Night in the Paseo de la Virgen del Puerto—A Shot Rings Out—Calatrava and Vidal—A Tango by La Bella Pérez “On nights when it isn’t very cold,” said the soldier, “I sleep in that grove near the Virgen del Puerto. Would you want to go there today?” he added.
“Sure. Come on.”
They were at the Puerta del Sol, so they went down the Calle Mayor. It was a rather misty night; the mist was bluish, luminous, and tempered the wind; the electric globes of the Royal Palace shone in this floating haze with a livid light.
Manuel and the soldier descended the Cuesta de la Vega and entered a little wood that runs between the Campo del Moro and the Calle de Segovia. Here and there an oil lantern shed its pallid glow among the trees. They reached the Paseo de los Melancólicos. Near the Segovia bridge flames were leaping from the furnaces of a grease factory that had been installed in a hut. From the Paseo de los Melancólicos they descended into the hollow, where they took refuge in a shed and prepared to go to sleep. It was cool; several mysterious couples were moving around in the vicinity; Manuel curled up,[230] thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and was soon sound asleep.
The shrill blare of bugles awoke him.
“That’s the Palace Guard,” said the soldier.
The pale glow of dawn flushed the sky; soft and grey quivered the first light of day.... Suddenly, from very near, came the discharge of firearms; Manuel and the soldier jumped to their feet; they rushed out of the shed ready for flight. But they saw nothing.
“A young chap has just committed suicide,” cried a man in a smock as he ran by Manuel and the soldier.
They approached the place whence the sound of the shot had come and beheld a young man, well dressed, lying on the ground, his face covered with blood, a revolver clutched in his right hand. There was nobody in the vicinity. The soldier drew near to the corpse, lifted the youth’s right hand and removed two rings, one of them with a diamond. Then he opened the dead man’s coat, went through the pockets, found no money and fished out a gold watch.
“Let’s be off before anybody shows up,” said Manuel.
“No,” answered the soldier.
He returned to the shed where they had passed the night, dug a hole into the ground with his fingernails, wrapped the rings and the watch in a sheet of paper, buried them, and stamped down the earth with his foot.
[231]
“In war times, war methods,” murmured the soldier, after having executed this man?uvre with extraordinary rapidity. “Now,” he added, “lie down and pretend to be fast asleep, in case anybody should happen along.”
In a few moments came a drone of voices from the hollow, and Manuel saw two guards pass by the shed on horseback.
People were hastening toward the scene of the suicide. The civil guards, after a search of the corpse, found a letter addressed to the judge in which the deceased declared that nobody was responsible for his death.
Manuel and the soldier joined the curious onlookers.
When they picked up the body and bore it off, Manuel asked:
“Shall we go back and dig the stuff up?”
“Wait for everybody to disappear.”
The place was soon deserted. The soldier then disinterred the rings and the watch.
“I think this diamond ring is all right,” he said. “How are we to find out?”
“At a jeweller’s.”
“If you were to go to a jeweller’s in those rags of yours, with a diamond ring and a gold watch, it’s very likely that you’d be reported and taken off to prison.”
“Then what are we going to do? Could we pawn the watch?” asked Manuel.
“That’s dangerous, too. Let’s go and hunt up Marcos Calatrava, a friend of mine whom I got to[232] know in Cuba. He’ll get us out of the fix. He lives in a boarding-house on the Calle de Embajadores.”
Thither they went. A woman came to the door and informed them that this Marcos had moved. The soldier made inquiries in a tavern on the ground floor of the house.
“Old Cripple! Sure I know him. I should say!” declared the tavern-keeper. “Do you know where he hangs around nights? In the Majo de las Cubas tavern, over on the Calle Mayor.”
To Manuel and the soldier this was one of the longest days in their lives. They were frightfully hungry and the thought that the sale of these rings and the watch could provide them with all they wanted to eat, and that fear kept them from satisfying this imperative need, drove them to distraction. They dragged themselves wearily through the streets, returning from time to time to inquire whether the cripple had yet arrived.
Toward evening they caught sight of him. The soldier walked over to him, saluted, and the three passed to the back of the tavern to talk things over in a corner.
“I’m expecting my secretary any moment,” said Marcos, “and he’ll arrange matters. In the meantime, order supper yourselves.”
“You do the ordering,” said the soldier to Manuel.
Manuel did so, and to add to the delay, the waiter said that the supper would be some time in coming.
[233]
While the soldier conversed with Calatrava, Manuel observed the latter closely.
Calatrava was a rare specimen, appearing at first sight almost ludicrous; he had a wooden leg, a very narrow face, as dry and black as a smoked fish; two or three scars graced his forehead; his moustaches were stiff and his hair kinky. He wore a bright-coloured suit with very wide trousers and reeled along on his natural leg as well as on his artificial; his jacket was short, somewhat darker than his trousers; his cravat was of red and his straw hat tiny.
In a beery voice Marcos ordered a few glasses. They drank them down, and soon a dandy came in, wearing yellow shoes, a derby and a silk handkerchief around his neck.
At sight of him, Manuel cried out:
“Vidal! Is that you?”
“Yes, my boy. What are you doing here?”
“Do you know this young man?” asked Calatrava of Vidal.
“Yes. He’s a cousin of mine.”
Marcos explained to Vidal what the soldier wished.
“This very instant,” answered Vidal. “It won’t take me ten minutes.”
And indeed, within a short time he returned with two pawn-tickets and several notes. The soldier took them and divided them; Manuel’s share was five duros.
“Listen to me,” said Calatrava to Vidal. “You and your cousin stay here and have supper; you must[234] have plenty to talk about. We’ll go off to somewhere else, for we’ve a few things to discuss ourselves. Take your cousin to your house for the night.”
They left, and Manuel and Vidal remained alone.
“Have you had supper?” asked Vidal.
“No. But I’ve already ordered it. And your parents?”
“They must be all right.”
“Don’t you see them?”
“No.”
“And El Bizco?”
Vidal turned ashen white.
“Don’t mention El Bizco to me,” he said.
“Why?”
“No, no. I’m horribly afraid of him. Don’t you know what happened?”
“What?”
“Dolores La Escandalosa was killed.”
“I didn’t know a thing.”
“Yes. The old woman was slain in a house called The Confessional, over toward Aravaca. And do you know who murdered her?”
“El Bizco?”
“Yes. I’m sure of that. El Bizco used to go to The Confessional to meet a gang of tramps like himself.”
“That’s true. He told me so.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes. But that was a long time ago.”
“Well, the newspapers that reported the crime say that the murderer must have been of extraordinary[235] strength, and that the woman must have gone there as if to a rendezvous. It was El Bizco, I’m certain.”
“And haven’t they caught him?”
“No.”
Vidal was immersed in thought; it could be seen that he was making every effort to control himself. The waiter brought supper. Manuel attacked the meal voraciously.
“Boy, what a small appetite you have!” commented Vidal smiling, his calm having returned.
“Lord! I was as hungry....”
“Let’s go out and have a coffee now.”
Vidal paid the bill, they left the tavern and went into the Café de Lisboa.
While they were sipping their coffee, Manuel scrutinized Vidal. The youth’s hair was very lustrous; it was parted in the middle and curly tufts fell over his ears. His movements betrayed a vast aplomb; his smile was that of a self-consciously handsome man; his neck was round, without any salient muscles. He spoke with a sympathetic ring in his voice, always smiling; but his shrewd, treacherous eyes betrayed the falsity of his speech; their expression did not harmonize with the affability of his affectionate word and his ingratiating smile. One read in them only distrust and caution.
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