Vincente?”</p> +<p>The name of Andrés’ brother was spoken so +unexpectedly, the faintest knowledge of Vincente +on the part of the dancer of such grave importance, +that Charles Abbott momentarily lost his +composure. “Vincente!” he exclaimed awkwardly. +“Was that the other brother? But he +is dead.”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” she replied. “It is planned for +tonight, after dinner, when he is smoking in the +little upper salon.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p>Agitated, at a loss for further protest, he rose. +He must go at once to the Escobars, warn them. +“You will admit now that I have been of use,” +La Clavel was standing beside him. “And it is +possible, if Vincente Escobar isn’t found, and +Ceaza discovers that you were here, that—” she +paused significantly. “I am the victim of a +madness,” she declared, “of a Cuban fever.” +But there was no time now to analyse the processes +of her mind and sex.</p> +<p>“I’ll be going,” he said abruptly.</p> +<p>“Naturally,” she returned; “but what about +your coming back? That will be more difficult, +and yet it is necessary. Ah, yes, you must pretend +to be in love with me; it will be hard, but +what else is there? A dancer has always a number +of youths at her loose heels.</p> +<p>“You will be laughed at, of course; the officers, +Santacilla and Gaspar, will be unbearable. You +will have to play the infatuated fool, and send +me bouquets of gardenias and three-cornered +notes, and give me money. That won’t be so +hard, because we can use the same sum over and +over; but I shall have to read the notes to my +protectors in the army.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be going,” he repeated, gathering his +stick and gloves from the floor. She asked, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +a breath of wistfulness, if he could manage a +touch of affection for her? Charles Abbott replied +that this was not the hour for such questions. +“The young,” she sighed, “are glacial.” +But that, she proceeded, was exactly what drew +her to them. They were like the pure wind along +the eaves under which she had been born. “I +promise never to kiss you again, or, if I must, +solely as the mark of brotherhood. And now go +back to—to Andrés.”</p> +<p>She backed away from him, superb in the +shawl, and again she was rayed in the superlative +beauty of her first appearance. The woman +was lost in the dancer, the flesh in the vision, +the art.</p> +<p>“You could be a goddess,” Charles told her, +“the shrine of thousands of hearts.” The declaration +of his entire secret was on his lips; +but, after all, it wasn’t his. There was a +possibility that she had lied about Vincente, +and at this second he might be dead, the +Volunteers waiting for him, Charles Abbott, +below.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Hurrying through the Paseo Isabel to the +Prado, Charles, looking at his watch, found that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +it was nearly six. Carmita Escobar and Narcisa, +and probably Domingo, were driving perhaps +by the sea or perhaps toward Los Molinos, +the park of the Captain-General. At any rate +the women would be away from the house, and +that, in the situation which faced the Escobars, +was fortunate. If what La Clavel said were +true, and Charles Abbott now believed her implicitly, +the agents of the Crown would be already +watching in the Prado. Vincente must be smuggled +away; how, he didn’t yet see; but a consultation +would result in a plan for his escape. +The servant who opened the small door in the +great iron-studded double gate, though he knew +Charles Abbott well, was uncommunicative to +the point of rudeness. He refused to say who +of the family were at home; he intimated that, +in any case, Charles would not be seen, and he +attempted to close him out.</p> +<p>Charles, however, ignoring the other’s protests, +forced his way into the arch on the patio. +He went up the wide stairs unceremoniously to +the suite of formal rooms along the street, where, +to his amazement, he found the Escobar family +seated in the sombreness of drawn curtains, and +all of them with their faces marked with tears. +Surprised by his abrupt appearance they showed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +no emotion other than a dull indifference. Then +Andrés rose and put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, +speaking in a level grave voice:</p> +<p>“My dear Abbott, Vincente, our brother, has +made the last sacrifice possible to men. He died +at noon, sitting in his chair, as a result of the +fever.”</p> +<p>This was tragic, but, with a deeper knowledge +of the dilemma facing them, Charles was actually +impatient. “What,” he demanded, “are you +going to do with the body?”</p> +<p>“It is placed in dignity on a couch, and we +have sent to Matanzas for a priest we can trust. +He’ll be here early in the morning, and then, and +then, we must forget our love.”</p> +<p>“You must do that now, without a minute’s +loss,” Charles urged them. “You can wait for +no priest. The Spanish Government knows he +is here; tonight, after dinner, he was to have +been taken. The house will be stood on its roof, +every inch investigated. You spoke, once, of +Narcisa, what might horribly swallow you all. +Well, it has almost come.”</p> +<p>Andrés’ grip tightened; he was pale but quiet. +“You are right,” he asserted; “but how did you +find this out, and save us?” That, Charles replied, +was of no importance now. What could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +they do with Vincente’s body? Carmita, his +mother, began to cry again, noiselessly; Narcisa, +as frigid as a statue in marble, sat with her wide +gaze fastened on Charles Abbott. “What?” +Domingo echoed desperately. It was no longer +a question of the dignity, the blessing, of the +dead, but of the salvation of the living. Vincente’s +corpse, revered a few minutes before, now +became a hideous menace; it seemed to have +grown to monumental proportions, a thing impossible +to put out of sight.</p> +<p>Undoubtedly soldiers were watching, guarding +the house: a number of men in nondescript +clothes were lounging persistently under the rows +of Indian laurels below. A hundred practical +objections immediately rose to confront every proposal. +Carmita and Narcisa had been sent from +the room, and a discussion was in progress of +the possibility of cutting the body into minute +fragments. “If that is decided on,” Domingo +Escobar declared, with sweat rolling over his forehead, +“I must do it; my darling and heroic son +would approve; he would wish me to be his +butcher.”</p> +<p>Andrés, harder, more mature, than the elder, +stopped such expressions of sentiment. It would +make such a mess, he reminded them; and then, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +how far could the servants, the hysterical negroes, +be depended upon? They would soon +discover the progress of such an operation.</p> +<p>Charles suggested fire, but the Spanish stoves, +with shallow cups for charcoal, were useless, and +the ovens were cold; it would create suspicion to +set them to burning so late in the day. “Since +we can’t get rid of it,” Charles declared, “we +must accept it. The body is there, but whose is +it? Did you send a servant to Matanzas?”</p> +<p>Two had gone, riding, once they were beyond +Havana, furiously. A Jamaican negro, huge +and black, totally unlike Vincente, and a Cuban +newly in the city, a mestizo, brought in from the +Escobars’ small sugar estate near Madriga. +Andrés at once appropriated Charles’ idea. +Their mother and Narcisa, he proclaimed, must +go out as usual for their afternoon drive, and he +would secure some clothes that belonged to Juan +Roman, the servant. No one in the back of the +house, luckily, had seen the riders leave. Judged +more faithful than the rest, they had been sent +away as secretly as possible.</p> +<p>“What,” Charles Abbott asked, “caused his +death?” Andrés faced him coldly. “This pig +of a countryman I killed,” he said. “The +Spanish will understand that. They have killed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +a multitude of us, for nothing, for neglect in polishing +the back of a boot. It will be more difficult +with the servants,—they are used to kindness, +consideration, here; but they, too, in other +places, have had their lesson. And I was +drunk.”</p> +<p>In spite of Charles’ insistence, he was not permitted +to assist in the carrying out of the details +that followed. He sat, walked about, alone in +the drawing-room. After an interminable wait +he heard the report, faint and muffled by walls, +of a pistol, and then running feet passed the +door. Domingo appeared first, a glass of +brandy in his shaking hand:</p> +<p>“He has gone, in a sack, to be thrown into +the sea ... the blood hid his face. Ah, Jesu! +But it was successful—a corporal looked, with +the hundred doblons I pressed into his hand. +He kicked the body three times, thrust a knife +into it, and said that there, anyhow, was one less +Cuban.” Andrés entered the room and, without +speech, embraced Charles, kissing him on either +cheek; and soon Carmita Escobar and Narcisa, +with their parasols and embroidered gloves, returned +from their drive.</p> +<p>They could do nothing but wait for what impended, +and Charles Abbott related to Andrés +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +the entire scene with La Clavel. “I believe in +her,” he concluded. Andrés agreed with him. +“Her plan is excellent,” he pronounced; “it will +be very hard on you, though. You will be fed +on insults.” That, Charles protested, was nothing. +“And, worse still, it will end our companionship. +You will be able no longer to go about +with Jaime and Remigio and me. Yes, that, so +soon, is over. What was left of our happiness +together has been taken away. We are nothing +now in ourselves. How quickly, Charles, we +have aged; when I look in the glass I half expect +to see grey hair. It is sad, this. Why did +you leave your comfort and safety and come to +us? But, thank God, you did. It was you who +saved us for the present. And that, now, is +enough; you must go back to the San Felipe. +Put on your best clothes, with a rose in your buttonhole, +and get drunk in all the cafés; tell anyone +who will listen that La Clavel is more superb +than Helen of the Greeks, and buy every +Spanish officer you see what he may fancy.”</p> +<p>As Charles Abbott left the Escobar dwelling +a detachment of Cuban Volunteers on horse, and +a file of infantry, their uniform of brown drilling +dressed with red collars and cuffs, had gathered +across its face. “Quien vive?” a harsh +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +voice stopped him. “Forastero,” Charles answered +sullenly. He was subjected to a long insolent +scrutiny, a whangee cane smote him +sharply across the back. He regarded the men +about him stolidly; while an officer, who had +some English, advised him to keep away from +suspected Cubans. But, at last, he was released, +directed to proceed at once to Anche del Norte +Street, where his passport would be again examined. +Charles prepared slowly for dinner at +the Dominica; and, when he was ready to go out, +he was the pattern of a fashionable and idle +young tourist. But what filled his mind was the +speculation whether or not the Escobars would +remember to prevent the return of Juan Roman +with the priest from Matanzas.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Nothing, considering the aspirations of Charles +Abbott, could have been more ironical than the +phase of life he entered upon the acceptance of +La Clavel into the party of independence. The +entire success of this dangerous arrangement depended +on his ability to create an impression, +where he was concerned, of unrelieved vapidity. +He was supposed to be infatuated with the dancer; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +and he lingered, not wholly sober, about the fashionable +resorts. Charles sent her flowers; and, +sitting in his room on the roof of the San Felipe, +he composed, in a cold distaste, innumerable +short variations on the theme of a fluid and +fatuous attachment. In reality, he had been repelled +by the actuality of La Clavel; he had an +unconquerable aversion for her room with its +tumbled vivid finery, the powdered scents mingling +with the odors of her body and of the brandy +always standing in a glass beside her. Yet the +discrepancy between the woman herself and the +vision she had bred continued to puzzle and +disconcert him.</p> +<p>When they were together it was this he preferred +to talk about. At times she answered his +questioning with a like interest; but all, practically, +that she understood about herself, her +dancing, had been expressed in their first conversation +upon that topic. The rest, at best, was +no more than a childlike curiosity and vanity. +She had an insatiable appetite for compliment; +and, sincere in his admiration for her impersonal +aspect, Charles was content to gratify her; except +when, in spite of her promise, she kissed +him ardently. This never failed to seriously +annoy him; and afterwards she would offer him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +a mock apology. It detracted, he felt, from his +dignity, assaulted, insidiously, the elevation of +his purpose in life.</p> +<p>He cherished a dislike, part cultivated and part +subconscious, for women. All his thoughts and +emotions were celibate, chaste. Such a scene had +just ended, La Clavel was at her glass, busy with +a rouge pot and a scrap of soft leather; and +Charles was standing stiffly by the door. She +had used, in describing him, a Spanish word +about the meaning of which he was not quite +clear, but he had an idea that it bore a close resemblance +to prig. That specially upset him. +At the moment his dislike for her almost broke +down his necessary diplomacy. In an island of +men desirous of her least favor—her fame transcended +seas and reached from coast to coast—he +only, thinking less than nothing of his privilege, +had an instant unchallenged access to her.</p> +<p>He knew, carefully watched, all her various +dependents: Calixto Sola, the hairdresser, a creature +with a sterile face constantly twisted into +painful grimaces; he was an employee in a barbering +shop on Neptune Street, too volatile for +any convictions, but because of a spiteful, injured +disposition, not to be trusted. Then there +was La Clavel’s maid, Jobaba, a girl with an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +alabaster beauty indefinitely tainted by Africa. +She was, Charles decided, the most corrupt +being he had ever encountered. Her life away +from the St. Louis was incredibly, wildly, debauched. +Among other things, she danced, as +the mulata, the rumba, an indescribable affair; +and she had connections with the rites of brujeria, +the degraded black magic of the Carabale +in Cuba. She was beautiful, with a perfection +of grace, except for the direct gaze of her brown +eyes, which revealed an opacity, a dullness, like +mud. She was, even more than to La Clavel, +the servant of Santacilla; she reported, the dancer +told Charles, every possible act and speech +of her mistress to the Spaniards, who, in return, +supplied her with a little money and a load of +biting curses.</p> +<p>The chambermaid who attended La Clavel’s +room had lost a lover with the forces of General +Agramonte, and was of use to Charles; without +knowledge of the hidden actuality she yet +brought him, unread, communications for the +patriotic party; and she warned him of Santacilla’s +presence and uncertain humors. The +laundress had been, in her youth, an actress in +the cheap local theatres, and, when she was +not sodden with drink, showed an admirable devotion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +to her famous patron by the most delicate +feats imaginable in ironing. She was almost +purely Spanish and had only a contempt for the +Cubeńos.</p> +<p>While Charles Abbott’s duty was, on the surface, +direct and easy, it was complicated by the +need for a constant watchfulness, a wit in countless +small details. Supporting, well enough, the +boredom of his public role, he had to manage with +an unfailing dexterity the transmission of the +information that came to the insurrectionists +through La Clavel. These facts she gathered +through the unguarded moments of Ceaza y Santacilla’s +talk—he was close to the Captain-General +and had important connections at Madrid—and, +at prolonged parties, from the conversation +of his intimates. Charles put these communications +into contracted written English sentences; +in that way, even as against the accidental +chance of being, at any time, searched, he could +better convey their import; and gave them in +carefully planned, apparently incidental encounters, +to any one of a score of correctly gloved and +boutonničred young men he had come to know by +adroitly managed assurances.</p> +<p>Charles had formed, as well, principally in +the Café Dominica, a superficial familiarity with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +other Americans in Havana for banking or commercial +purposes. They, regarding him as immensely +rich and dissipated, were half contemptuous +and half eager for the associations, the +pleasures, of his mode of life. He went, as +often as it seemed necessary, to the United States +Club on Virtudes Street, where, together with +his patriots, but different from them in a hidden +contempt, he gambled, moderately and successfully. +His luck became proverbial, and, coupled +with La <ins title="Was Cavel's">Clavel’s</ins> name, his reputation soon grew +into what he intrigued for. Often, alone on the +hotel roof, he regarded himself with an objective +amazement: everything was precisely as he had +planned, hoped for, on the steamer Morro +Castle—and entirely different.</p> +<p>It was probable that the death he had +not, in imagination, shrunk from, would crush +him at any unexpected moment, an unpredictable +slip; but how could he have foreseen the +trivial guise he would wear? Charles was +forced, it seemed to him, to ape every single +quality he hated. The spending of his money, +as legitimately as though it were exchanged for +guns, on casual acquaintances and rum punches, +on gardenias that wilted and entertainment that +choked him by its vulgar banality, gradually embittered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +him. The insincerity of the compliments +he paid, the lying compliments to which he listened +with an ingenuous smile and an entire comprehension +of their worthlessness, steadily robbed +his ideal of its radiant aloofness.</p> +<p>His enthusiasm, he discovered, his high ardor, +must be changed to patience and fortitude, the +qualities which belonged to his temperament and +years had to give place to those of an accomplished +maturity; the romance of his circumstance +deserted the surface to linger hidden, cherished, +beneath all the practical and immediate rest. He +began to perceive the inescapable disappointing +difference between an idea, a conception of the +mind, and its execution. The realization of that, +he told himself, the seduction of the lofty, the +aerial, to earth, constituted success, power. The +spirit and the flesh! And the flesh constantly +betrayed the highest determinations. How he +resented, distrusted, the mechanics, the traps and +illusions, of an existence on an animal plane!</p> +<p>His fervor, turned in upon itself, began to assume +an aspect of the religious; his imposed revolt +from the mundane world turned his thoughts +to an intangible heaven, a spotless and immaterial +hereafter. The white façades of Havana, intolerably +gold under the sun and glimmering in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +the tropical nights, the procession and clamor of +the Dia des Reyes, the crowded theatres, the restaurants +where, with no appetite, he ate as little +as possible—began to appear vague, unsubstantial. +What, so intently, was on every hand +being done he thought meaningless. Where, originally, +he had been absorbed in bringing relief +to countless specific Cubans, he now only dwelt +on a possible tranquility of souls, a state, like +that promised in the Bible, without corruption +and injustice and tears.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>These considerations particularly occupied +Charles Abbott waiting inside the door of Santa +Clara Church for La Clavel, who was coming +to the eight o’clock morning mass. Outside, the +day was still and very hot, intolerably blazing, +but the darkened interior of the church, the air +heavy with incense, was cool. An intermittent +stream of people entered—the white and gilt of +a Spanish naval uniform was followed by gay +silks, a priest passed noiselessly, like a shadow; +an old woman with a rippling fire of jewels made +her way forward, across the wide stone floor, with +the regular subdued tap of a cane. The impending +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +celebration of the mass gathered its activity, +its white and black figures, about an altar. +Suddenly Charles envied the priests in their service +of an ideal embodied in a spiritual Trinity. +Even Cuba vanished from the foreground of his +thoughts at the conception of a devotion not alone +to an island, a nation, but to all the world of +men. His interest, measured with this, was +merely temporal, limited.</p> +<p>Compared with the Protestant influences of his +birth and experience, the separation of religion +from society, the all-absorbing gesture and the +mysticism of the Roman church offered a complete +escape, an obliteration, of the individual. +But, as he dwelt upon this, he realized that, for +him, it was an impossibility. He might be a +Franciscan, begging his way, in brown bagging +and sandals, through a callous world for which +he ceaselessly prayed; or one of the heroic Jesuits +of the early French occupation of the Mississippi +Valley. Yet these, as well, were no more than +pictures, designs in a kaleidoscope which, immediately +turned, would be destroyed in a fresh +pattern. He was brought back to reality by the +swinging of the heavy curtain at the door; a segment +of day, like a white explosion of powder, +was visible, and La Clavel proceeded to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +font of holy water. As he joined her she complained:</p> +<p>“You should have held it for me in your palm; +what barbarians the Americans and English are.” +She was, characteristically, dressed as brightly +as possible, in a mauve skirt with an elaborately +cut flounce swaying about yellow silk stockings, +a mantón of white crępe de Chine embroidered +with immense emerald green blossoms; her hair +piled about its tall comb was covered with a mantilla +falling in scallops across her brilliant cheeks. +In the church, that reduced so much, she was startling +in her bold color and presence.</p> +<p>A negro, whom Charles recognized as a servant +at the St. Louis, followed her with a heavy +roll and a small unpainted chair with a caned +seat. Before the altar, under the low pointed +arches of the transept, he spread out a deep-piled +Persian rug—where La Clavel promptly kneeled—and +set the chair conveniently for her. Her +devotion at an end, the dancer rose and disposed +herself comfortably. The constant flutter of a +fan with sandal wood sticks stirred the edge of +her mantilla. After she had scrutinized the +worshippers about them, she turned to Charles, +speaking in a guarded voice.</p> +<p>He listened with an intense concentration, in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +the careful preliminaries of a difficult act of memory, +asking her, when it could not be avoided, to +repeat facts or names. They were, now, concerned +with the New York Junta, involved tables +of costs, and La Clavel was palpably annoyed +by the unaccustomed necessity of a strict mental +effort. She raised her eyebrows, shot an inviting +glance at an interested man of middle age, and +shut and opened her fan by an irritable twist of +the wrist. Watching, weighing, her mood, +Charles abruptly brought her recital to an end.</p> +<p>“That is enough for the present,” he decided.</p> +<p>“My choice infant,” she retorted, “your air of +being my director is comic. And I could wish +you were not so immaculate, so unworldly—you +are tiresome more often than not. I could scream +with laughing when I think you are supposed to +be my servant of love.” The striking of a silvery +bell interrupted her with the necessity for +a reverence. The mutter of prayer was instantly +lost in echoless space. The genuflexions of the +priests and acolytes were rapid. “This secrecy,” +she went on, “is against my disposition, +unnatural. I am a woman in whom the complete +expression of every feeling is not only a +good but a necessity. There are times when I +must, it seems, give way to my hatred of those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +perfumed captains. I sit beside Santacilla, with +his hand on my knee, and, hidden by my skirt, +my fingers are wedded to the knife in my stocking. +A turn, a sweep of the arm ... there is +a tearing cut I learned in the mountains.”</p> +<p>The prayers, the Latin invocations, grew +louder with the symbolized miracle of transubstantiation, +the turning back of the bread and +wine into the humility and forbearance of Christ.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott was still, pale and remote; and +the heat of La Clavel’s words died before the +vision of an eternal empire of souls irrevocably +judged. She sank forward again, the knotted +fringe of her mantón spread out beyond the rug, +upon the stone. After a little he told her that her +courage, her daring and patience, were magnificent. +But she replied that they were cold virtues. +“All virtues are cold,” Charles assured +her seriously. If that were so, La Clavel whispered, +her cheek close to his, she was lost to virtue. +Anyhow, she didn’t believe him, he could +not, at his age, know so much. Yet not, God +comprehended, that he wasn’t both virtuous and +cold; any other man in the world, not a heathen, +would have flung himself at her. Charles said +wearily:</p> +<p>“We have been over this before, and you know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +that I do not care for women. What I was a +few years ago—”</p> +<p>“A baby,” she informed him.</p> +<p>“What I was a few years ago,” he repeated +with dignity, “is no longer true of me. I belong +body and spirit to the cause of which you are +aware. And if I didn’t it would be, in many +respects, no different—science and the liberation +of a people are all one, selfless.”</p> +<p>“I left the knife out of my present toilet,” she +sighed. “It would be a charity to free you from +the shape you hate so dearly.”</p> +<p>“I must go back to the San Felipe and write +what you told me,” he proceeded. “I understand +that Santacilla has gone out on a slaughtering +party, and I’ll have to take you around in the +evening. There are zarzuelas in the Tacon +Theatre this evening, and afterwards, I suppose, +dulces upstairs at the Tuileries. It’s no good, +though, expecting me for Retreta—I’ve got to +have some time to recover and sleep: four o’clock +last night, with a pack of imbeciles, and three the +night before. The smell of Jamaica rum and +limes makes me sick.”</p> +<p>The mass was over, the people scattering, and, +once more cheerful, she laughed at him. “You +might wear a hair shirt,” she suggested; “they are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +splendid for the soul.” He handed her, without +reply, into the small victoria, one of the first in +Havana, which had taken the place of her volanta. +In the sun, her shawl, her smile, were +dazzling. A knot of men gathered, gazing at +her with longing, regarding Charles Abbott with +insolent resentment and wonder; how, their expressions +made clear the thought, could that insignificant +and colorless foreigner, that tepid +American, engage and hold La Clavel, the glory +of Cuba and Spain?</p> +<p>She drove away, shielding her eyes with the +fan, and Charles returned slowly, on foot, to the +hotel, reaching it in time for the eleven o’clock +breakfast. Bolting his door, closing the high +shutters of his glassless window, he lay down +tired and feverish. The vendors of oranges +cried, far off, their naranjes, naranjes dulces. +The bed, which had no mattress, its sacking covered +by a single sheet, the pillow stuffed hard with +cotton, offered him little rest. His body, wet +with sweat, twisted and turned continually, and +sleep evaded him; its peace almost within his +grasp, it fled before the hot insistence of his +thoughts. The uncomfortable flesh mocked and +dragged at the spirit. It occurred to him suddenly, +devastatingly, that he might fail in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +purpose; the armor of his conviction of invincibility +fell from him with the semblance of a loud +ringing.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Of all the disturbing elements in Charles +Abbott’s present life the one which, it had seemed, +must prove most difficult, Santacilla and his +friends, troubled him least. There was, in their +jeering, a positive quality to be met; his own necessary +restraint furnished him with a sustaining +feeling of triumph, stability; in his control, the +sacrifice of his dignity, his actual pride, damaged +by La Clavel, was restored. He acted the part +of the infatuated, ubiquitous youth, he thought, +with entire success. It had been hardest at first—Santacilla, +who pretended to find Charles under +his feet like a dog, threatened, if he didn’t stay +away from the St. Louis, to fling him down the +long flight of stairs descending from the dancer’s +room.</p> +<p>This, Charles wholly realized, was not an idle +boasting. Seated, it might be, quietly against +the wall, outside the immediate circle about La +Clavel, the officers, the Spanish grandees in Cuba +for pleasure or for the supervision of their copper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +mines at Cobra, Charles would watch, study, +Ceaza y Santacilla, finding in him the epitome +of the Spain he himself hated. What, principally, +was evident about the officer with the heavy +short neck, the surprising red hair, and small +restless blue eyes, was cruelty of an extraordinary +refined persistence. He had, unexpectedly +in his sheer brutal bulk, a tormenting spirit, +a mental abnormality, rather than the to-be-looked-for +mere insensate weight of his fist. He +was, Charles discovered, the victim of disordered +nerves, his gaze, his thick hands or shoulders, +were never still, and his lips had a trick of movement +as if in the pronunciation of soundless periods.</p> +<p>He spoke, even to La Clavel, abruptly, mockingly; +his tenderest words, addressed to her with +a sweeping disregard of whoever could overhear, +were hasty, introspective rather than generous. +More frequently he was silent, redly brooding. +It was evident to the most casual understanding +that Santacilla was, by birth, association and +ideas, an aristocrat of the absolute type fast disappearing. +It was his power that, in a world +largely affected by the ideal of Christianity, he +was ruthless; in an era of comparative humanity +he was inhuman. There was, about him, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +smell of the slow fires of the Inquisition, of languid +murder, curious instruments of pain. +Charles recalled a story of the Spanish occupation +of Cuba—how the soldiers in armor cut and +stabbed their way through a village of naked, unprepared +and peaceable bodies.</p> +<p>That, until he had known Santacilla, had been +incomprehensible—a page of old history; but +now Charles understood: he could see the heavy +figure with a darkly suffused face hacking with +a sword. He was insane, Charles Abbott told +himself; in other circumstances he’d be soon convicted +of a sensational murder, quickly hanged or +put in an asylum. But in Havana, as an officer +of the Crown quartered on a people he held in +less esteem than the cattle whose slaughter he +applauded in the bull ring, nothing, practically, +limited his mad humors. Yes, here, in the +West, he was Spain, the old insufferable despotism, +and Charles thought of Santacilla’s necessary +end as coldly as though the soldier were no +more than a figment of the doomed old injustice.</p> +<p>La Clavel was seated with Charles Abbott in +the upper room of the Tuileries, when Santacilla +slid into an unoccupied chair beside them. They +were eating mantecados, frozen sweetened cream, +and Santacilla dropped a number of battered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +Cuban coins, small in denomination, into Charles’ +half consumed ice.</p> +<p>“If you were a man,” he said, “you could +break them up with your teeth.”</p> +<p>The other quietly put the plate away and +lighted a cigarette. He smiled, as if in appreciation +of his humor, at the officer.</p> +<p>“But I’ll bet you twenty doblons you can’t break +one,” he added.</p> +<p>Santacilla replied that he was considering +having Charles Abbott deported.</p> +<p>“You are so dangerous,” he explained, with +the grimace that served him as a smile. “I +often consult with our Captain-General. ‘This +Abbott,’ he says; ‘Agramonte is nothing, but I +am afraid of him. He is wise, he is deep.’ And +then we think what can be done with you—a tap +on the head, not too hard and not far from the +ear, would make you as gentle as a kitten. I +have had it done; really it is a favor, since then +you would forget all your trouble, the problems +of state. You’d cry if I raised a finger at you.” +La Clavel interrupted him to swear at his degraded +imagination. “And the figure in the +jota!” he turned to her. “You know that the +Spaniards of birth have, as well as their own, +the blood of the Moriscos. What they were, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +what the East is, with women, I beg you to remember.</p> +<p>“This new treatment of women is very regrettable. +I am a little late for absolute happiness; +too late, for example, to fasten your tongue with +a copper wire to the tongue across the table from +you. Lovers, you see, joined at last.” He +talked while he ate, in a manner wholly delicate, +minute fragile dulces, cakes, glazed in green and +pink, and ornamental confections of almond +paste. Unperturbed, La <ins title="Was Cavel">Clavel</ins> found him comparable +to a number of appalling objects and +states. Coarse, was all that he replied.</p> +<p>“You are a peasant, a beast, and what you say +is merely stupid. There this Abbott is your superior—he +has a trace, a suspicion, of blood. I +am wondering,” he was addressing Charles again. +“It seems impossible that you are as dull as you +appear; there is more, perhaps, than meets the +eye. Your friendship with the Escobars broke +up very suddenly; and you never see Floret and +Quintara with his borrowed French airs. They +are nothing, it is true, yet they have a little Castilian, +they are better than the avaricious fools at +the United States Club. Of course, if you are in +love with this cow gone mad, a great deal is accounted +for.” He wiped his fingers first on a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +serviette and then on a sheer web of linen marked +with a coronet and his cipher.</p> +<p>“Pah!” he exclaimed, looking at the dancer, +“your neck is dirty again.”</p> +<p>Sick with disgust, his blood racing with a passionate +detestation, Charles Abbott laughed +loudly. But he was relieved that Santacilla’s +attention had been shifted from him. Another +officer, a major of the Isabel regiment, tall and +dark and melancholy, joined them. He ignored +Charles completely, and talked to La Clavel about +her dances—the Arragonese jota and those of the +other provinces of Spain. He had, it developed, +written an opera on the subject of de Gama and +a fabulous Florida. Santacilla grew restive at +this and gazed about the room maliciously. +Then, suddenly, he rose and walked to the table +where a young Cuban exquisite was sitting with +a girl slender and darkly lovely. Santacilla +leaned over, with his hands planted on their +table, and made a remark that drove the blood in +a scarlet tide to the civilian’s face. Then the +Spaniard amazingly produced from his sleeve a +ball of lamb’s wool such as women use to powder +their faces, and touched the girl’s nose lightly. +He went to another table and repeated his act, +to another and another, brushing all the feminine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +noses, and returned, unchallenged, to his +place.</p> +<p>“If I had been with any of those women,” he +related comfortably, “and the King had done that, +there would have been a new king and a new +infanta.”</p> +<p>The musical Spaniard, inappropriately in uniform, +remonstrated, “A lot of them will kill you +some night in the Paseo de Valdez or on the +quays.”</p> +<p>Santacilla agreed with him. “No doubt it +will overtake me—if not here, then on the Peninsula. +A hundred deaths, all distressing, have +been sworn upon me.” Charles Abbott’s expression +was inane, but, correcting that statement, +he said to himself, “A hundred and one.”</p> +<p>La Clavel yawned, opening to their fullest extent +her lips on superb teeth and a healthy throat.</p> +<p>“I have, at least, a sponge, a basin of water,” +she proclaimed indirectly.</p> +<p>Santacilla replied, “You think nothing can +cleanse me, and, in your chattering way, you are +right; except, it may be, that last twist of steel +or ounce of lead. Some of my soldiers are planning +to manage it; I know them well, and I gave +one an opportunity today: I stood with my back +to him in the parapet of the Twelve Apostles for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +three, five, minutes, while he tramped and fiddled +with his musket, and then I put him in a hole in +the stone for a year.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The other Spanish officer, Gaspar Arco de +Vaca, Santacilla’s closest companion, observed toward +Charles an air of profound civility, and his +pretence was more galling than Santacilla’s morbid +threats and exposed contempt. De Vaca was, +in temperament and appearance, purely Iberian: +he was of middle height, he carried his slender +body with an assured insulting grace, and had a +narrow high-boned face, a bigoted nose and a +moustache like a scrolling of India ink on a repressed +and secretive mouth. Charles often encountered +him in the Fencing School on the Prado, +across from the Villa Nueva Theatre. The officers +of Isabella congregated there late in the +afternoon, where they occupied all the chairs and +filled the bare room with the soft stamp of their +heels and the harsh grinding of engaged buttoned +steel. The foils, however, were not always covered: +there had been some fatalities from duelling +in the sala de Armas since Charles Abbott had +been in Havana; a Cuban gentleman past sixty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +had been slain by a subaltern of seventeen; two +officers, quarreling over a crillo girl, had sustained +punctured lungs, from which one had +bled to death.</p> +<p>The Cubans, it was made evident, were there +by sufferance, and the fencing master, Galope +Hormiguero, an officer who had been retired +from a Castilian regiment under the shadow of +an unprovoked murder, made little effort to conceal +his disdain of the Islanders. Charles he regarded +without interest: he was a faithful student, +and made all the required passes, engaged +the other beginning students, with regularity; but +even he saw that he would never be notably skilful +with the foil or rapier or broadsword. +Charles had a delicate sense of touch, he bore +himself firmly, his eye was true; he had the appearance +of mastery, but the essence of it was +not in him. His heart, Hormiguero frequently +told him, was like a sponge; he wasn’t tempered +to the commanding of death.</p> +<p>He agreed, silently, that he wasn’t a butcher; +and as for his heart—time would show its material. +Meanwhile he kept up the waist and forearm +exercises, the indicated breathing, gaining, if +not a different spirit, a harder and cured body. +The room was large, with the usual high windows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +on a balcony, and strips of coco-matting over +the tiled floor. A light wooden partition provided +dressing space, the chairs were carried +about hither and there, and the racks of foils +against the walls reflected the brightness of day +in sudden long shivers like other and immaterial +blades. It had been, originally, a drawing-room, +the cornice was elaborate, and painted on the +ceiling were flying cupids and azure and cornucopias +of spilling flowers.</p> +<p>At moments of rest, his chest laboring and +arms limp at his sides, Charles Abbott would +stare up at the remote pastoral of love and Venus +and roses. Then the clamor, the wicked +scrape of steel, the sharp breaths, the sibilant +cries that accompanied the lunges, would appear +wholly incomprehensible to him, a business in a +mad-house; he’d want to tear the plastron, with +its scarlet heart sewn high on the left, from his +chest, and fling it, with his gauntlet and mask, +across the floor; he’d want to break all the foils, +and banish Galope Hormiguero to live among +the wild beasts he resembled. He was deep in +such a mood when de Vaca’s considerate tones +roused him. “Positively,” he said, “you are like +one of the heroes who held Mexico on the point +of his sword or who swept the coast of Peru of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +its gold. And you are idle, for you see no one +who can hold the mat with you.”</p> +<p>“In reality,” Charles replied, “I fence very +awkwardly. But you have often seen me, I +haven’t any need to tell you that.”</p> +<p>“That can never be established without experience,” +the Spaniard asserted; “I should have +to feel your wrist against mine. If you will be +patient, if you will wait for me, I’ll risk a public +humiliation.”</p> +<p>Charles Abbott said evenly: “I’d be very glad +to fence with you, of course.”</p> +<p>When de Vaca, flawlessly appointed, returned, +Charles rose steadily, and strapped on his mask, +tightened the leather of the plastron. A murmur +of subdued amusement followed their walking +out together onto an unoccupied strip—de +Vaca was a celebrated swordsman. Charles saluted +acceptably, but the wielding of the other’s +gesture of courtesy filled him with admiration. +The foils struck together, there was a conventional +pass and parry, and from that moment +Charles Abbott lost control of his steel. At a +touch from de Vaca, scarcely perceptible, his foil +rose or fell, swept to one side or the other; a +lunge would end in the button describing a whole +arc, and pointing either to the matting or the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +winged and cherubic cupids. The laughter from +the chairs grew louder, more unguarded, and +then settled into a constant stream of applause +and merriment.</p> +<p>Disengaged, he said in tones which he tried in +vain to make steady, “You have a beautiful +hand.”</p> +<p>De Vaca, his eyes shining blackly through +wire mesh, thanked him in the politest language +known. He began, then, to make points, touches, +wherever he chose—with a remarkably timed +twist he tore the cloth heart from Charles’ wadding; +he indicated, as though he were a teacher +with a pointer, anatomical facts and regions; de +Vaca seemed to be calling Charles’ attention, by +sharp premonitory taps, to what he might have +been saying. There were now a number of voices +encouraging and applauding him; he was begged +not to be so hard upon Gaspar; and it was hoped +that he was not giving way to the venting of a +secret spite. A nerveless parry in tierce brought +out a tempestuous support—</p> +<p>His arm was as heavy, as numb, as lead, the +conventional period had been ignored, and his torment +went on and on. His chest, he thought, +must burst under the strapped plastron, and sweat +poured in a sheet across his eyes. The episode +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +seemed utterly meaningless, undemanded; the +more remarkable because of de Vaca’s indifference +to him, to all the trivialities of his Cuban +duty. How yellow the face was, the eyes were +like jet, through the mask. Then Charles Abbott +grasped what, he was certain, was the purpose +of such an apparently disproportionate attack. +It was the result of a cold effort, a set determination, +to destroy what courage he had. He +gazed quickly about, and saw nothing but Spanish +faces; the fencing master was in the far end +of the room, intent upon a sheaf of foils. At any +moment de Vaca could have disarmed him, sent +his steel flying through air; but that he forebore +to do. Instead he opposed his skill, his finesse, +his strength, in the attack upon Charles Abbott’s +fibre.</p> +<p>“If I collapse,” Charles told himself, “it will +be for eternity.”</p> +<p>Any sense of time was disintegrated in a physical +agony which required all his wasting being to +combat. But, even worse <ins title='Was that'>than</ins> that, far more +destructive, was the assault upon his mind. If +he crumbled ... he thought of himself as dust, +his brain a dry powder in his skull. The laughter +around him, which had seemed to retreat farther +and farther, had ceased, as though it had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +been lost in the distance. The room, widening +to an immensity of space, was silent, charged with +a malignant expectancy. Soon, Charles felt, he +would fall into unreckoned depths of corrupt +shadows, among the obscene figures of the hideously +lost.</p> +<p>The sweat streaming into his mouth turned +thick and salt—blood, from his nose. There was +a tumult in his head: his fencing now was the +mere waving of a reed. Again and again the +Spaniard’s foil, as cruelly and vitally direct as +at the first pass, struck within Charles’ guard. +The face of wood, of yellow wood, the eyes that +were bits of coal, behind the mask, pursued him +into the back of his brain. It stirred, there, a +smothering instinct, a dormant memory, and +Charles, with a wrenching effort, in a voice thin +like a trickle of water from a spigot, said again, +“—a most beautiful hand.”</p> +<p>Sharply, incomprehensibly, it was over. +Drooping forward upon his knees, dropping his +foil from paralysed fingers, he saw de Vaca, with +his mask on an arm, frowning.</p> +<p>“Now,” Charles Abbott thought luxuriously, +“I can faint and be damned to them.”</p> +<p>The cloud of darkness which flowed over him +was empty of the vileness of fear; rather, like the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +beneficence of night, it was an utterly peaceful +remission of the flesh.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His physical exhaustion, the weariness of his +mind, continued in a settled lassitude through the +following day. He was to see Andrés Escobar, +give him what information he had had from La +Clavel, the next morning at the baths of the Campos +Eliseos; and meanwhile he scarcely stirred +from the San Felipe. Charles, for the time, +lacked the bravado necessary for the sustaining of +his pretence. His thoughts, turned in upon his +own acts and prospects, dwelt quietly on his determination. +He had changed appreciably during +his stay in Havana; even his physiognomy was +different how, he couldn’t say, but he was aware +that his expression had, well, hardened. The +cure which had been the principally hoped-for +result of Cuba was complete. In spite of his +collapse in the fencing school, he was more compactly +strong than ever before. It occurred to +him that, now, he might be described as a man.</p> +<p>This brought him a certain pleasure, and, in +keeping with that state, he tried to simplify, to +comprehend, the idealism which dominated him. +He didn’t want to grasp vainly at rosy clouds. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +His first attitude, one of hardly more than boyish +excitement, had soon become a deep impersonal +engagement—he had promised himself to +Cuba. That will was stronger than ever; but +the schooling of the past weeks, together with the +stiffening of his spirit, had bred a new practicality +in him, superior, he felt, to any sheer heroics. +He vastly preferred the latter, he hadn’t totally +lost the inspiring mental picture of a glorious +sacrifice; but he had come to the realization that +it was more important to stay alive. What, in +reality, he was trying to do was to see himself +consecutively, logically.</p> +<p>In this, he recognized, his mind was different +from the Escobars’, from the blind fervor of +the many Cuban patriots he knew. He could +see that reflected in their manner toward him: no +trace of Vincente’s aloofness remained, they had +come, forgetting his comparative youth, his alien +blood, to regard him with almost an anxiety of respect. +When it was possible, men of the widest +possible activities talked to him of their plans. +In short, Charles Abbott felt that he might become +a power; and this he coolly set himself to +bring about. His heritage was that of success; +there were distinguished men, who had carried +alone heavy responsibilities to their justified end, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +no more than two or three generations behind him. +His mother, he thought gladly, surveying her in +the clearness of a full detachment, had an astonishing +courage of spirit. Charles told himself +that he would have to become a politician; his +undiminished idealism, without which his validity +was nothing, must be shut into his heart, held +purely for the communication of its force and +for his own benefit.</p> +<p>The simple path of truth, of partisan enthusiasm, +must be put aside. The uncalculating +bravery of the men gathered about General Agramonte +was of indispensable value; but undirected, +with no brain to make secure, to put into operation, +the fire they created, that would come to +little. He wished that his connection, his duty, +with La Clavel was over, that he could delegate it +elsewhere, but, obviously, for the moment, that +was impossible. It merely remained for him, +then, to take no unpondered chances, never again +to be drawn into such a situation as he had faced +with Gaspar Arco de Vaca.</p> +<p>Before such a sharp decision, a certain amount +of his sheer joy evaporated: it was less inspiring +to be cautious than daring. The Cubans themselves, +always excepting Andrés, had lost an appreciable +amount of their glamour for him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +They were, now, units, elements, to be managed, +to be tranquilized, steadied, moved about. All +this, of course, was yet to come; the recognition +of him was instinctive rather than acknowledged. +But, he repeated to himself, it was forming, +spreading. That, then, was the shape, the actuality, +of his vision—to establish himself indispensably +at the fore of a Cuban liberty, incipient, +dreamed of, and accomplished. All his thoughts +dropped, almost with the audible smooth clicking +of meshed steel gears, into place. The last +degree of joy was replaced by a fresh calm maturity. +He would never, it was obvious, be a +leader of soldiers, and he had no desire to become +the visible head of government; no, his intention +was other than that of Carlos de Cespedes. He +viewed his future self rather as a powerful source +of advice with a house on the Prado. It was +curious how coldly, exactly, he planned so much; +and he stopped to examine his ambition even +more closely and to discover if it were merely +absurd.</p> +<p>It struck him that it might be he had lost too +much, that already he had become selfish, ambitious +for himself, and he recalled the religious +aspect so quickly gone. No, he decided, his effort +was to bridge that space, already recognized, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +between desire and realization. Anyhow, he determined +to speak of this as well to Andrés during +their bath. The April temporale lay in an +even heat over the city, and the end of the Paseo +Isabel was crowded by the quitrins of women, the +caleseros, in their brilliant livery, sleeping in +whatever shade offered. The Escobars had a private +bath, but Andrés preferred the larger bańo +publico, where it was possible to swim, and there +Charles found him. The basin had been hollowed +from the coral rock; it was perhaps +eighteen or twenty feet square, and the height of +the water, with a passage for a fresh circulation +cut in the front wall, was level with the calm +reach of the sea.</p> +<p>The pool, as clear as slightly congealed and +cooled air, open to the horizon, was roofed, with +a railed ledge and steps descending into the +water, and Andrés Escobar sat with his legs half +immersed. He greeted Charles conventionally, +concealing the pleasure which shone in his eyes.</p> +<p>“I stopped at your dressing-room,” Charles +Abbott told him; “anything might be taken from +the pockets of your coat.”</p> +<p>The converse of this possibility, that something +had been put into a pocket, he conveyed. +Andrés nodded indifferently. The other slid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +into the water, sinking and swimming beneath +the surface to the farther end. It was delicious. +Swimming was his only finished active accomplishment; +and, with a half concealed pride, he +exhibited it in skilful variations. Even the public +bath, he felt, was too contracted for the full +expression of his ability. In addition to this, it +was necessary to talk confidentially to Andrés. +And so, with a wave of his arm, he indicated the +freedom of the sea beyond.</p> +<p>Andrés Escobar followed him over the stone +barrier, and together they swam steadily out into +the blue. Finally, they rested, floating, and +Charles diffidently related what was in his +heart. His friend, less secure in the water, listened +with a gravity occasionally marred by a +mouthful of sea.</p> +<p>“You are right,” he agreed, when Charles had +finished. “Although you have put it modestly, +I think—many of us admit—that you may be a +strong man in Cuba. Indeed, I have heard it +said that you should go back to America, and +put more intensity into the Junta. Naturally I +should regret that, but we must all do what, in +the end, is best. Charles, there is a great deal +of water under and around us, and I should feel +better nearer the Campos Eliseos.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“Wait,” Charles Abbott replied with a touch +of impatience; “you are quite safe, there is no +tide at present.” Floating in the calm immensity, +his arms outspread, his face, at once burned +by the sun and lapped by water, turned to the +opposed azure above, he drew in accession after +accession of a determination like peace. Nothing +should upset what he had planned. There +was a stir beside him—André Escobar was returning +to the shore, and lazily, thoughtfully, he +swam back. The Cuban left immediately, for +breakfast; but Charles lingered in the pool, +lounging upon the wooden grilling with a cigarette. +One by one the bathers went away. The +sky, the sea, were a blaze of blue. The clatter +of hoofs, the caleseros’ departing cries, sounded +from the Paseo. “Charles Abbott,” he repeated +his own name aloud with an accent of surprise. +What, whom, did it describe? He gazed down +over his drying body. This, then, was he—the +two legs, thin but sufficiently muscular, the trunk +in a swimming suit, the arms and hands! His +hidden brain, his invisible mind, was himself as +well; and, of the two, the mind and the body, the +unseen was overwhelmingly the more important. +He remembered how, fencing with de Vaca, the +body had failed him utterly; de Vaca, attacking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +his will, was contemptuous of the other ... and +his will had survived. Rising, he felt that he +commanded himself absolutely; he had no sympathy, +no patience, for frailty, for a failure +through the celebrated weaknesses of humanity: +hardness was the indispensable trait of success.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The whole of reasonably intelligent life, +Charles discovered, was disrupted by the ceaseless +clash of two utterly opposed ideas, emotions. +There was, first, the need in the individual to +serve, to justify, himself, to maintain his integrity; +and, as well, there was the duty—at least, it +was universally called a duty—of a self-sacrifice +for love. The failures of superior men came +largely, he was certain, in the breaking down of +the first through the second. A man, for example, +put into motion the accomplishment of his own +demand, and then was appalled by the incidental +price, but more to others than to himself. Yes, +love betrayed men. The Escobars were, inseparably, +Cuba, they were happily merged, lost, +in one supreme cause; yet the superiority of their +hearts over the head endangered their dearest preoccupation. +They saw symbols as realities, they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +wrongly valued emotion more highly than reasoning.</p> +<p>And further, Charles returned to himself, if +he had consulted and listened to his parents, if +his love of home had outweighed his singular +vision, he would be nothing now but an unimportant +drifting figure. His parents had had more +knowledge of life than he; undoubtedly their +counsel, in the main, was correct, safe. That +word, safe, was it specially. The instinct of his +mother was to preserve, to spare, him; to win for +him as smooth a passage through life as was procurable. +She had her particular feminine idea +of what, in her son, spelled solid accomplishment; +and, with all her spirit, it was material in so far +as it was visible: position in a settled community, +the money necessary for an existence both +dignified and ornamental, a “nice” wife—another +devoted sheltering soul such as herself—and +well-behaved handsome children. The inner +qualities she demanded for him were faith, +honesty, and fidelity.</p> +<p>Her vision of a broad close-cut lawn and grey +stone house with pillars and a port-cochčre, his +wife, in silks and chaste jewels, receiving a polite +company in the drawing-room, was admirable. +In it he would be gray-haired and, together +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +with an increasing stoutness, of an assured +dignity. His children would worship his wisdom +and paternal benevolence, and the world of +affairs would listen to him with attentive respect. +It was, unquestionably, an impressive +conception. Every detail was excellent, but he +cared for, revered, none of them.</p> +<p>He didn’t want to be safe, to decline softly to +a soft old age, a death smothered in feathers. +More than anything else his desire was to live +intensely, to ride, upright, the crest of a thunderous +wave. He hated, now, every phase of a decent +suburban smugness. Someone else was +welcome to the girl designated, by his mother, to +be his wife. Someone other than himself might +sit across the dinner-table from her, week after +week, month after month, year after year, and +watch her stereotyped face beyond the cut flowers; +another might listen to the interminable gabble +about servants and neighbors and dresses and +cards. The children would be differently, more +appropriately, fathered; his, Charles Abbott’s, +potential children were gathered into an ideal +that was, too, an idea. It must be served, realized, +within the dimensions of his own bone and +fibre; it was exclusively his, his the danger, the +penalty and the reward. Charles would not have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +had it different, even if, although none existed, +he had any choice.</p> +<p>He must, however, prepare himself against the +betrayal he was able to trace so clearly in others; +there could be no faltering, no remorse; he was +cut off from the ordinary solaces, the comfortable +compactness, of general living. But, already, +temperamentally, he liked, preferred, this; alone, +never for a minute was he lonely. The inattention +to home, primarily the result of a new +scene and of exciting circumstances, had grown +into an impersonal fondness for his family; he +failed to miss them, to wish for their presence. +The only element that remained from the past +was his love for Andrés Escobar; he confronted +it valorously, deposed it from his mind, but it +clung around his heart. How fortunate it was +that Andrés could not detach him from his resolve; +it was unthinkable that one should stand +in the way of the other.</p> +<p>These reflections occupied his mind at various +times and places: one day in the American Consulate +on Obispo Street; again at the steamship +office on Mercaderes; over his cigarette and +cheese and jelly at the Noble Havana; strolling +along Ricla Street where the principal shops were +congregated; at a dinner party in the Palace of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +the Conde de Santovernia. He was aloof. All +the activity that absorbed the people among +whom he went was to him trivial, utterly of no +consequence. Sometimes he would walk through +the stalls of the Mercado de Cristina, on the +Plaza Vieja, or in through the Honradez factory +on Sol Street, where a handful of cigars was +courteously given to any appreciative visitor. +He would return along the Paseo de Valdez to +the park where he had sat when he was first in +Cuba, and, as then, the strains of the military +band of the Cabańas drifted across the bay.</p> +<p>The dwelling of the Captain-General, with the +Royal Lottery on the ground floor, had before it +sentries in red and white; the Quay de Caballeria, +reached through the Plaza of San Francisco, +was tempered and pleasant in the early dusk, and +at the Quay de Machina was a small garden +with grotesque rosy flamingoes and gold-fish in +the fountain. He sat, as well, lonely, considering +and content, in the Alameda de Paula, where, +by the glorieta, it was called the Salon O’Donnell. +The moats, filled with earth, truck gardens, +the shore covered with sugar pans, engaged his +absent-minded interest. With the improvement +of his Spanish, he deserted the better known +cafés and restaurants, the insolence of the Castilian +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +officers, for modest Cuban places of food, +where he drank Catalan wine, and smoked the +Vegueros, the rough excellent plantation cigars.</p> +<p>This new mood, he was relieved to find, gave +his acquaintances as much amusement as his public +dissipation—it was ascribed to the predicted +collapse of his love affair with La Clavel. She +was, he was rallied, growing tired of his attentions; +and, in the United States Club, he was requested +not to drown himself, because of the +trouble it would cause his country. Captain +Santacilla, however, studied him with a growing +ill-humor; his peculiar threats and small brutalities +had stopped, but his temper, Charles recognized, +was becoming dangerous. He declared +frankly, in the Café Dominica, that Charles +wasn’t the fool he appeared, and he repeated his +assertions of the need for a deportation or worse.</p> +<p>This was a condition which, sooner or later, +must be met, and for which Charles prepared +himself. Both Cubans and Spaniards occasionally +disappeared forever—the former summarily +shot by a file of muskets in a fosse, and the latter, +straying in the anonymous paths of dissipation, +quieted by a patriotic or vindictive knife. This, +it seemed to Charles Abbott, would be the wisest +plan with Santacilla; and he had another strange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +view of himself considering and plotting a murder. +The officer, who had an extraordinary +sense of intangible surrounding feelings and pressures, +spoke again to Charles of the efforts to +dispose of him.</p> +<p>“The man doesn’t draw breath who will do +it,” he proclaimed to Charles, at the entrance to +the Valla de Gallo. “It’s a superstition, but I’d +back it with my last onza of gold. I’ve seen it +in you very lately, but give it up. Or don’t give +it up. Either way you are unimportant. I can’t +understand why you are still here, why I permit +you to live. If I remember it I’ll speak to my +sergeant, Javier Gua: he performs such an errand +to a nicety. I have taken a dislike to you, +very unreasonably, for you are no more than a +camarone. I believe, for all your appearance of +money, that La Clavel supports you; it is her +doblons, I am certain, you gamble away and +spend for food.”</p> +<p>Charles Abbott smiled at the insult:</p> +<p>“On one hand I hear that she has thrown me +over and then you say that she supports me. +Which, I wonder, is to be preferred? But +neither, fortunately, is true. I can still buy her +a bouquet of camellias and she will still wear it. +As for the money, I never lose at gambling, Santacilla, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +I am always successful; the cards are in +my favor. If I bet on the black, it turns up; +and when I choose the red, affairs are red.”</p> +<p>Santacilla’s uneasy eyes shifted over him suspiciously. +“Blood and death, that is what black +and red are,” he said. “But you are not the dispenser +of fate.” The peak of his cockaded hat +threw a shadow over his sanguine face to the +chin. “A camarone,” he repeated, “a stalk of +celery. Gua, and I’ll remember to tell him, will +part you from your conceit.” There was a metallic +crowing of roosters as the officer turned away.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>La Clavel noticed a marked difference in +Charles, but proclaimed that it was no more than +an increase in his natural propensity for high-mindedness. +It fatigued her, she declared, to be +with him, made her dizzy to gaze up at his altitude +of mind. He was seated in her room, the hairdresser +was sweating in the attempt to produce an +effect she was describing to him with phrases as +stinging as the whip of foils, while Charles +watched her with a degree of annoyance. Her +humors, where he was concerned, were unpredictable; +and lately she had found a special +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +delight in attacks on his dignity. She said and +did things—an air of innocence hiding her malice—indecently +ribald that shook his firmest efforts +to appear, to be, unconcerned.</p> +<p>At last, in a volatile rage, she dismissed the +servant with his tongs and pomatum and crimping +leads, and swore to Charles Abbott that she +was going to the Argentine by the first boat that +offered passage.</p> +<p>“I am sick of Cuba, and I’ve forgotten that I +am an artist, and that is bad. You are wrapped +up in this liberty, and that is very well for you, +an ordinary person. You must have something +like that, outside you, to follow, for you’ve very +little within. But me, I am not an ordinary person; +I am La Clavel. I am more valuable to +the world than pumpkins or republics. I stamp +my heel,” she stamped her heel, a clear sharp +sound, and her body swept into a line passionate +and tense, “and I create a people, a history.” La +Clavel secured the castanets lying on her dressing-table—in +answer to their irritable rhythmic +clinking she projected, for an instant, a vision of +all desire.</p> +<p>“I can make men forget; I can draw them out +of their sorrows and away from their homes; I +can put fever in their blood that will blind them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +to memories and duty. Or I can be a drum, and +lead them out, without a regret, a fear, to death. +That is more than a naranjada or a cigar or an +election. And, because of what I have given you, +I have put that out of my life; I have been living +like the mistress of a bodega. To be clear, +Charles, I am tired of you and Cuba, and I have +satisfied my hatred of the officers with cologne on +their handkerchiefs.”</p> +<p>“I understand that perfectly,” Charles Abbott +assured her; “and I cannot beg you to stay. +Whatever your motive was, your value to us has +been beyond any payment. If our movement +had a saint, you would fill that place.”</p> +<p>She laughed, “A strange saint in a mantón +and slippers with painted heels.”</p> +<p>“Much better,” Charles replied, “than many of +those in sanctified robes. I had the feeling, too,” +he proceeded, “that our usefulness together was +coming to an end.” It seemed to him that again +she had become the glorified figure of the stage, +his dislike for her actuality, her flesh, vanished, +leaving only profound admiration.</p> +<p>“I am amazed,” she said, in a lingering half +humorous resentment, “that you never loved me, +I never brought you a regret or a longing or made +any trouble in your heart.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></div> +<p>“That was because I put you so high,” he explained. +She raised her shoulders and objected +that it was late for compliments.</p> +<p>“Be honest—you didn’t care for me. You +ought to be very successful, you have things surprising +in the so young. Will you,” she demanded +suddenly, totally changing the subject, +“be my maid?” He hastened to inform her, +vehemently, that he would not. “Jobaba hasn’t +come today,” La Clavel continued; “and she +wasn’t here to dress me for dinner last evening. +That is unusual in her: I have a feeling she is +not coming back.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps she has been murdered in one of the +brujos cabildos,” Charles suggested. “It is impossible +to say where that frenzy stops.” A +happening quite different, the dancer told him, +was in her mind.</p> +<p>“I could never get into the thoughts of +Jobaba,” she admitted. “And there is very little +I miss. I suppose it’s the negro. She is like +cream, smooth and beautiful to look at, but +turned by thunder.” If she were going away, +Charles reminded her, there were a number of +things to be discussed and closed. And she told +Charles how a Cuban, ostensibly attached to the +national party, but in reality a Spanish secret +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +agent, had been sent into Camagüey. His name +was Rimblas.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott repeated that, and memorized +such characteristics as La Clavel knew. There +was an indefinite stir at the door, a short knock, +and he moved to the window as Santacilla entered +unceremoniously.</p> +<p>The Spaniard was a model of politeness, of +consideration, and he listened, seated with his +hands folded about the head of his officer’s cane, +to La Clavel’s determination to go to South +America. It was an excellent plan, he agreed; +they would welcome her rapturously in Buenos +Aires; but hadn’t she put off her intention a little +too long? It was on account of the climate, the +season, he hastened to add. Although, of course, +they would open the opera house for her, +the smart world would come in from their estancias.</p> +<p>“But what will our young American do?” he +demanded. “How will he live without his delight? +But perhaps he is going to the Argentine +with you. He will have a busy time, and a hatful +of challenges there, where beauty is appreciated +to the full.”</p> +<p>Charles said, with an appearance of sullenness, +that he hadn’t been invited to go farther +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +south; and Santacilla replied that, as a matter of +fact, it might be necessary for him to remain, perhaps +forever, in Havana. He spoke cheerfully, +gazing amiably upon them, but a vague quality +of his bearing, his voice, was disturbing, mocking. +His words had the air of an underlying meaning +different from their sound. An uneasiness, +as well, was communicated to La Clavel: +she watched Santacilla with an indirect puzzled +gaze.</p> +<p>“Jobaba has gone,” she announced abruptly.</p> +<p>The trace of a smile hovered about the officer’s +expression of regret. “A personable clip of hell,” +was his opinion of the strayed maid. “Do you +remember the major who composed music?” he +addressed La Clavel. “Well, he was always a +little touched in the brain, and he caught this +negro hysteria, he became a brujos. He’d come +home in the morning with his body marked in +yellow chalk, and wrung out like a boatman’s +sponge; and he let drop a fact or two about your +Jobaba screaming to an African drum rubbed +with the fingers. In that state, he said, a great +deal that was curious and valuable could be +dragged from her. We encouraged his madness, +at the Cabańas, for what it brought us. But it +was unfortunate for him—he ties bright rags +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +about his ankles and mumbles, when he thinks +he is alone.”</p> +<p>Charles Abbott’s mind, sifting all that the other +said, was abnormally active, sharp. Something, +he couldn’t quite grasp what, was acutely, threateningly, +wrong. He had a sense of impending +danger, a premonition of dashing sound, of discord. +And, whatever developed, he must meet +it, subdue and conquer it. Ceaza y Santacilla, +he saw, was not visibly armed; but, probably, he +would carry a small pistol. The one his father +had given him was in Charles’ pocket. The difficulty +was that, in the event of a disturbance, no +matter what the outcome here might happen to +be, the dancer and he would bear the weight of +any Spanish fury. And it was no part of his +intention to be cut in half by bullets behind a +fortress wall.</p> +<p>He could only delay, discover as soon as possible +what was behind Santacilla’s deceiving patience +and good humor. Upon that he would +have to act without hesitation and with no chance +of failure. The regiment should, the dancer complained, +send her maid back to her. Manners +were very much corrupted beyond the western +ocean—in Sevilla the servant would have been +dispatched in a bullock cart deep in roses. That, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +he answered, reminded him of another procession, +a different cart; but it was more French +than Castilian—the tumbril.</p> +<p>He was seated against a wall at a right angle +from the door, and Charles left the vicinity of the +window, lounging across the room. La Clavel +said, “I know you so well, Ceaza, what is it; +what is it you are saying and saying without +speaking of? Your mind is like a locked metal +box that shows only the flashes on the surface. +But you must open it for us. It seems as though +you were threatening me, and that, you best +should realize, is useless.”</p> +<p>His flickering eyes rested first on her and then +upon Charles Abbott. “You will never get to +South America now,” he asserted; “for you are +a conspirator against your King. Since you +have shown such a love of Cuban soil you are to +become a part of it forever.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Charles Abbott, now standing by the door, shot +in the bolt which secured it, and, by a fortunate, +a chance, twist, broke off the handle. Santacilla, +undisturbed, remained seated, smiling while his +fingers played with the plaited loop of his cane.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></div> +<p>“This infatuation,” he indicated them with a +wave, “while it convinced Havana, never entirely +satisfied me. I have been watching you, +Jobaba has been listening, for days. You were +very cunning, but, in the end, you failed; you +were neither skilful nor patient enough. Yet, +at the last, all that you heard were fairy tales—the +spy that was sent to Camagüey, ha!”</p> +<p>La Clavel faced him calmly, but, Charles saw, +she was pale. He was revolving a hundred impractical +schemes: they had only one end, the +death of Santacilla, but how that was to be +brought about with safety to Cuba evaded him.</p> +<p>“I am not a traitor in the way you mean,” she +declared; “what your conceit never allowed you +to note was that, in Spain and here, I have always +detested you; and what I did was the result +of that. I struck at you and not at our +country, for the court and church and army are +no longer our strength—if we still have any except +the knife and cord—but our weakness.”</p> +<p>“Fools,” he asserted, unmoved.</p> +<p>“And now you are the fool,” she added.</p> +<p>“No, you are wrong; I am only enjoying myself +before the show is over. I wanted to see +you, and your young devotee, twist and turn +before the fact of death. I have killed, and seen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +executed, a number of people, men and women; +but I was still curious—a great dancer and a +rich young American. That is an unusual day.”</p> +<p>It was best, Charles Abbott decided, to bring +about as much as possible with no more delay; +the prime necessary act accomplished, they could +face the problems of the immediate future steadily. +He quietly produced his pistol and levelled +it. The dry click which alone followed the pulling +of the trigger made the officer aware of the +attempt upon his life. A dark angry surge invaded +his face, and then receded. “No man will +ever kill me,” he repeated. “It is my star.” A +hand left the cane and produced a small gold +whistle.</p> +<p>Charles stared dully at the useless weapon, +with its mounting of mother-of-pearl, which he +still held.</p> +<p>“The cartridges have been too long in their +barrels,” Santacilla explained; “they have dried +and shifted. You should have greased them +every week.”</p> +<p>La Clavel stood, lost in thought, like a +woman in a dream. Her hair, over which she +had spent such time and curses, was an elaborate +silhouette against the light. “Ceaza, Ceaza,” she +implored, going to him, “you must let me go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +and dance in Buenos Aires, they have never seen +me there, it is necessary to my career.” She was +close beside him, when he rose suddenly, pushing +the chair between them.</p> +<p>“You Andalusian devil!” he cried, and put +the whistle to his lips. Before he could blow, +the dancer had flung herself on him, with an arm +bound about his neck, a hand dragging at his +throat. The whistle fell, the chair was brushed +aside, and the man and woman, in a straining +desperate grip, swayed into the middle of the +floor.</p> +<p>Charles, driven by an inherited instinct to protect +La Clavel, to replace her in such a struggle, +caught at either of the locked shoulders; but, +whirling in the passion of their strife, they struck +him aside. He made another effort to pull Santacilla +to the floor, without success; and then, +with a small stout chair in his hands, he waited +for an opportunity to bring it crashing on the +officer’s head. He was appalled by the fury of +the woman silently trying to choke her enemy; +her other hand, grasping the thin glimmer of the +knife always convenient in her stocking, the +officer held away from them. Her years of dancing, +her early hardening life in the mountains, +had given her a strength and litheness now tearing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +at the weight, the masculinity, of Santacilla. +He was trying, in vain, to break her wrist, to +close his fingers into her throat; and, bending, +the fragility of her clothes ripped across her +sinuous back. Shifting and evading the thrust of +his power, she was sending the blood in purple +waves over his neck and thick cheeks. Neither +of them cried out, spoke; there was only the +sound of hoarse breathing, inarticulate expressions +of unendurable strain. Charles Abbott, +raising, holding poised, the chair, and lowering it, +was choked with the grappling horror before him.</p> +<p>La Clavel’s face was as blanched as the officer’s +was dark, her eyes were wide-open and set, as +though she were in a galvanic trance. Again +and again Santacilla tried to tear away her arms, +to release himself from the constriction at his +neck. His fingers dug red furrows through her +flesh, they tormented and outraged her. A palm +closed upon her countenance, and blood ran +from under it. But there was no weakening of +her force, no slackening in her superb body. +She seemed curiously impersonal; robbed of all +traits of women; she was like a symbolical fate, +the figure from a shield, from an emblem, dragging +him to death.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, in an inadequate muffled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +voice burdened with a shuddering echo of fear, he +cried for her to release him. It was so unexpected, +he became so inexplicably limp, that La +Clavel backed away instinctively. Charles +started forward, the chair lifted high; but he was +stopped by the expression, the color, of Ceazy +Santacilla’s face. The officer turned, with his +hands at his throat, toward the window. He +took an uncertain step, and then stood wavering, +strangely helpless, pathetically stricken.</p> +<p>“The air,” he whispered; “hot as wine.” He +pitched abruptly face forward upon the floor.</p> +<p>La Clavel tried to speak against the labored +heaving of her breast, but what she attempted to +say was unintelligible. Charles, slipping back +the broken bolt with a finger in its orifice, listened +intently at the door. The Hotel St. Louis +was wrapped undisturbed in its siesta; no alarm +had been created. Santacilla lay as he had +fallen, an arm loosely outspread, a leg doubled +unnaturally under its fellow. He bore the laxness, +the emptiness, of death. He had spoken +truly that it wasn’t in his star to be killed by a +man. Finding that he was still holding the +chair, Charles put it softly down. “Well,” he +said, “the revolution is through with him.”</p> +<p>He glanced suddenly at La Clavel. She was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +drooping, disheveled and hideous; her hair lay +on her bare shoulders in coarse strands; her face +was swollen with bruises. Now, he realized, she +would never see the Argentine; she would never +again hear the shouted olés that greeted, rewarded, +the brilliancy of her jota. His thoughts +shifted to Cuba and himself—if it were a crime +of passion that had been committed in her room, +the cause, there, would be freed from suspicion. +He had, as customary, come directly, unostentatiously, +to her room, and he was certain that he +had not been observed. A duty, hard in the extreme, +was before him.</p> +<p>“Why did you bring about Santacilla’s +death?” he demanded. She gazed at him dully, +uncomprehendingly. “It was because he was +jealous,” he proceeded; “you must hold to that.” +She nodded, dazed. “When they come into +the room and find him you must show what he +did to you. And, after all, you didn’t kill him. +Perhaps that will save you,” his voice was without +conviction. “They won’t believe you, and +they may try measures to get at the truth; but +you will be faithful. You will keep your secret, +and—and I must go. I shall ask for you downstairs, +make them send up a servant, and shout +as loudly as any.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></div> +<p>She held up her battered countenance dumbly +and, with a feeling of transcendent reverence, he +kissed her cut lips. Thrown across the end of +the bed, the shawl she had danced in, blazing +with gay color, cast the reflection of its carmines +and yellows on the calcimined wall. It was like +a burst of the music which accompanied her +dancing. The castanets lay on the floor. The +blessed saint of Cuban independence! Then +the caution that had become a part of his necessity +rode uppermost: he proceeded silently to the +door, and, closing it behind him, went, meeting +no one, to the ground floor, where he pulled irritably +at the wire hanging from a bell under the +ceiling. The raw jangle brought a servant, a +rosy-cheeked Gallego boy, heavy with sleep, who +went stumbling up the stairs on Charles’ errand.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In his own room a wave of physical horror +swept over Charles Abbott; he was obliged to +sit down, and the chair, the floor, seemed to +rock at the giddy sickness of the memory of Santacilla, +stumbling with a wine-colored face toward +the window in a vain gasping for air, for +life. He recovered slowly: notwithstanding the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +death of Tirso Labrador, the wasted shape of +Andrés’ brother, all the tragedies he had heard +reported, it was not until now that he realized +the entire grimness of the undertaking against +Spain. The last possibility of the spectacular +departed, leaving him with a new sense of the +imminence of death. He had considered this, +under certain circumstances welcoming it, or dismissing +it with a creditable calmness, many times +before; but then his attitude had been softened +by the detachment, the impersonality, of his view. +But at last the feeling of death was tangibly at +his own throat; not today, nor tomorrow, probably; +but inescapably. Well, he assured himself, +he wouldn’t, at that intense moment, fail an +inner necessity; but his understanding gave him +an additional feeling of the accidental aspects +of life and of the Cuban revolution.</p> +<p>Until then he had, sub-consciously, except for +one short depression, been certain of the ultimate +triumph of right; he had thought it must succeed +through its mere rightness; and he had +pictured justice as a condition dropped beneficently +from the clouds, wrought with the thunder +of angels’ wings. But accomplishment on earth, +with men, he now saw, was neither safe, easy nor +assured. It was the result of bitter struggle, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +strife open to the most appalling mischances. A +necessity of the spirit, it must be executed in the +flesh, and flesh was a treacherous, unstable substance; +it was capable not only of traitorous betrayals, +but equally of honest, and no less fatal, +failures. With this in his thoughts he went to the +door, in answer to a knock, and received a heavy +carefully tied parcel.</p> +<p>He opened it, and, dripping in dazzling color +from the wrapping paper, was La Clavel’s mantón, +the one in which he had first seen her insolently +dancing the jota. Charles, with a stirred +heart, searched carefully for a note, a scrap of revealing +paper; but there was none. She had sent +it to him silently, before she had been taken away, +in a sentiment the delicacy of which deeply +moved him. He laid the shawl over the bed, +where its cruel brilliancy filled the white-walled +room, darkened against the heat, with flashes of +magenta and orange and burning blue. La Clavel +had worn it dancing, where it emphasized her +grace and perversity and stark passion; it had +been, in Charles Abbott’s mind, synonymous with +her, with the vision she created; but, suddenly, it +lost that significance, and he saw it as the +revealed outspread pattern of his own existence.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div> +<p>The shawl was a map, a representation, of the +country of the spirit through which he passed; +such emotions, such heat, and such golden roses, +all had been, were, his against that background +of perilous endeavor. It seemed to float up from +the bed and to reach from coast to coast, from +end to end, of Cuba; its flowers took root and +grew, casting about splendor and perfume; the +blue widened into the sky, the tenderness of the +clasping sea; the dark greens were the shadows +of the great ceiba trees, the gloom of the jungles, +the massed royal palms of the plains. And not +only was it the setting, the country, its violent +dissonances became cries, victorious or hopeless, +the sweep of reddened swords, the explosions of +muskets. There was the blood that had welled +into the Laurel Ditch of Cabańas; and, as well, +the sultry mysterious presence of Africa in the +West—the buzzing madness of the music of the +danzón, the hysterics of brujeria.</p> +<p>Charles, at the heart of this, stood enveloped, +surrounded, by a drama like the sharp clash of +cymbals. It was easy to be overwhelmed, +strangled, blinded, by the savage color; briefly +to be obliterated. That possibility had been, +lately, very much in his mind; and he wondered, +against all his recent change, if, in the surrender +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +of his idealism, he had lost his amulet, his safety. +While he had, to a large extent, solved, for himself, +the philosophy of conduct, cleared the motives +of his acts, a great deal was inexplicable +still. He saw, dimly, that there could be little +hope of justice on any island except as the projection, +the replica, of a fundamental universal +integrity of justice. Perfection like that couldn’t +begin on the rim of being and extend inward; it +must be at the center of all life, obscured, delayed, +but, in an end not computable in the span of human +existence, certain and inevitable. Charles +Abbott now had the feeling that, parallel with the +maintaining of his grasp on materialism, his recognition +of the means at his hand, there should +be an allegiance to a supremacy of the immeasurable +whole.</p> +<p>That double vision, the acceptance of a general +good together with the possibility of extreme +ill to the individual, puzzled him. He was required +to put faith in a power seemingly indifferent +to him, to discharge a responsibility in return +for which nothing that he could weigh was +promised. Charles recalled what had overtaken +the dancer, La Clavel, in payment for a heroic +effort against an insupportable oppression. Disaster +had met the body, the flesh; what occurred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +in the spirit he was unable to grasp; but this, suddenly, +breathlessly, he saw:</p> +<p>La Clavel’s bitter defiance, her mountain-born +hatred of oppression, her beaten but undefiled +body, had communicated to him something +of her own valor. It was as though she had +given him a palm, a shielded flame, to add to his +own fortitude. In all probability she would, +soon, be dead; Charles correctly gauged the Spanish +animosity; and yet she was alive, strong, in +him. She would be living; it was Ceaza y Santacilla +who had died, been vanquished; his abnormal +refinement dropping so easily into the +bestial, the measure of evil, in him, for which he +stood, had been slain, dissipated, ended. The +shawl contracted, became a thing magnificent but +silk, a mantón invested with a significance brave +and <ins title="Was suprisingly">surprisingly</ins> tender. It was, now, the standard +of La Clavel, the mantle of the saintliness +he had proclaimed. His doubts, his questioning, +were resolved into the conviction that the act +of the dancer was her spirit made visible, created +tangibly for a tangible purpose, and that, there, +she was indestructible.</p> +<p>With that conclusion to serve as a stay and a +belief, a philosophy of conduct, he returned from +the extra-mundane to the world. Charles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +thought of La Clavel’s desire to dance in Buenos +Aires, for South America. He wondered how +old she was; he had never before considered +her in any connection with age; she had seemed +neither old nor young, but as invested with the +timeless quality of her art. She had spoken often +of her girlhood, but no picture of her as a +girl had formed in his mind. It was conceivable +that, in more stable circumstances, she would +have grown old, become withered with the peculiar +ugliness of aged Spanish women; but that, +too, he could not realize. Somehow, La Clavel’s +being was her dancing, and what had gone before, +or what might have followed, were irrelevant, +unreal; they were not she. He understood, +now, her protest against being absorbed, involved, +in anything but her profession.</p> +<p>He became conscious of the sustained gravity of +his thoughts, how his activity had been forced +from the body to his mind; and that recalled to +him the necessity for a contrary appearance. It +would be wise for him to go to the Café Dominica +that evening, in an obvious facile excitement at +his connection, at once close and remote, with the +death of Santacilla in the dancer’s room. But, +beyond the fact that it was known he had dispatched +the servant upstairs, and the usual wild, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +thin speculations, nothing had been allowed to +appear. Santacilla, it was announced, had died +naturally. La Clavel wasn’t mentioned. She +had spoken to others than Charles of her determination +to go to the Argentine; and it was probable, +rumor said, principally in Spanish mouths, +that she would go quietly south. At the United +States Club, the idlers and gamblers surveyed +Charles with dubious looks; and, over a rum +punch, he adopted a sullen uncommunicative air. +It would not do to drop his widely advertised +habits too suddenly; he could not, in a day, +change from a rake to a serious student of such +books as Machiavelli’s Prince; and he prepared, +with utter disgust, for his final bow in the cloak +of dissipation.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Purely by accident he met, at the Plaza de +Toros, Jaime Quintara, Remigio Florez and +Andrés. It was so fortunately, evidently, haphazard, +that they continued together while Charles +related the circumstances of the tragedy in La +Clavel’s room. The others were filled with wonder, +bravos, at her strength and courage. Someday, +Remigio swore, when Cuba was free, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +would put up a monument to her in India +Park. It would be of heroic size, the bronze +figure of a dancer, in a mantón, on a block of +stone, with an appropriate inscription.</p> +<p>“The trouble with that,” Andrés objected, “is +if we should live and put up a monument to everyone +who deserved it, the parks would be too +crowded with bronzes for walking. All of Cuba +might have to be commemorated in metal.”</p> +<p>At Neptuno Street and the Paseo Isabel they +parted. Charles proceeded alone toward the sea; +and, with the knowledge that Andrés had not +gone home, but would be evident in public elsewhere, +he stopped to see the other members of the +Escobar family. Carmita Escobar had faded +perceptibly since Vincente’s death; still riven by +sorrow she ceaselessly regretted the unhappy, the +blasphemous, necessity which made the wearing +of mourning for him inadmissible. Domingo +Escobar, as well, showed the effects of continuous +strain; his vein of humor was exhausted, he no +longer provoked Charles’ inadequate Spanish; he +avoided any direct reference to Cuba. He was, +he said, considering moving to Paris, he was getting +old and no one could complain, now, since—. He +broke off, evidently at the point of referring +to Vincente and the Escobar local patriotism.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div> +<p>But Narcisa, Charles was told, had become +promised to Hector Carmache, an admirable gentleman +with large sugar interests; luckily, for +Narcisa, unconnected with any political dreams.</p> +<p>“She will be very happy,” her mother proclaimed.</p> +<p>Narcisa narrowed her eyes. “He lives on an +estancia,” she added, “where there will be banana +trees and Haitians to watch; and the conversation +will be about the number of arrobas the +mill grinds.” She relapsed again into silence; +but, from her lowered countenance, he caught a +quick significant glance toward the balcony. +She rose, presently, and walked out. Charles +gazed at Domingo and Carmita Escobar; they +were sunk in thought, inattentive, and he quietly +joined Narcisa.</p> +<p>“Andrés has told me a great deal about you,” +she proceeded; “I made him. He loves you too, +and he says that you are very strong and respected +everywhere. I have had to hear it like that, +for you never come here now. And I hear other +things, too, but from my maid, about the dancer, +La Clavel. You gamble, it seems, and drink as +well.”</p> +<p>That, he replied, was no more than half true; +it was often necessary for him to appear other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +than he was. He studied her at length: she had +grown more lovely, positively beautiful, in the +past month; the maturity of her engagement to +marry had already intensified her. Narcisa’s +skirt had been lowered and her hair, which had +hung like a black fan, was tied with a ribbon.</p> +<p>“How do you like me?” she demanded. But +when he told her very much, she shook her head +in denial. “I ought to be ashamed,” she added, +“but I am not. Did you realize that, when we +were out here before, I made you a proposal? +You ignored it, of course.... I am not ashamed +of what I did then, either. Afterwards, standing +here, I wanted to throw myself to the street; +but, you see, I hadn’t the courage. It’s better +now, that time has gone—I’ll get fat and frightful.”</p> +<p>“This Carmache,” Charles Abbott asked, +“don’t you like, no, love him?” She answered:</p> +<p>“He is, perhaps, fifty—I am fifteen—and quite +deaf on one side, I can never remember which; +and he smells like bagasse. I’ve only seen him +once, for a minute, alone, and then he wanted me +to sit on his knees. I said if he made me I’d kill +him some night when he was asleep. But he +only laughed and tried to catch me. You should +have heard him breathing; he couldn’t. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +called me his Carmencita. But, I suppose, I shall +come to forget that, as well. I wanted you to +know all about it; so, when you hear of my marriage, +you will understand what to look for.”</p> +<p>“That is all very wrong!” Charles exclaimed.</p> +<p>In reply she said, hurriedly, “Kiss me.”</p> +<p>That was wrong, too, he repeated, afterward. +Her warmth and tender fragrance clung to him +like the touch of flower petals. She turned away, +standing at the front of the balcony, her arms, +bare under elbow ruffles, resting on the railing. +The flambeau trees in the Parque Isabel were like +conflagrations. Her head drooped on her slender +neck until it almost rested, despairingly, on +the support before her. “I hate your northern +way of living,” her voice was suppressed, disturbingly +mature; “I hate their bringing you into +the house, only to break my heart. Charles,” +she laid an appealing hand on his sleeve, “could +you do this—help me to run away? We have +cousins in New York who would receive me. If +you could just get me on a steamer!”</p> +<p>“No,” he said decidedly, “I could not; I +wouldn’t even if it were possible. What would +Andrés, my friend, think? It would ruin me +here.”</p> +<p>“If you had,” she admitted, after a little, “as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +soon as we reached the street, I would have locked +myself about your neck like my crystal beads. +Once when I was supposed to be going with a +servant to the sea baths, I had the quitrin stop at +the San Felipe, and I went up the stair, to the roof, +to your room, but you were out. You see, I am +a very evil girl.”</p> +<p>He agreed to the extent that she was a very +foolish girl. In turn she studied him carefully.</p> +<p>“You seem to have no heart,” she announced +finally; “not because you don’t love me, but in +affairs generally; but I can tell you a secret—you +have! It’s as plain as water. What you +think you are—poof!” She blew across the open +palm of her hand.</p> +<p>“I hope not,” he returned anxiously. “But +you are too young, even if you are to be married, +to know about or to discuss such things. As Andrés’ +best friend I must caution you—”</p> +<p>“Why did you kiss me?” she interrupted.</p> +<p>He was, now, genuinely sorry that he had, but +he replied that it had been no more than the salute +of a brother. “You had better go in,” he continued; +“when they realize we are out here there +will be a stir, perhaps you will be put to bed.”</p> +<p>“I might make a scandal,” she deliberated, +“throw myself on you and cry as loudly as possible.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +A smile appeared upon her fresh charming +lips at his expression of dismay. “Then you +would have to marry me.”</p> +<p>“I’d have to spank you,” he retorted.</p> +<p>“I shall never speak directly to you again,” +she concluded; “so you must remember what +I say, that you are not what you’d like to +be.”</p> +<p>She was, he thought, in spite of her loveliness, +a very disagreeable little girl. That designation, +ludicrously inadequate, he forced upon himself. +With a flutter of her skirts she was gone. The +afternoon was so still that he could hear the drilling +of soldiers by the shore, the faint guttural +commands and the concerted grounding of muskets. +Narcisa and her unpleasant prediction +faded from his mind. Standing on the balcony +he imagined a vast concourse gathered below with +upturned faces, waiting for him to speak. He +heard the round periods, the sonorous Spanish, he +delivered, welcoming, in the name of the people, +their newly gained independence, and extending +to them the applause and reassurances of the +United States.</p> +<p>“You have won this for yourselves,” he proclaimed, +“by your valor and faith and patience; +and no alien, myself least of all, could have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +indispensable to you. What I was privileged to +do was merely to hold together some of the more +inglorious but necessary parts of your struggle; +to bring, perhaps, some understanding, some good +will, from the world outside. You have added +Cuba to the invaluable, the priceless, parts of the +earth where men are free; a deed wrought by the +sacrifice of the best among you. Liberty, as always, +is watered by blood—” he hesitated, frowning, +something was wrong about that last phrase, +of, yes—the watered with blood part; sprinkled, +nourished, given birth in? That last was the +correct, the inevitable, form. The hollow disembodied +voice of the drill sergeant floated up +and then was lost in the beginning afternoon procession +of carriages.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>With a larger boutonničre than he would have +cared to wear at home, a tea rose, he was making +his way through the El Louvre, when Gaspar Arco +de Vaca rose from a gay table and signalled +for him. It was after Retreta, the trade wind +was even more refreshing than customary, and +the spirit of Havana, in the parques and paseos +and restaurants, was high. The Louvre was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +crowded, a dense mass of feminine color against +the white linen of the men, and an animated +chatter, like the bubbles of champagne made +articulate, eddied about the tables laden with +dulces and the cold sweet brightness of ices. He +hesitated, but de Vaca was insistent, and Charles +approached the table.</p> +<p>“If you think you can remain by yourself,” +the Spaniard said pleasantly, “you are mistaken. +For women now, because of the dancer, you are +a figure of enormous interest.”</p> +<p>He presented Charles to a petulant woman with +a long nose, a seductive mouth, and black hair +low in the French manner; then to a small woman +in a dinner dress everywhere glittering with clear +glass beads, and eyes in which, as he gazed briefly +into them, Charles found bottomless wells of interrogation +and promise. He met a girl to +whom, then, he paid little attention, and a man +past middle age with cropped grey hair on a +uniformly brown head and the gilt floriations of +a general. A place was made for Charles into +which, against his intention, he was forced by a +light insistence. It was, he discovered, beside the +girl; and, because of their proximity, he turned +to her.</p> +<p>At once he recognized that she was unusual, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +strange: he had dismissed her as plain, if not +actually ugly, and that judgment he was forced +to recall. The truth was that she possessed a +rare fascination; but where, exactly, did it lie? +She was, he thought, even younger than Narcisa, +yet, at the same time, she had the balanced calm +of absolute maturity. Then he realized that a +large part of her enigmatic charm came from the +fact that she was, to a marked degree, Chinese. +Her face, evenly, opaquely, pale, was flat, an oval +which held eyes with full, ivory-like lids, narrow +eye brows, a straight small nose and lips heavily +coated with a carmine that failed utterly to disguise +their level strength. Her lustreless hair, +which might have been soot metamorphosed into +straight broad strands, was drawn back severely, +without ornament or visible pins, over her shapely +skull. She wore no jewelry, no gold bands +nor rings nor pendants; and her dress, cut +squarely open at her slim round throat, was the +fragile essence of virginity. She attracted +Charles, although he could think of nothing in +the world to say to her; he was powerless to imagine +what interested her; a girl, she had no flavor +of the conceits of her years; feminine, she was +without the slightest indication of appropriate +sentiments, little facile interests or enthusiasms. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +From time to time she looked at him, he caught +a glimpse of eyes, blue, grey or green, oblique and +disturbing; she said nothing and ate in infinitesimal +amounts the frozen concoction of sapote +before her.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott hadn’t grasped her name, and +in reply to his further query, she told him in +a low voice that it was Pilar, Pilar de Lima. +Yes, she had been born in Peru. No, she had +never been to China, although she had traveled +as far as Portugal and London. His interest in +her increased, she was so wholly outside his—any +conceivable—life; and, without words, in a +manner which defied his analysis, she managed +to convey to him the assurance that he was not impossible +to her.</p> +<p>He found, at intervals, fresh qualities to engage +him: she had unmistakably the ease which +came from the command of money; the pointed +grace of her hands—for an instant her palm had +sought his—hid an unexpected firmness; she was +contemptuous of the other vivacious women at the +table; and not a change of expression crossed +the placidity of a countenance no more than a +mask for what, mysterious and not placid, was +back of it. Then, in an undertone during a burst +of conversation, she said, “I like you.” She was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +half turned from him, in profile, and her lips +had not seemed to move. Seen that way her +nose was minute, the upward twist of her eye +emphasized, her mouth no more than a painted +sardonic curl. She was as slender as a boy of a +race unknown to Charles—without warmth, without +impulses, fashioned delicately for rooms +hung in peacock silks and courtyards of fretted +alabaster and burnished cedar.</p> +<p>He wanted to reply that he liked her, but, in +prospect, that seemed awkward, banal; and a +lull in the conversation discouraged him. Instead +he examined his feelings in regard to this +Pilar from Lima. It was obvious that she had +nothing in common with the women he had dismissed +from his present and future; she was +more detached, even, than La Clavel on the stage. +And when, abruptly, she began to talk to him, in +an even flow of incomprehensible vowels and sibilants, +he was startled. Gaspar de Vaca spoke +to her in a peremptory tone, and then he addressed +Charles, “She’ll hardly say a word in a +Christian tongue, but, when it suits her, she +will sail on in Chinese for a quarter of an hour. +It may be her sense of humor, it may be a prayer, +perhaps what she says, if it could be understood, +would blast your brain, and perhaps she merely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +has a stomach ache.” But his remonstrance had the +effect designed; and after an <ins title='Was imperturable'>imperturbable</ins> silence, +she said again that she liked Charles Abbott.</p> +<p>The General regretfully pushed back his chair, +rose, and held out an arm in formal gallantry, +and Charles was left to follow with Pilar. She +lingered, while the others went on, and asked him +if, tomorrow, he would take her driving to Los +Molinos. He hesitated, uncertain of the wisdom +of such a proceeding, when her hand again stole +into his. What, anyhow, in the face of that direct +request, could he do but agree? They must +have, she proceeded, since he hadn’t a private +equipage, the newest quitrin he could procure, +and a calesero more brilliant than any they should +pass on the Calzada de la Reina. After all he +would be but keeping up the useful pretence of his +worldliness; yet, looking forward to the drive +with her, an hour in the scented shade of the Captain-General’s +gardens, he was aware of an anticipated +pleasure.</p> +<p>The need for caution was reduced to a minimum, +it shrank from existence; naturally he +wouldn’t talk to Pilar de Lima of politics, he +could not be drawn into the mention of his +friends, of any names connected in the slightest +way with a national independence. It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +possible that she had been selected, thrown with +him, for that very purpose; but there his +intelligence, he thought, his knowledge of intrigue, had +been underestimated, insulted. No—Pilar, de +Vaca, Spain, would gain nothing, and he would +have a very pleasant, an oddly stimulating and +exciting, afternoon. The excitement came from +her extraordinary personality, an intensity tempered +with a remoteness, an indifference, which +he specially enjoyed after the last few +tempestuous days. Being with her resembled floating in +a barge on a fabulous Celestial river between +banks of high green bamboo. It had no +ulterior significance. She was positively inhuman.</p> +<p>He met her, with an impressive glittering carriage +and rider, according to her appointment, +at the end of the Paseo Tacon, past the heat of +afternoon. She was accompanied by a duenna +with rustling silk on a tall gaunt frame, and a +harsh countenance, the upper lip marred by a +bluish shadow, swathed in a heavy black mantilla. +Pilar was exactly the same as she had been +the evening before. The diminished but still +bright day showed no flaw on the evenness of her +pallor, the artificial carmine of her lips was like +the applied petals of a geranium, her narrow +sexless body was upright in its film of clear white.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div> +<p>The older woman was assisted into the leather +body of the quitrin, Pilar settled lightly in the +nińa bonita, Charles mounted to the third place, +the calesero swung up on the horse outside the +shafts, and they rattled smartly into the Queen’s +Drive. From where he sat he could see nothing +but the sombre edge of the mantilla beside him +and Pilar’s erect back, her long slim neck which +gave her head, her densely arranged hair, an appearance +of too great weight. On either side the +fountains and glorietas, the files of close-planted +laurel trees, whirled behind them. The +statue of Carlos III gave way to the Jardin +Botánico.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There he commanded the carriage to halt, and, +in reply to Pilar’s surprise, explained that he was +following the established course. “We leave the +quitrin here, and it meets us at the gates of the +Quinta, and meanwhile we walk. There are a +great many paths and flowers.” On the ground +she admitted her ignorance of Havana, and, followed +at a conventional distance by her companion, +they entered the Gardens. There was a +warm perfumed steam of watered blossoming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +plants and exotic trees; and Charles chose a way +that brought them into an avenue of palms, +through which the fading sunlight fell in diagonal +bands, to a wide stone basin where water lilies +spread their curd-like whiteness. There they +paused, and Pilar sat on the edge of the pool, +with one hand dipping in the water. He saw +that, remarkably, she resembled a water lily +bloom, she was as still, as densely pale; and he +told her this in his best manner. But if it +pleased her he was unable to discover. A hundred +feet away from them the chaperone cast her +replica on the unstirred surface of the water, in +the middle of which a fountain of shells maintained +a cool splashing.</p> +<p>“I should like one of those,” she said, indicating +a floating flower.</p> +<p>“It’s too far out,” he responded, and she turned +her slow scrutiny upon him. Her eyes were +neither blue nor gray but green, the green of a +stone.</p> +<p>“That you are agreeable is more important +than you know,” she said deliberately. “And de +Vaca—” she conveyed a sense of disdain. +“What is it that he wants so much from you? +How can it, on this little island, a place with only +two cities, be important? I must tell you that I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +am not cheap; and when I was brought here, to +see a boy, it annoyed me. But I am annoyed no +longer,” her wet fingers swiftly left their prints +on his cheek. “Oporto and the English Court—I +understood that; but to dig secrets from you, an +innocent young American,” she relapsed into silence +as though he, the subject she had introduced, +were insufficient to excuse the clatter of speech. +So far as he was concerned, he replied, he had +no idea of her meaning.</p> +<p>“You see,” he went on more volubly, “I was, +to some extent, connected with the death of Santacilla, +an officer of the regiment of Isabel, and +they may still be looking for information about +that.”</p> +<p>She assured him he was wrong. “It is Cuba +that troubles them. It’s in their heads you are +close to powerful families here and in North +America, and that you are bringing them together, +pouring Northern gold into the empty pockets of +the Revolution. I saw at once, before I met you, +that I should waste my time, and I was going +away at once ... until you walked into the restaurant. +Now it will amuse me, and I shall take +the doblons I get and buy you a present, a ruby, +and, when you see Captain de Vaca, you will wear +it and smile and he will know nothing.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></div> +<p>“You mustn’t buy me anything,” Charles protested +earnestly; “I can at least understand that, +how generous you are. If you are unfamiliar +with Cuba perhaps you will let me inform you. +I came to Havana, you see, for my lungs. They +were bad, and now they are good; and that is my +history here. There is no hole in them because +I have been careful to avoid the troubles on the +street; and the way to miss them is not to give +them an admission. The reason I am here with +you is because you seemed to me, in yourself, so +far away from all that. Your mind might be in +China.” He went on to make clear to her his +distrust of women. “But you are different; you +are like a statue that has come to life, a very +lovely statue. What you really are doesn’t matter, +I don’t care, I shall never know. But a +water lily—that is enough.”</p> +<p>“Are you wise or no deeper than this?” she +asked, indicating the shallow fountain. “But +don’t answer; how, as you say, can it affect us? +You are you and I am I. We might even love +each other with no more; that would be best—it +is the more that spoils love.”</p> +<p>“What do you know about that?”</p> +<p>But, relapsing into immobility, she ignored his +question. Beyond doubt his interest in her had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +increased; it was an attraction without name, yet +none the less potent. Seated close beside him +she still seemed to be fashioned from a vital material +other than flesh and blood; she was like a +creation of sheer magic ... for what end? +They rose, leaving the Botanical Gardens, the +spotted orchids and air plants and oleanders, for +the Quinta. There they passed into a walk completely +arched over with the bushes of the Mar +Pacifico, the rose of the Pacific, a verdurous tunnel +of leaves and broad fragrant pink blooms, +with a farther glimpse of a cascade over mossy +rocks.</p> +<p>The stream entered a canal, holding some gaily +painted and cushioned row boats, and a green-gold +flotilla of Mandarin ducks. There were +aviaries of doves, about which strollers were gathered, +and a distant somnolent military guard. +It was the first time for weeks that Charles had +been consciously relaxed, submerged in an unguarded +pleasure of being. Pilar might be honest +about de Vaca and his purpose, or she might +be covering something infinitely more cunning. +It would bring her nothing! The very simplicity +of his relationship with her was a complete +protection; he had no impulse to be serious, nothing +in his conversation to guard.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></div> +<p>Pilar seemed <ins title='Was singuarly'>singularly</ins> young here, engaged in +staring at and fingering the flowers, reading the +sign boards that designated the various pleasances—the +Wood of the Princess, the Garden of +San Antonio, the Queen’s Glade. Her tactile +curiosity was insatiable, she trailed her sensitive +hands over every strange surface that offered. +Then, with her airy skirt momentarily caught on +a spear of bearded grass, he saw, below her knee, +under the white stocking, the impression of a +blade, narrow and wicked. La Clavel had carried +a knife in that manner, many women, he had +no doubt, did; but in Pilar its stealthy subdued +gleam affected him unpleasantly. It presented a +sharp mocking contrast to all that, in connection +with her, had been running happily through his +mind.</p> +<p>“I thought you were a moth, soft and white,” +he told her; “but it appears that you are a wasp +in disguise—I hope it won’t occur to you to sting +me.”</p> +<p>Serenely she resettled her skirt. “Did you +look for a scapular? Young men’s eyes should +be on the sky.” Then she put an arm through +his. “It was never there for you ... a moth +soft and white. But I don’t care for that.” Her +gliding magnetic touch again passed, like the fall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +of a leaf, over his cheek. Affecting not to notice +it he lighted a thin cigar; he’d have to watch +Pilar de Lima. Or was it himself who needed +care? The feeling of detachment, of security, +was pierced by a more acute emotion, a sensation +that resembled the traced point of her knife. She +asked, nearing the place where they were to meet +the quitrin, when she might see him again; and +mechanically he suggested that evening, after +the music in the Plaza de Armas.</p> +<p>Returning to Ancha del Norte Street, his face +was grave, almost concerned, but he was made +happy by finding Andrés Escobar in his room. +Andrés, with the window shades lowered, was +lounging and smoking in his fine cambric shirt +sleeves. He had a business of routine to communicate, +and then he listened, censoriously, to +Charles’ account of his afternoon.</p> +<p>“She is a little devil, of course, with her gartered +steel, but she amuses me. I have the +shadow of an idea that she was truthful about +de Vaca; and the ruby would be an excellent +joke.”</p> +<p>“I cannot approve of any of this,” Andrés decided; +“it has so many hidden possibilities—the +Spaniards are so hellish cunning. To be candid +with you, I can’t understand why they have neglected +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +you so long. You are, Charles, fairly conspicuous. +Perhaps it is because they hope, in the +end, to get information from you. In that case, +if we were in danger, I would shoot you with my +own hand. Drop this Chinese water lily; their +stems are always in the mud.”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, you must see her,” Charles +Abbott insisted. “I’ve explained that she can’t +hurt us; and we may get something floated the +other way.” He was aware of an indefinable +resentment at Andrés’ attitude: his love for him +was all that prevented the acerbity of a voiced +irritation.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Yet, when the regimental band was leaving to +the diminishing strains of its quickstep, Andrés +joined Charles and Pilar—who had left her quitrin—strolling +through the Plaza. As usual she +said practically nothing; but, in the gloom, she +was specially potent, like a fascinating and ironic +idol to innocence; and Charles Abbott was pleased +by Andrés’ instant attention. Pilar was reluctant, +now, to return to the carriage, and she lingered +between the men, who, in turn, gazed down +addressing remarks to the smooth blackness of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +her hair or to the immobile whiteness of her +face. Charles dropped behind, to light a cigar, +and when he came up to them again he had the +illusive sense of a rapid speech stopped at his +approach. Andrés Escobar’s countenance was +lowered, his brow drawn together ... it had +been Pilar de Lima, surprisingly, who had talked. +Charles recalled the manner in which her low, +even voice flowed from scarcely moving lips, with +never a shadow of emotion, of animation, across +her unstirred flattened features.</p> +<p>Some Cubans gathered about the table when, +later, they were eating ices; and, gaining Pilar’s +consent, he left with the indispensable polite regrets +and bows. He was vaguely and thoroughly +disturbed, uneasy, as though a grain of poison +had entered him and were circulating through +all his being. It was a condition he was unfamiliar +with, disagreeable in the extreme; and one +which he determined to stamp out. It hadn’t +existed in his contact with Pilar until the appearance +of Andrés; yes, it came about from the conjunction +of the girl, Andrés and himself; spilled +into the clarity of their companionship, Andrés +and his, her influence had already darkened +and slightly embittered it ... had affected it, +Charles added; she was powerless to touch him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +in the future; he put her resolutely, completely, +from his thoughts.</p> +<p>He was a little appalled at the suddenness with +which the poison had tainted him, infecting every +quality of superiority, of detachment, of reasoning, +he possessed. When he saw Andrés again, +after the interval of a week, his heart was empty +of everything but crystal admiration, affection; +but Andrés was obscured, his bearing even defiant. +They were at a reception given by a connection +of the Cespedes on the Cerro. Instinctively +they had drawn aside, behind a screen of +pomegranate and mignonette trees in the patio; +but their privacy, Charles felt, had been uncomfortably +invaded. He spoke of this, gravely, and +Andrés suddenly drooped in extreme dejection.</p> +<p>“Why did you ever bring us together!” he +exclaimed. “She, Pilar, has fastened herself +about me like one of those pale strangling orchids. +No other woman alive could have troubled +me, but, then, Pilar is not a woman.” +Charles Abbott explained his agreement with that.</p> +<p>“What is she?” Andrés cried. “She says nothing, +she hardly ever lifts her eyes from her +hands, I can give you my word kissing her is +like tasting a sherbet; and yet I can’t put her +out of my mind. I get all my thoughts, my feelings, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +from her as though they passed in a body +from her brain to mine. They are thoughts +I detest. Charles, when I am away from you, +I doubt and question you, and sink into an +indifference toward all we are, all we have +been.”</p> +<p>“Something like that began to happen to me,” +Charles admitted; “it was necessary to bring it +to an end; just as you must. Such things are +not for us. Drop her, Andrés, on the Paseo, +where she belongs.” The other again slipped +outside the bounds of their friendship. “I +must ask you to make no such allusion,” he retorted +stiffly. Charles laughed, “You old idiot,” +he said affectionately, “have her and get over it, +then, as soon as possible; I won’t argue with you +about such affairs, that’s plain.” Andrés laid +a gripping hand on his arm, avoiding, while he +spoke, Charles’ searching gaze.</p> +<p>“There is one thing you can do for me,” he +hurried on, “and—and I beg you not to refuse. +The mantón that belonged to La Clavel! I described +it to Pilar, and she is mad to wear it to +the danzón at the Tacon Theatre. You see, it +was embroidered by the Chinese, and it is appropriate +for her. Think of Pilar in that +shawl, Charles.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></div> +<p>“She can’t have it,” he answered shortly.</p> +<p>Andrés Escobar’s face darkened. “It had occurred +to me you might refuse,” he replied. +“Then there is nothing for me to do. But it +surprises me, when I remember the circumstances, +that you have such a tender feeling for it. After +all, it wasn’t a souvenir of love; you never lost +an opportunity to say how worn you were with +La Clavel.”</p> +<p>“No, Andrés, it isn’t a token of love, but a banner, +yours even more than mine, a charge we must +keep above the earth.”</p> +<p>That, Andrés observed satirically, was very +pretty; but a mantón, a woman’s thing, had no +relation to the cause of Cuban independence.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, but of course, you are right,” Charles +agreed. “Very well, then it is only a superstition +of mine. I have the feeling that if we lower +this—this standard it will bring us bad luck, it +will be disastrous. What that Pilar, you may +think, is to you, the mantón has always been for +me. It is in my blood; I regard it as a sailor +might a chart. And then, Andrés, remember—it +protected Cuba.”</p> +<p>“I have to have it,” the other whispered +desperately; “she—she wants it, for the danzón.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>Charles Abbott’s resentment changed to pity, +and then to a calm acceptance of what had the aspect +of undeviating fate. “Very well,” he said +quietly. “After all, you are right, it is nothing +but a shawl, and our love for each other must not +suffer. I’ll give it to you freely, Andrés: she +will look wonderful in it.”</p> +<p>The other grasped his hands. “Be patient, +Charles,” he begged. “This will go and leave +us as we were before, as we shall always be. It +hasn’t touched what you know of, it is absolutely +aside from that—a little scene in front of the curtain +between the acts of the serious, the main, +piece. I doubted her honesty, as you described +it, at first; but you were right. She has no interest +at all in our small struggle; she is only +anxious to return to Peru.”</p> +<p>“I wish she had never come from there!” +Charles declared; “whether she is honest or dishonest +is unimportant. She is spoiled, like a +bad lime.”</p> +<p>“If you had been more successful with her—” +Andrés paused significantly.</p> +<p>“So that,” Charles returned, “is what she said +or hinted to you!” Andrés Escobar was gazing +away into the massed and odorous grey-blue mignonette. +“Go away before I get angry with you; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +you are more Spanish than any Mendoza. The +mantón you’ll find at home tonight.”</p> +<p>He was, frankly, worried about Andrés; not +fundamentally—Andrés’ loyalty was beyond any +personal betrayal—but because he was aware of +the essential inflammability of all tropical emotion. +The other might get into a rage with Pilar, +who never, herself, could fall into such an error, +and pay the penalty exacted by a swift gesture +toward the hem of her skirt. Then he recalled, +still with a slight shudder of delight, the soft +dragging feel of her fingers on his cheek. He +tied the shawl up sombrely, oppressed by the +conviction of mischance he had expressed to Andrés, +and despatched it.</p> +<p>Pilar de Lima might, possibly, depart for Peru +earlier even than she hoped; boats left not infrequently +for Mexico and South America—the +Argentine for which La Clavel had longed—and +she was welcome to try her mysterious arts upon +the seas away from Cuba and Andrés. A sugar +bag could easily, at the appropriate moment, be +slipped over her head, and a bateau carry her +out, with a sum of gold, at night to a departing +ship. There would be no trouble, after she had +been seen, in getting her on board. And Charles +Abbott thought of her, in her silent whiteness, corrupting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +one by one the officers and crew; a vague +hatred would spread over the deck, forward and +aft; and through the cabins, the hearts, her suggestions +and breath of evil touched. They would +never see Mexico, he decided; but, on a calm +purple night in the Gulf, a sanguine and volcanic +inferno of blackened passion would burst +around the flicker of her blanched dress and face +no colder in death than in life.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Charles Abbott’s thoughts returned continually +to Andrés; in the shadowy region of his brain the +latter was like a vividly and singly illuminated +figure. He remembered, too, the occasion of his +first seeing Andrés, at the Hotel Inglaterra: they +had gone together into the restaurant, where, over +rum punches and cigars, the love he had for him +had been born at once. It was curious—that +feeling; a thing wholly immaterial, idealizing. +He had speculated about it before, but without +coming to the end of its possibilities, the bottom +of its meaning. There was no need to search for +a reason for the love of women; that, it might be, +was no more than mechanical, the allurement cast +by nature about its automatic purpose. It belonged +to earth, where it touched any sky was not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +Charles’ concern; but his friendship for Andrés +Escobar had no relation to material ends.</p> +<p>At first it had been upheld, vitalized, by admiration, +qualities perceptible to his mind, to +analysis; he had often reviewed them—Andrés’ +deep sense of honor, his allegiance to a conduct +free of self, his generosity, his slightly dramatic +but inflexible courage, the fastidious manners of +his person. His clothes, the sprig of mimosa +he preferred, the angle of his hat and the rake +back, through an elbow, of his malacca cane, were +all satisfying, distinguished. But Charles’ consciousness +of these actual traits, details, had vanished +before an acceptance of Andrés as a whole, +uncritically. What, once, had been a process of +thought had become an emotion integral with his +own subconscious being.</p> +<p>Something of his essential character had entered +Andrés, and a part of Andrés had become +bound into him. This, as soon as she had grown +into the slightest menace to it, had cast Pilar de +Lima from his consideration. It had been no +effort, at the moment necessary he had forgotten +her; just as Andrés, faced with the truth, would +put her away from him. The bond between them, +Charles told himself, was forged from pure gold.</p> +<p>This was running through his head on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +night of the danzón. He was seated at the entrance +of the United States Club, where the +sharp Yankee accents of the gamblers within +floated out and were lost in the narrow walled +darkness of Virtudes Street. It was no more than +eleven, the Tacon Theatre would be empty +yet.... Charles had no intention of going to +the danzón, but at the same time he was the victim +of a restless curiosity in connection with it; +he had an uncomfortable oppression at the vision +of Andrés, with Pilar in the bright shawl, on +the floor crowded with the especial depravities of +Havana.</p> +<p>The Spanish officers had made it customary +for men of gentility to go into the criolla festivities; +they were always present, the young and +careless, the drunken and degenerate; and that, +too, added to Charles’ indefinable sense of possible +disaster. In a way, it might be an excellent +thing for him to attend, to watch, the danzón. If +Andrés were infatuated he would be blind to the +dangers, both the political and those emanating +from the mixture of bloods. At this moment the +game inside ended, and a knot of men, sliding +into their coats, awkwardly grasping broad-brimmed +hats, appeared, departing for the Tacon +Theatre. A perfunctory nodded invitation for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +him to accompany them settled the indecision in +Charles Abbott’s mind. And, a half hour later, +he was seated in a palco of the second tier, above +the dance.</p> +<p>Familiar with them, he paid no attention to the +sheer fantastic spectacle; the two orchestras, one +taking up the burden of sound when the other +paused, produced not for him their rasping +dislocated rhythm. He was aware only of floating +skirts, masks and dark or light faces, cigars +held seriously in serious mouths. Charles soon +saw that Andrés and Pilar de Lima had not yet +arrived. As he leaned forward over the railing +of the box, Gaspar Arco de Vaca, sardonic and +observing, glanced up and saluted with his exaggerated +courtesy. He disappeared, there was +a knock at the closed door behind Charles, and +de Vaca entered.</p> +<p>There was a general standing acknowledgement +of his appearance; the visor of his dress +cap was touched for every man present, and he +took a vacated chair at Charles’ side. “You +weren’t attracted to my white absinthe,” he said +easily. On the contrary, Charles replied, he had +liked Pilar very well, although she had annoyed +him by foolish tales of a Spanish interest in him.</p> +<p>“She is, of course, an agent,” de Vaca admitted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +indifferently. “We almost have to keep +her in a cage, like a leopard from Tartary. She +has killed three officers of high rank; although +we do not prefer her as an assassin. She is valuable +as a drop of acid, here, there; and extraordinary +individuals often rave about her. We’ll +have to garrotte her some time, and that will be +a pity.”</p> +<p>There was a flash of color below, of carmine +and golden orange, and Charles recognized Pilar +wrapped, from her narrow shoulders to her delicate +ankles, in the mantón. Andrés Escobar, +with a protruding lip and sullen eyes, was at her +side. Suddenly de Vaca utterly astounded +Charles; with a warning pressure of his hand he +spoke at the younger man’s ear:</p> +<p>“I am leaving at once for Madrid, a promotion +has fortunately lifted me from this stinking +black intrigue, and I have a memory ... from +the sala de Armas, the echo of a sufficiently spirited +compliment. As I say, I am off; what is +necessary to you is necessary—a death in Havana +or a long life at home. Where I am concerned +you have bought your right to either. +You cannot swing the balance against Spain. +And I have this for you to consider. Your +friend, Escobar, has reached the end of his journey. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +It will accomplish nothing to inform him; +he is not to walk from the theatre. Very well—if +you wish to hatch your seditious wren’s eggs +tomorrow, if you wish to wake tomorrow at all, +stay away from him. Anything else will do no +good except, perhaps, for us.”</p> +<p>Charles Abbott sat with a mechanical gaze on +the floor covered with revolving figures. He +realized instantly that Gaspar Arco de Vaca had +been truthful. The evidence of that lay in the +logic of his words, the ring of his voice. The +officer rose, saluted, and left. Andrés had come +to the end of his journey! It was incredible. +He had not moved from the spot where Charles +had first seen him; he had taken off his hat, and +his dark faultlessly brushed hair held in a smooth +gleam the reflection of a light.</p> +<p>Andrés turned with a chivalrous gesture to +Pilar, who, ignoring it completely, watched with +inscrutable eyes the passing men. The shawl, on +her, had lost its beauty; it was malevolent, +screaming in color; contrasted with it her face +was marble. How, Charles speculated desperately, +was Andrés to be killed? And then he +saw. A tall young Spaniard with a jeering countenance, +in the uniform of a captain in a regiment +not attached at Havana, stopped squarely, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +with absolute impropriety, before Pilar and asked +her to dance. Andrés Escobar, for the moment, +was too amazed for objection; and, as Pilar was +borne away, he made a gesture of denial that was +too late.</p> +<p>He glanced around, as though to see if anyone +had observed his humiliation; and Charles Abbott +instinctively drew back into the box. As he +did this he cursed himself with an utter loathing. +Every natural feeling impelled him below, to go +blindly to the support of Andrés. There must +be some way—a quick shifting of masks and escape +through a side door—to get him safely out +of the hands of Spain. This, of course, would +involve, endanger, himself, but he would welcome +the necessity of that acceptance. Gaspar de +Vaca had indicated the price he might well pay +for such a course—the end, at the same time, of +himself; not only the death of his body but the +ruin of his hopes and high plans. Nothing, he +had told himself a thousand times, should be allowed +to assail them. Indeed, he had discussed +just such a contingency as this with Andrés. +Theoretically there had been no question of +the propriety of an utter seeming selfishness; +the way, across a restaurant table, had been +clear.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></div> +<p>In the box the other Americans maintained a +steady absorbed commenting on the whirling +color of the danzón. One, finally, attracted by +the mantón on Pilar de Lima, called the attention +of the others to her Chinese characteristics. +They all leaned forward, engaged by the total +pallor of her immobility above the blazing silk. +They exclaimed when she left the Spanish officer +and resumed her place by Andrés Escobar’s side. +“Isn’t that peculiar?” Charles was asked. “You +are supposed to know all about these dark affairs. +Isn’t it understood that the women keep to their +own men? And that Cuban, Abbott, you know +him; we often used to see you with him!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Charles Abbott acknowledged, “partners +seldom leave each other. That is Andrés +Escobar.”</p> +<p>He paid no more heed to the voices about him, +but sat with his gaze, his hopes and fears, fastened +on Andrés and Pilar. Back again, she +was, as usual, silent, dragging her fingers through +the knotted magenta fringe of the shawl. Andrés, +though, was speaking in short tense phrases +that alternated with concentrated angry pauses. +She lifted her arms to him, and they began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +dance. They remained, however, characteristic +of the danzón, where they were, turning slowly +and reversing in a remarkably small space. +They were a notably graceful couple, and they +varied, with an intricate stepping, the general +monotony of the measure.</p> +<p>Charles had an insane impulse to call down to +Andrés, to attract his attention, and to wave him +away from the inimical forces gathering about +him. Instead of this he lighted a cigarette, with +hands the reverse of steady, and concentrated all +his thoughts upon the fact of Cuban independence. +That, he told himself, was the only thing +of importance in his life, in the world. And it +wasn’t Cuba—alone, but the freedom of life at +large, that rested, in part at least, on the foundation +he might help to lay, the beginning solidity +of human liberty, superiority. He forced himself +to gaze with an air of indifference at the dancing +below him; but, it seemed, wherever he looked, +the mantón floated into his vision. He saw, +now, nothing else, neither Pilar nor Andrés, but +only the savage challenging fire of silks. The +shawl’s old familiar significance had been entirely +lost—here he hated and feared it, it was +synonymous with all that threatened his success. +It gathered into its folded and draped square the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +evil of the danzón, the spoiled mustiness of joined +and debased bloods, the license under a grotesque +similitude of restraint.</p> +<p>This was obliterated by a wave of affection for +Andrés so strong that it had the effect of an intolerable +physical pressure within his body: his +love had the aspect of a tangible power bound to +assert itself or to destroy him. With clenched +hands he fought it back, he drove it away before +the memory of the other. Voices addressed him, +but he paid no attention, the words were mere +sounds from a casual sphere with which he had +nothing in common. He must succeed in his endeavor, +put into actuality at this supreme moment +his selfless projection of duty, responsibility. +For it was, in spite of his preoccupation +with its personal possibilities, an ideal to which +he, as an entity, was subordinated. He recalled +the increasing number of destinies in which he +was involved, that were being thrust upon him, +and for which, at best, he would become accountable. +So much more lay in the immediate future +than was promised—justified—in the present.</p> +<p>Here, too, Andrés was at fault—precisely the +accident had happened to him that he was so +strict in facing for others. His absorption +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +wouldn’t, as an infatuation, continue; or, rather, +it could not have lasted ... long. But already +it had been long enough to finish, to kill, Andrés. +Charles rose uncontrollably to his feet; he would +save his friend from the menace of the whole +Spanish army. But de Vaca, whose every accent +carried conviction, had been explicit: he particularly +would not have spoken under any other +circumstance. He had, in reality, been tremendously +flattering in depending to such a degree on +Charles’ coolness and intellect. Gaspar de Vaca +would have taken no interest in a sentimentalist. +The officer without question had found in +Charles Abbott a strain of character, a resolution, +which he understood, approved; to a certain extent +built on. He had, in effect, concluded that +Charles and himself would act similarly in similar +positions.</p> +<p>It was, Charles decided, at an end; he must go +on as he had begun. A strange numb species of +calm settled over him. The vast crowded floor, +the boxes on either hand, sweeping tier on tier to +the far hidden ceiling, surrounding the immense +chandelier glittering with crystal lustres, were +all removed, distant, from him. The Tacon +Theatre took on the appearance of a limitless pit +into which all human life had been poured, arbitrarily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +thrown together, and, in the semblance of +masquerading gaiety, made to whirl in a time +that had in its measure the rattle of bones, a +drumming on skulls. This conception sickened +him, he could, he felt, no longer breathe in a +closeness which he imagined as fetid; and Charles +realized that, at least, there was no need for him +to remain. Indeed, it would be better in every +way to avoid the impending, the immediate, +catastrophe.</p> +<p>With a hasty incoherent remark he secured his +hat and left the box. Outside, in the bare corridor, +he paused and his lips automatically +formed the name Andrés Escobar. In a flash he +saw the gathering disintegration of the Escobar +family—Vincente dead, his body dishonored; +Narcisa, ineffable, flower-like, sacrificed to dull +ineptitude; Domingo, who had been so cheerfully +round, furrowed with care, his spirit dead before +his body; Carmita sorrowing; and Andrés, Andrés +the beautiful, the young and proud, betrayed, +murdered in a brawl at a negro dance. What disaster! +And where, in the power of accomplishment, +they had failed, where, fatally, they had +been vulnerable, was at their hearts, in their love +each for the other, or in the fallibility of such an +emotion as Andrés felt for Pilar. He, Charles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +Abbott, must keep free from that entanglement. +This reassurance, however, was not new; all the +while it had supported him.</p> +<p>He made his way down the broad shallow steps, +passing extraordinary figures—men black and +twisted like the carvings of roots in the garb of +holiday minstrels; women coffee-colored and +lovely like Jobaba, their faces pearly with rice +powder, in yellow satin or black or raw purple, +their feet in high-heeled white kid slippers. +Where they stood in his way he brushed them unceremoniously, +hastily, aside, and he was followed +by low threatening murmurs, witless laughter. +A man, loyal to the Cuban cause, attempted to +stop him, to repeat something which, he assured +Charles, was of grave weight; but he went on +heedlessly.</p> +<p>His passage became, against his reasoning +mind, a flight; and he cursed, with an unbalanced +rage, in a minor frenzy, when he saw that he +would have to walk through a greater part of the +body of the theatre before he could escape. The +dancers had, momentarily, thinned out, and he +went directly across the floor. There was a flame +before his eye, the illusion of a shifting screen +of blood; and he found himself facing Pilar de +Lima and Andrés; beyond, the Spanish officer, tall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +and lank and young, was peering at them with +an aggressive spite. Charles turned aside, avoiding +the tableau. Then he heard Andrés’ exasperated +voice ordering the girl to come with him to +the promenade. Instead of that her glimmering +eyes, with lights like the reflection of polished +green stones, evading Andrés, sought and found +the officer.</p> +<p>Charles Abbott’s legs were paralysed, he was +held stationary, as though he were helpless in a +dream. His heart pounded and burned, and a +great strangling impulse shook him like a flag in +the wind. “Andrés!” he cried, “Andrés, let her +go, she is nothing! Quickly, before it is too late. +Remember—” There was a surging concentration +so rapid that Charles saw it as a constricting +menace rather than the offensive of a group of +men. Pilar stooped, her hand at her knee. +Charles threw an arm about Andrés, but he was +dragged, struggling, away. She was icy in the +hell of the mantón. There was a suspension of +breathing, of sound, through which a fragile hand +with a knife searched and searched. Then a +shocking blow fell on Charles Abbott’s head and +the Tacon Theatre rocked and collapsed in darkness.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>The sharp closing of a door brought him, a +man advanced in middle age, abruptly to his feet. +He was confused, and swayed dizzily, with out-stretched +arms as though he were grasping vainly +for the dissolving fragments of a shining mirage +of youth. They left him, forever, and he stood +regaining his strayed sense of immediacy. He +was surprisingly weary, in a gloom made evident +by the indirect illumination of an arc light across +and farther up the street. Fumbling over the +wall he encountered the light switch, and flooded +his small drawing-room with brilliance. The +clock on the mantle, crowned by an eagle with +lifted gilded wings, pointed to the first quarter +past eleven: when he had sunk into his abstraction +from the present, wandered back into the +sunlight of Havana and his days of promise, it +had been no more than late afternoon; and now +Mrs. Vauxn and her daughter, his neighbors, had +returned from their dinner engagement. He +wondered, momentarily, why that hour and ceremony +had passed unattended for him, and then +recalled that Bruton and his wife, who kept his +house, had gone to the funeral of a relative, leaving +on the dining-room table, carefully covered, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +some cuts of cold meat, a salad of lettuce, bran +bread and fresh butter, and the coffee percolator +with its attachment for a plug in the floor.</p> +<p>To the rest, he had faithfully told Mrs. Bruton, +who was severe with him, he’d attend. In place +of that he had wandered into an amazing memory +of his beginning manhood. The beginning, +he told himself, and, in many ways the end—since +then he had done little or nothing. After +the ignominy of his deportation from Cuba—impending +satisfactory negotiations between the +United States and Spain, he gathered later, had +preserved him from the dignity of political martyrdom—a +drabness of life had caught him from +which he could perceive no escape. Not, he +was bound to add, that he had actively looked for +one. No, his participation in further events had +been interfered with by a doubt, his life had been +drawn into an endless question. If he had +walked steadily past Andrés Escobar, left him to +a murder which, after all, he, Charles Abbott, +had been powerless to stop, would he have gone +on to the triumph of his ideal?</p> +<p>In addition to this there was the eternal speculation +over the relation, in human destiny, of the +heart to the head—which, in the end, would, must, +triumph? There was no necessity in his final +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +philosophy for the optimism, where men are concerned, +that had been his first stay. He wasn’t +so sure now—but was he certain of anything?—of +the coming victory of right, of the spreading, +from land to land, of freedom. Did life reach +upward or down, or was it merely the circling of +a carrousel, the whirling of the danzón? Nothing, +for him, could be settled, definite. He was +inclined to the belief that the blow of the scabbard +on his head.... That, however, like the +rest, was indeterminate. He came back eternally +to the same query—had he, as for so long, so +wearily, he had insisted to himself, failed, proved +weak for the contentions of existence on a positive +plane? Had he become a part, a member, +of the nameless, the individually impotent, +throng? His sympathies were, by birth, aristocratic +rather than humane; he preferred strength +to acquiescence; but there were times now, perhaps, +when he was aging, when there was a relief +in sinking into the sea of humility.</p> +<p>Then his thoughts centered again on Howard +Gage; who, before leaving that afternoon, had +unpleasantly impressed Charles Abbott by his inelasticity, +the fixity of his gaze upon the ground. +Howard had been involved in a war of a magnitude +that swamped every vestige of the long-sustained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +Cuban struggle. And he admitted his +relation to this had been one of bitter necessity:</p> +<p>“I had to go, we all did,” Howard Gage had +said. “There wasn’t any music about it, any +romance. It had to be done, that was all, and +it was. Don’t expect me to be poetic.”</p> +<p>Yes, the youth of today were, to Charles’ way +of thinking, badly off. Anyone who could not +be poetic, who wouldn’t be if he had the chance, +was unfortunate, limited, cramped. Visions, +ideals, were indispensable for youth. Why, +damn it, love was dependent on dreams, unreality. +He had never known it; but he was able to appreciate +what it might be in a man’s life. He +no longer scorned love, or the woman he was able +to imagine—a tender loveliness never out of a +slightly formal beauty. For her the service parts +of the house would have no existence; and, +strangely, he gave no consideration to children.</p> +<p>It wasn’t that he minded loneliness; that was +not an unmixed evil, especially for a man whose +existence was chiefly spun from memories, speculations, +and conditioned by the knowledge that +he had had the best of life, its fullest measure, at +the beginning. He had never again seen a +woman like La Clavel, a friend who could compare +with Andrés, wickedness such as Pilar’s, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +days and players as brilliant as those of Havana +before, well—before he had passed fifty. If the +trade winds still blew, tempering the +magnificence of the Cuban nights, they no longer blew +for him. But Havana, as well, had changed.</p> +<p>The piano next door took up, where it had been +dropped, the jota from Liszt’s Rhapsody Espagnol. +It rippled and sang for a moment and +then ended definitely for the night. Other dancers, +Charles reasonably supposed, continued the +passionate art of that lyric passage; he read of +them, coming from Spain to the United States for +no other purpose. He had no doubt about their +capability, and no wish to see them. They would +do for Howard Gage. What if he, instead of +Charles Abbott, had been at the Tacon Theatre +the night Andrés had died? That was an interesting +variation of the old question—what, in +his predicament, would Howard Gage have +done? Walked away, probably, holding his +purpose undamaged! But Andrés could never +have loved Howard Gage; Andrés, for his attachment, +required warmth, intensity, the ornamental +forms of honor; poetry, briefly. That lost romantic +time, that day in immaculate white linen +with a spray of mimosa in its buttonhole!</p> +<p>There were some flowers, Charles recalled, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +standing on the table in the hall, dahlias; and he +walked out and drew one into the lapel of his +coat. It was without scent, just as, now, life was +unscented; yet, surveying himself in the mirror +over the vase, he saw that the sombreness of his +attire was lightened by the spot of red. Nothing, +though, could give vividness to his countenance, +that was dry and dull, scored with lines that resembled +traces of dust. The moustache across +his upper lip was faded and brittle. It was of +no account; if he had lacked ultimately the +courage, the stamina, to face and command life, +he was serene at the threat of death.</p> +<p>Suddenly hungry, he went into the dining-room +and removed the napkins, turned the electricity +into the percolator. Then, with a key +from under the edge of the cloth on a console-table, +he opened a door of the sideboard, and +produced a tall dark bottle of Marquis de Riscal +wine, and methodically drew the cork. Charles +Abbott wiped the glass throat and, seated, poured +out a goblet full of the translucent crimson liquid. +It brought a slight flush to his cheeks, a light in +his eyes, and the shadow of a vital humor, a past +challenge, to his lips. He had lifted many toasts +in that vintage, his glass striking with a clear +vibration against other eagerly held glasses. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +More often than not they—Tirso, the guardsman +in statue, Remigio, Jaime, Andrés and himself—had +drunk to La Clavel. He drank to her, probably +the sole repository of her memory, her splendor, +on earth, now. “La Clavel,” he said her +name aloud. And then, “Andrés.”</p> +<p>A sharp gladness seized him that Andrés had, +almost at the last, heard his voice, his shouted +warning and apprehension and love. If liberty, +justice, were to come, one life, two, could make +no difference; a hundred years, a hundred hundred, +were small measures of time. And if all +were doomed, impossible, open to the knife of a +fateful Pilar, why, then, they had had their companionship, +their warmth, a period of unalloyed +fidelity to a need that broke ideals like reeds. +Perhaps what they had found was, after all, +within them, that for which they had swept the +sky.</p> +<p class='center'><b>THE END</b></p> +<hr class='pb' /> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.21k2 --> +<!-- timestamp: 2010-04-05 23:18:12 -0500 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bright Shawl, by Joseph Hergesheimer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT SHAWL *** + +***** This file should be named 31898-h.htm or 31898-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/9/31898/ + +Produced by Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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