The Purple Land Part 10

"Little Alma lived close to the River Yi, but far, far from here, beyond the trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yi is a very long river.

She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big tall men with long beards; and they always talked about wars, and cattle, and horse-racing, and a great many other important things that Alma could not understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for Alma to talk to or to play with. And when she went out of the house where all the big people were talking, she heard the c.o.c.ks crowing, the dogs barking, the birds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees rustling their leaves over her head, and she could not understand one word of all they said.

At last, having no one to play with or talk to, she sat down and began to cry. Now, it happened that near the spot where she sat there was an old black woman wearing a red shawl, who was gathering sticks for the fire, and she asked Alma why she cried.

"'Because I have no one to talk to and play with,' said Alma. Then the old black woman drew a long bra.s.s pin out of her shawl and p.r.i.c.ked Alma's tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be p.r.i.c.ked.

"'Now,' said the old woman, 'you can go and play and talk with the dogs, cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say, and they will understand all you say.'

"Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to the cat.

"'Come, cat, let us talk and play together,' she said.

"'Oh no,' said the cat. 'I am very busy watching a little bird, so you must go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.'

"Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs also refused to play when she went to them; for they had to watch the house and bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play with little Niebla down by the river. Then Alma ran out and caught a little duckling, a soft little thing that looked like a ball of yellow cotton, and said:

"'Now, little duck, let us talk and play.'

"But the duckling only struggled to get away and screamed, 'Oh, mamma, mamma, come and take me away from Alma!'

"Then the old duck came rus.h.i.+ng up, and said:

"'Alma, let my child alone: and if you want to play, go and play with Niebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in your hands--what next, I wonder!'

"So she let the duckling go, and at last she said, 'Yes, I will go and play with Niebla down by the river.'

"She waited till she saw the white mist, and then ran all the way to the Yi, and stood still on the green bank close by the water with the white mist all round her. By and by she saw a beautiful little child come flying towards her in the white mist. The child came and stood on the green bank and looked at Alma. Very, very pretty she was; and she wore a white dress--whiter than milk, whiter than foam, and all embroidered with purple flowers; she had also white silk stockings, and scarlet shoes, bright as scarlet verbenas. Her hair was long and fluffy, and shone like gold, and round her neck she had a string of big gold beads.

Then Alma said, 'Oh, beautiful little girl, what is your name?' to which the little girl answered:

"'Niebla.'

"'Will you talk to me and play with me?' said Alma.

"'Oh, no,' said Niebla, 'how can I play with a little girl dressed as you are and with bare feet?'

"For you know poor Alma only wore a little old frock that came down to her knees, and she had no shoes and stockings on. Then little Niebla rose up and floated away, away from the bank and down the river, and at last, when she was quite out of sight in the white mist, Alma began to cry. When it got very hot she went and sat down, still crying, under the trees; there were two very big willow-trees growing near the river. By and by the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees began talking to each other, and Alma understood everything they said.

"'Is it going to rain, do you think?' said one tree.

"'Yes, I think it will--some day,' said the other.

"'There are no clouds,' said the first tree.

"'No, there are no clouds to-day, but there were some the day before yesterday,' said the other.

"'Have you got any nests in your branches?' said the first tree.

"'Yes, one,' said the other. 'It was made by a little yellow bird, and there are five speckled eggs in it.'

"Then the first tree said, 'There is little Alma sitting in our shade; do you know why she is crying, neighbour?'

"The other tree answered, 'Yes, it is because she has no one to play with. Little Niebla by the river refused to play with her because she is not beautifully dressed.'

"Then the first tree said, 'Ah, she ought to go and ask the fox for some pretty clothes to wear. The fox always keeps a great store of pretty things in her hole.'

"Alma had listened to every word of this conversation. She remembered that a fox lived on the hillside not far off; for she had often seen it sitting in the suns.h.i.+ne with its little ones playing round it and pulling their mother's tail in fun. So Alma got up and ran till she found the hole, and, putting her head down it, she cried out, 'Fox!

Fox!' But the fox seemed cross, and only answered, without coming out, 'Go away, Alma, and talk to little Niebla. I am busy getting dinner for my children and have no time to talk to you now.'

"Then Alma cried, 'Oh, Fox, Niebla will not play with me because I have no pretty things to wear. Oh, Fox, will you give me a nice dress and shoes and stockings and a string of beads?'

"After a little while the fox came out of its hole with a big bundle done up in a red cotton handkerchief and said, 'Here are the things, Alma, and I hope they will fit you. But you know, Alma, you really ought not to come at this time of day, for I am very busy just now cooking the dinner--an armadillo roasted and a couple of partridges stewed with rice, and a little omelette of turkeys' eggs. I mean plovers' eggs, of course; I never touch turkeys' eggs.'

"Alma said she was very sorry to give so much trouble.

"'Oh, never mind,' said the fox. 'How is your grandmother?'

"'She is very well, thank you,' said Alma, 'but she has a bad headache.'

"'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the fox. 'Tell her to stick two fresh dock-leaves on her temples, and to drink a little weak tea made of knot-gra.s.s, and on no account to go out in the hot sun. I should like to go and see her, only I do not like the dogs being always about the house. Give her my best respects. And now run home, Alma, and try on the things, and when you are pa.s.sing this way you can bring me back the handkerchief, as I always tie my face up in it when I have the toothache.'

"Alma thanked the fox very much and ran home as fast as she could, and when the bundle was opened she found in it a beautiful white dress, embroidered with purple flowers, a pair of scarlet shoes, silk stockings, and a string of great golden beads. They all fitted her very well; and next day when the white mist was on the Yi she dressed herself in her beautiful clothes and went down to the river. By and by little Niebla came flying along, and when she saw Alma she came and kissed her and took her by the hand. All the morning they played and talked together, gathering flowers and running races over the green sward: and at last Niebla bade her good-bye and flew away, for all the white mist was floating off down the river. But every day after that Alma found her little companion by the Yi, and was very happy, for now she had someone to talk to and to play with."

After I had finished the story Anita continued gazing into my face with an absorbed expression in her large, wistful eyes. She seemed half scared, half delighted at what she had heard; but presently, before the little thing had said a word, Monica, who had been directing shy and wondering glances towards us for some time, came, and, taking her by the hand, led her away to bed. I was getting sleepy then, and, as the clatter of talk and warlike preparation showed no signs of abating, I was glad to be shown into another room, where some sheep-skins, rugs, and a couple of _ponchos_ were given to me for a bed.

During the night all the men took their departure, for in the morning, when I went into the kitchen, I only found the old woman and Alday's wife sipping bitter _mate_. The child, they informed me, had disappeared from the house an hour before, and Monica had gone out to look for her.

Alday's wife was highly indignant at the little one's escapade, for it was high time for Anita to go out with the flock. After taking _mate_ I went out, and, looking towards the Yi, veiled in a silvery mist, I spied Monica leading the culprit home by the hand, and went to meet them.

Poor little Anita! her face stained with tears, her little legs and feet covered with clay and scratched by sharp reeds in fifty places, her dress soaking wet with the heavy mist, looked a most pitiful object.

"Where did you find her?" I asked the girl, beginning to fear that I had been the indirect cause of the poor child's misfortunes.

"Down by the river looking for little Niebla. I knew she would be there when I missed her this morning."

"How did you know that?" I asked. "You did not hear the story I told her."

"I made her repeat it all to me last night," said Monica.

After that little Anita was scolded, shaken, washed and dried, then fed, and finally lifted on to the back of her pony and sent to take care of the sheep. While undergoing this treatment she maintained a profound silence, her little face puckered up into an expression that boded tears. They were not for the public, however, and only after she was on the pony, with the reins in her little mites of hands and her back towards us, did she give way to her grief and disappointment at having failed to find the beautiful child of the mist.

I was astonished to find that she had taken the fantastic little tale invented to amuse her as truth; but the poor babe had never read books or heard stories, and the fairy tale had been too much for her starved little imagination. I remember that once on another occasion I told a pathetic story of a little child, lost in a great wilderness, to a girl about Anita's age, and just as unaccustomed to this kind of mental fare.

Next morning her mother informed me that my little listener had spent half the night sobbing and begging to be allowed to go and look for that lost child I had told her about.

Hearing that Alday would not return till evening or till the following day, I asked his wife to lend or give me a horse to proceed on my journey. This, however, she could not do; then she added, very graciously, that while all the men were away my presence in the house would be a comfort to her, a man always being a great protection. The arrangement did not strike me as one very advantageous to myself, but, as I could not journey very well to Montevideo on foot, I was compelled to sit still and wait for Alday's return.

It was dull work talking to those two women in the kitchen. They were both great talkers, and had evidently come to a tacit agreement to share their one listener fairly between them, for first one, then the other would speak with a maddening monotony. Alday's wife had six favourite, fine-sounding words--_elements, superior, division, prolongation, justification,_ and _disproportion_. One of these she somehow managed to drag into every sentence, and sometimes she succeeded in getting in two.

Whenever this happened the achievement made her so proud that she would in the most deliberate cold-blooded way repeat the sentence again, word for word. The strength of the old woman lay in dates. Not an occurrence did she mention, whether it referred to some great public event or to some trivial domestic incident in her own _rancho_, without giving the year, the month, and the day. The duet between these two confounded barrel-organs, one grinding out rhetoric, the other chronology, went on all the morning, and often I turned to Monica, sitting over her sewing, in hopes of a different tune from her more melodious instrument, but in vain, for never a word dropped from those silent lips. Occasionally her dark, luminous eyes were raised for a moment, only to sink abashed again when they encountered mine. After breakfast I went for a walk along the river, where I spent several hours hunting for flowers and fossils, and amusing myself as best I could. There were legions of duck, coot, rosy spoonbills, and black-necked swans disporting themselves in the water, and I was very thankful that I had no gun with me, and so was not tempted to startle them with rude noises, and send any of them away to languish wounded amongst the reeds. At length, after having indulged in a good swim, I set out to walk back to the _estancia_.

When still about a mile from the house as I walked on, swinging my stick and singing aloud in lightness of heart, I pa.s.sed a clump of willow-trees, and, looking up, saw Monica under them watching my approach. She was standing perfectly motionless, and, when I caught sight of her, cast her eyes demurely down, apparently to contemplate her bare feet, which looked very white on the deep green turf. In one hand she held a cl.u.s.ter of stalks of the large, crimson, autumnal lilies which had just begun to blossom. My singing ceased suddenly, and I stood for some moments gazing admiringly at the shy, rustic beauty.

"What a distance you have walked to gather lilies, Monica!" I said, approaching her. "Will you give me one of your stalks?"