The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 20

"And then I am not very well these days; my nerves are upset. But, as I have said, this means nothing, especially for you, who seem to be such a robust man."

"The most robust of men! I have nothing more than a rather weak stomach, and sometimes a little kidney trouble. Except for this, I am an oak. If this were not so, how could I endure all the work loaded on my shoulders, the frequent journeys, and all that I have to carry?"

"Exactly. I have no doubt of it. And you have never before felt any pain in your lungs?"

Marti took a few steps, looked at me closely, and in a voice made to seem strong by a special effort, answered:

"My lungs are those of an athlete!"

"Indeed?"

"Those of a gladiator," he insisted, shaking his head with an air of unquenchable conviction.

Upon this he launched into a panegyric of his respiratory apparatus with much enthusiasm and warmth. He could not have been more eloquent if he had been a commercial traveller and was offering it as a sample to a great commercial house. I congratulated him with equal enthusiasm on the possession of such a perfect example. Inspired by his own eulogies, he struck his chest, taking deep breaths, then sang the last aria of "Lucia." After that, who could have any doubts of his organs?

We returned to the house, he in an excellent humor, but not I; for in spite of his weight of testimony, I was not able to dismiss certain apprehensions. Indeed, as our pathway narrowed, and he walked ahead of me, his narrow shoulders, his long neck and drooping ears, did not remind me of the figure of Milon of Crotona nor any other winner in the Olympian games. It seemed to me that such magnificent lungs as he said he had would not have chosen such a poor lodging.

It was the hour of twilight. The park began to be filled with darkness and mystery. Although we were in the last days of September, the fresh blossoming flowers of that fortunate region filled the air with fragrance. The trees were as green and leafy as in early spring; the turf shone in eternal freshness. But mingled with the luxurious, romantic scent of heliotrope, roses, and violets came from surrounding orchards other heavier breaths of ripe fruits. The fruitful earth filled the air of heaven with the perfume of grapes and melons, pears and apples, drying hay and Indian corn.

In front of the house, seated in rocking-chairs, we found Cristina and her mother, Isabelita, Castell, and Matilde. Her children were running about the garden, cackling and gabbling like parrots, while their unhappy mother watched them with a melancholy smile. When we appeared in front of a close thicket of Indian cannas, Castell was seated beside Cristina, talking to her in low tones. She cast one glance at her husband, then at me, and at once lowered her eyes with a serious, pondering expression on her face; but raising them again, she scrutinized Emilio carefully, while he sat down, chatting and laughing with exaggerated volubility. Cristina got up, went over to him, and said:

"Emilio, you are pale. Do you feel ill?"

"I? What an idea! I never felt better. It is because I have been laughing all the afternoon. The captain has a stock of delicious anecdotes. At supper we must tell some of them; not all, though, for they are all colors."

She was not satisfied; but although she went and sat down, her eyes never quitted him. Castell made efforts to attract her attention, talking into her ear. The conduct of that man seemed to me the height of cynicism.

Soon it was quite dark, and we went into the dining-room, where it was light and the table ready. Just as we were going to sit down at it, a servant entered, and calling Marti apart, gave him a letter, with an air of mystery. He opened it at once and was not able to repress a movement of annoyance. Pocketing it and excusing himself for a few moments, he took his hat and went out. Our curiosity was excited, but n.o.body said anything. At last Cristina, whose anxiety was evident, asked the man:

"Who gave you the letter?"

"A gentleman."

"Did he wait for an answer?"

"No, senora. He wanted to speak with the senor, and he went across by the main door to wait for him."

The unusualness of the incident, and the mysterious manner of the servant, increased our curiosity extraordinarily. We had not long to wait for its satisfaction. Marti presented himself in a few moments, and, putting his hat down on a chair, asked jocularly:

"Don't you all know whom I shall have the honor to present to you?"

We all looked eagerly at him.

"A gentleman whose name begins with an S."

"Sabas!" exclaimed Matilde.

Her next act was, with quivering face and violent gestures, to hurry her children out of their chairs, and, pus.h.i.+ng them wildly before her, get them out of the room, herself following after.

We all stood up in our agitation. The nose of the deserting husband was promptly stuck in at the garden door, and behind it entered its interesting proprietor. A groan from Dona Amparo. A convulsive embrace next, tears in abundance.

Sabas, although in the arms of his mother, cast a wandering and afflicted glance about the dining-room.

"Matilde! My children!" he cried in a dramatic manner.

"All have abandoned thee except thy mother!" responded Dona Amparo in most pathetic accents.

Sabas leaned his head, a resigned victim, against the maternal bosom. At this Dona Amparo hugged him yet more fervently, ready to give her life-blood for her abandoned son. He freed himself at last, arranged his cravat, and held out his hand to us solemnly, in the dignified att.i.tude of a general who concludes a capitulation after a heroic resistance.

He went up to greet Cristina, but she turned her back upon him, and went out of the room. He shook his head in a sentimental manner, and gave us a sweet, expressive glance. Then he raised his eyes to heaven, as if pet.i.tioning for the justice that earth denied him.

I was truly alarmed to see that his face was black and the skin peeled off in some places, especially the nose.

He looked as if he had returned from a scientific and civilizing expedition into Central Africa, rather than from a romantic expedition with a young lady to the capital of Catalonia.

Dona Amparo made him drink a gla.s.s of orange-flower water to calm him.

There was no need of it. His att.i.tude on that critical occasion, at once tranquil and resigned, impressed us profoundly. However, when he had drunk the orange-flower water, he said with astonis.h.i.+ng firmness:

"I must see Matilde."

And, joining the action to the word, he proceeded, full of majesty, towards the door. He went on into the inner rooms. And we all followed him, we were so fascinated by his n.o.ble and severe manner.

We were filled with anxiety concerning the dramatic scene that was going to take place. Sabas opened two or three doors consecutively, without being able to find his wife. But his intrepid heart was not cast down.

Without uttering a word he mounted to the upper story. We followed him anxiously.

Matilde was in her room, and Cristina was with her. At sight of her husband she groaned wrathfully, and started towards another door to try to get away again. Cristina tried to detain her.

"Let me go!" she cried madly; "I don't wish to see him."

"Matilde, for heaven's sake!" cried Cristina, embracing her.

"Let me go, let me go! Everything is over between us two!"

Then the fugitive, standing in the middle of the room, showed that his strength was leaving him. He put his hand feebly to his forehead, his legs doubled under him, and, taking just enough steps towards a sofa to reach it, he fell across it in a swoon.

We all ran to his aid, and his offended wife was not the last one. On the contrary, it was she who, grieving and trembling, bathed his temples with water, and unfastened his waistcoat and s.h.i.+rt to help him breathe, exclaiming wildly:

"Sabas, my Sabas! Forgive me!"

Meanwhile, Dona Amparo applied to his nostrils various chemical products of a stimulating nature. The rest of us helped on the restorative work more or less modestly, bringing a carafe of water, uncorking bottles, or giving air to the fainting man by means of a fan.

The only one who remained inactive, seeming indisposed to offer any hygienic aid to her brother, was Cristina. Standing erect near us, she looked strangely severe. Doubtless her behavior might seem to some persons cruel and unnatural; but not to me, for my deep, unreasoning love for this woman made all that she did seem right and proper, her every movement adorable.

At last Sabas returned to the world of consciousness, and asked of his mother, who was in front of him, that which has been asked so many times:

"Where am I?"

"With your wife!"