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VIII · Conquistador

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  Section ten of Conquistador. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are
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  in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox
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  dot org. Conquistador by Catherine Fullerton Gerald. Eight. The Hassandato, contrary
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  to expectation, returned in time to oversee the sending of the cattle southward.
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  For some reason forever unexplained to Francisco, he chose to accompany them a long
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  distance. Upon their way, the Hacienda saw Don Pablo for a day and
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  a night, then had to wait for him again. He went to Mexico
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  City before he returned to Santa Eulalia, so that it was six counted weeks
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  before the real the final home coming. But when he came, Don Begue
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  marked that his restlessness of the latter months had stilled. He was like a
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  man so temperate of blood that he could not know fever. Don Pablo had
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  not attended the Tiatro Espanol, but he had lounged in cafes, had watched
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  the seignoritas, well guarded coyly, marching to church, had made acquaintance with
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  such of their men folk as had been Don Fernando's friends had borne himself courteously
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  at their clubs. He came back to the hacienda well convinced that a Gutirez
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  was not like other creole men. In only two places could a man conceivably
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  feel close to reality. At Santa Eulalia itself, and had facts been other
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  in a certain garden far to the north, any councilor would have told him
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  that he had essayed Mexico City too soon. Yet for Pa Legutires it would
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  not have been true. He was more ready to fall into the trap then
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  than he would have been after another twelve months of ocienda. It was Pablo's
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  nature, as we have said, to be taught his own heart by a
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  series of shocks. Between those passionate spaced hours, he merely lived unanalytically,
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  lethargic as to the spirit. He took to Mexico City an awakened mind that
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  worked keenly on his own affairs. Alert, self conscious, he made there
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  certain renunciations, saw himself once more as being thus and not otherwise. Don
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  Miguel, whose profession it was to examine the human heart, and who therefore
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  had become inevitably a curious soul drew a sigh of relief after the second homecoming.
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  These journeys, he was well aware, were significant, though just how
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  he did not know. Being Caballero himself, he did not press the matter.
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  Two months more of the quiet life of the hacienda went by before Don
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  Pablo showed signs of willingness to speak. The healing balm of work and use
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  and want had done much for Pablo. Three months after he stepped out of
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  Dori Mayne's garden, he buried Orton Cameron forever, even giving Horton Cameron's clothes
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  to Vicente to burn as useless now, even for memory. He had not
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  forgotten Dory, but she had refused his life. His life had to be
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  lived. If he had thrown away love for a vow in God's name,
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  let him be about the business of his vow. An older man might have
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  depended more heavily on time, but at thirty one is still impatient at all
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  events. Pablo gutires, living intensely at his appointed moments and quietly repairing his
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  mental tissues for long months between had to be as his temperament made him.
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  He sent one evening for Don Miguel, requesting that the priest join him in
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  the room with the great desk and the barred windows. A decanter of Don
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  Fernando's cognac and glasses stood on a table by his chair. The priest came
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  in, his dark eyes, blinking slightly at the lamps. May I talk
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  to you, Don Miguel about certain things? Surely, my son, do
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  you wish to confess? There had been no confession since the first return,
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  and Don Miguel had wondered now to talk to you rather as one man to
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  another, the lifelong friend of my uncle and a creole like him. Of
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  course, I do not forget that you are a priest. Pablo poured out
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  the cognac and set the glass before the older man. You will realize,
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  he said then, that since my uncle died, I have no one except
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  you to whom I can talk. Vicente, yes, but with a difference.
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  You are my spiritual superior, but you are also my only social equal.
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  Here, yes, my son, as with Don Fernando, so with
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  you. I went to the United States a few months since, as you
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  know, not telling my errand even to you. Don Miguel did not take
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  the trouble even to nod my errand was with a Senorita I had known in
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  my youth. You are still very young, Don Pablo, The old face
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  smiled at him. No, not, since I came to Santa Eulalia and
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  be came all gutyrhaz by law and in my heart. I asked the American
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  Seignorita to marry me, as one does these things in the land where I
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  was born. The priest nodded, he knew how the Americanos did things,
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  but his heart beat hard. She loved me, but she refused me.
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  I thought your countrywomen always married for love. There was a naive wonder in
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  the tone they consider that they do. But certain conditions of my life she
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  could not face. She must be very rich, sighed Don Miguel, or
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  very flighty. She is not so rich, as I said, Pablo,
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  calmly, nor was she flighty enough to take that leap at all events.
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  She refused me. It is over. Don Miguel was not without sympathy,
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  yet he could not but feel a stir of relief. Well, Don Pablo,
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  he asked, it does not matter why she would not marry me.
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  Pablo went on, holding his cognac up to the lamplight and staring at it
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  that was between her and me. But it means that there will never be
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  a senora of the North for Sante Julelia. That is well, perhaps,
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  Don Pablo, it is perhaps well, the Hassan Datto repeated. But it
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  means another thing too. It means that there will never be a senora for
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  Sante Julelia. I shall not marry. In only this thing am i americano
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  my notion of a wife. I told my uncle before he died. He
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  understood, I cannot marry a senorita Spanish fashion take a half glimpsed bride from
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  a notary's hand. It cannot be done by me. As Don Fernando knew
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  before he dies, I shall not marry, he repeated. Yet I have
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  no intention of neglecting my duty or breaking my word to my uncle. I
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  promised him an heir for Sante Juleelia, My son, you would not live
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  in sin. The priest asked, did you put that question to Don Fernando.
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  I am not in the confessional now, Don Miguel, I am speaking
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  to the only friend I have in the world, Caballero. To Caballero,
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  I have never taken any of the muchachas about the place. But if I
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  take one some day, could Don Miguel Serrano advised Don Pablo Gutirez that it
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  would be best to marry her. Santa Ulelia, my uncle said to me,
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  is stronger than either of us. Santa Juleelia must be served. Santa
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  Juleelia will never be served by lifting one of these many girls to the senora's
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  place. Your saintas I was not Spanish, murmured Don Miguel to himself.
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  No, but she was of stock as good as my father's caballero in his
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  own land. She had no Indian blood in her to make all the peons
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  mutinous and drive the other half breed girls to frenzy. My uncle saw that
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  clear. For the sake of Santa Ulalia, do not marry her, Pablo,
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  he said, Rather legitimize your son before you die. He would have
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  preferred my marriage to a Spanish girl of his own class, but he knew
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  it could not be. Yet he made me promise him a son. I
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  promised him a son, Don Miguel, And since it is of the utmost
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  importance that that son be educated for his destiny and by me, I cannot
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  longer put off begetting him in other words, Father, I will not take
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  a wife for mere reasons of state, but a mistress I must. You
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  shall give me whatever penance you gave my uncle when I shall confess my sin
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  to you. But now to night, I want only a friend's ear.
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  There was no lack of respect in Pablo's tone, but he was firmness itself.
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  You have made up your mind, Don Pablo, the priest replied courteously,
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  And you are not in the confessional. We are sitting in your room
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  over a glass of cognac. If it makes you happier to tell me these
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  things, tell me, but do not ask advice of me about your intended
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  sin, Pablo bent forward. In your heart of hearts, Don Miguel,
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  you know that before God I serve only Santa Ulelia and my uncle's wish.
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  I keep an oath, and not for my own sake. I do not
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  lust after any of them. Would to heaven I did. In your heart
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  of hearts, you know that keeping my vow is penance enough. But for
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  my uncle's sake, for Santa Eulalia's sake, for the sake of the order
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  to which you were born, you will let me speak freely and answer me
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  freely as well, for your own sake, Bablo. Don Miguel said gently,
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  I was not always a priest. But what he meant he did not
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  say. Don Pablo Gutierrez rose and paced the floor. Sometimes his tall form
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  was in bright lamp light, sometimes in shadow. The priest watched him intently,
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  a tear winking, unseen, unfelt in his eye. At last,
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  the young man stopped his resolute pacing and drifted to stillness beside the desk.
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  Before I went north, Don Miguel, Manuelita chattered to me of a convent
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  in Chiuawa. I refused my sanction. Don Miguel shook his head. Manuelita
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  has no vocation, as I told her, only an aching heart. They
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  are not always the same thing. I have hardly seen her since my return.
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  She keeps faithfully to the deary VICCENTI tells me it is in my mind.
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  Pablo went on calmly to choose Manulita, not that I would constrain any
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  girl alive. Don Miguel stirred a little. Every One in the hacienda Pablo
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  knows how it is with Manulita. It is common talk about the patio.
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  She is very pretty. Perhaps the prettiest, But I am sorry for I
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  think she is of finer mold than most. She has Cassota blood in her
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  far back to be sure, her mother was the daughter of old Don Jose,
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  you think her too good for me, Pablo asked, grimly. We
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  will leave irony out of this. Pablo, the older man returned quietly.
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  I meant only that if it is your firm intention to make some girl unhappy,
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  I would rather it were not Manuelita. Indeed, I am not sure
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  she is not the only one you could make unhappy. The others would take
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  you lightly enough and be sufficiently paid by your gifts and their pride of place.
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  But when you are tired of Manuelita, it will hurt her more to
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  be flung back, or to see another succeed her. Still, a strain
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  of the cassata of blood will do no harm to your son. Is you
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  who bring in irony? Don Miguel, answered Pablo, I shall be kind
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  to Manualita, and I have no intention of keeping a seraglio. I see
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  no reason why Manuelita should ever have a successor. The downward path is all
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  too easy. He O me oh, groaned the old man. One sin
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  leads to another. A man's prime lasts long. There are always pretty girls
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  about, and who would marry a Vaccio or a peon if the Master would
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  smile upon her? We will leave that. It is not worth discussing.
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  I see you will not marry her. The priest pursued. The Guties have
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  always put Santa Ulelia above religion for themselves, for the Peons, the two
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  are cunningly interwoven. Therefore they are not gent dead de reison and the hacienda
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  prospers. But since you do not love her, could you not perhaps choose
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  another, Clara or Yez. Pablo Gutierres knelt down beside Don Miguel and bowed
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  his forehead on the old man's arm. My father, he said, brokenly,
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  I am very sad. I I want no woman in the world,
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  but one whom I cannot have, not Manulita, not Clara, not Yez.
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  But I think Manuelita loves me me, Pablo Gutires, not as these
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  others. It is a bitter business. But since I cannot love, oh
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  Padre Millah, let me be loved. Since I cannot have joy myself,
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  let me give joy, so perhaps I shall find peace. A single sob
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  shook his frame the old man's hand touched his hair lightly. He sorrowed truly
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  over Dona, Mercedes's son. In a moment, Pablo rose. His face
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  was stern again, unmoved, as a caballero should be. By all the
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  things you have said and all the things you did not say. I have
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  learned what I wished. Don Miguel, my very great thank the priest rose,
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  Do not neglect the sacraments too long, my son, I shall not
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  father. Whence nuchus He conducted Don Miguel to the door and watched him step
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  into the patio and towards his own place. Vicente, the old steward,
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  who had been hovering in the great hall, heard the call and came.
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  The patio was almost deserted, save for a few sleepy shadows of folk.
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  I have not spoken with Manuelita since my return. Is she still industrious?
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  Yes, Signor Pedro challenged us Sancho to fight tomorrow. Is simply because she
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  appears in the patio to nurse Catalina, who is not well. Straightway,
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  the young man begins nonsense over a handkerchief, which a doubtless she lost.
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  This foolishness must stop, send Pedro and Sancho to me in the morning,
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  before they have time to fight. I will cool their hot heads for them,
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  find some other girl to nurse Catalina, and since Manuelita is already in
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  the house, tell her to come to me before God. Signor. I
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  do not believe Manuelita gave any handkerchief or dropped it with design, except when
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  Catalina frets for her, because no one else waits on her so well.
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  The girl is always minding her business in the dairy. She never twinkles an
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  eyelash at the worthless fellows. I am convinced that she does not deserve to
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  be hidden or frightened. Don Pablo, there was a peal in the steward's
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  voice. I will explain to her all the same that it must stop.
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  Senor Vacente stepped forward and spoke more firmly. Unless you and non Miguel let
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  Manuelia go to that convent she talks of, it will always be like this
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  until she loses her beauty. Why did you not let her marry Benito?
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  Then all would have been well. Since then she will look at none of
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  them before God. Don Pablo, it is not her fault. She has
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  bewitched you too. I see Vacente. All the same, I shall speak
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  with her to night. If she has not gone to bed, Catalina must
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  do with one of the others. Manuelita shall tell Pedro in the morning the
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  truth about the handkerchief. None the less, there will be blood letting at
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  sunrise, grumbled Vicente. There shall be no blood letting. Send Manuelita to
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  me here as soon as she can leave Helena and go, Or send to
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  Pedro telling him that before he spills a drop of blood Sancho's or another's,
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  he is to face me. I will see him before my coffee in the
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  morning. He turned his back on Vicente and strode into the great chamber,
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  which had been Don Fernando's. It was unlighted, but he groped for the
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  bed, and, finding it in the darkness, knelt down by it,
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  hiding his face in the musty counterpane before that sacred death bed. In utter
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  silence. He communed for a moment with the presence that had gone. Then
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  he stepped again out of the shadows into the dim arcade, and so into
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  his lamp lit room. He poured himself a thimble full of cognac and drank
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  it, then lighted a cigarette and waited standing for Manuelita. Vicente ushered her
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  in at last, hovered in the background, obviously wishing to remain as witness
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  for the defense. But Don Pablos sent him away with an uncompromising gesture and
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  bade him close the heavy door. Manuilita looked at her god in terror.
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  Vicente had dropped a hint of what it was all about. Senor, I
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  gave no handkerchief. She gasped, I was hurrying to Catalina, who was
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  in pain and calling for me, and the stupid thing dropped. She looked
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  at him piteously, but the God was smiling. At least he should not
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  mock her. She held her head high, ready to defend her dignity.
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  I do not look at them except at Fiesta's when we dance and crowned the
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  prize winners with flowers. It is intolerable, Signor, will you not let
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  me go to Chiwawa? Perhaps, for indeed, he would constrain no woman.
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  His smile disappeared, but Manuillita, outraged at being scolded anew for what
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  was no fault of hers, trampled her fears underfoot. Then another thought struck
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  her, Senor, I have kept the dairy, except when Catalina calls for
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  me, then I must come, for she has been a mother to me
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  since my own died. Catalina will have to find another handmaid. Little Maria
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  is clever with her fingers. Vacente tells me she shall wait upon Catalina.
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  The tears rose to her eyes. Catalina will be sorry and I because I
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  love her. But there was no appeal. If the master said it,
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  it will be hard. She murmured, to be working far off in the
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  dairy, thinking that Catalina needs me. But I must obey unless she remembered
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  that he had said, perhaps, unless you will indeed let me go to
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  the visitation convent, Senor. She looked up hopefully. Don Pablo took a
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  step nearer her and lighted another cigarette, watching her keenly. All the while.
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  We are talking at cross purposes, he said coolly, I shall speak
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  to those crazy voccios in the morning and send them about their business. I
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  am sure you gave no handkerchief to Sancho, who has a cast in one
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  eye. As for Catalina, she does not own you, and I do
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  not choose to have you wear out your days putting poultices on an old woman's
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  leg. He paused and contemplated his cigarette ash. And as for Chiawau and
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  the convent, Manuelita, is is it true before God that you would rather
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  be a nun than anything else on earth? If so, you shall go?
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  She colored deeply and put her fluttering hands up to her face, as
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  if the blood hurt her than anything else I could ever be, Yes,
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  Don Pablo. He pushed aside the empty cognac glasses and sat down on the
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  edge of the table, swinging one leg and looking at her soberly. I
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  have been told that you loved me, Manuelita. Is it true? She
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  turned away and hid her face. Not Don Miguel in the confessional could have
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  got that from Manualita. In words, you need not be afraid to tell
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  me if it is so, I could only be flattered. But she was
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  silent under this last cruelty. The very sun was kinder to the flowers.
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  She could only keep her back turned to him, and twist about in her
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  trouble. He spoke again. After a little, I begin to think it
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  is not true, Manuelita. Do you his voice roughened. Do you love
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  any one else? No, senor before God? No, never, If
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  a girl of your age under our southern son has not yet learned to love.
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  It may be that she never will. Perhaps the convent is the place
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  for you. But you must answer me one question truthfully, before I pack
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  you off to the Mother Superior with a dowry. Would you rather be a
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  nun or belong to me? The truth, Manulita, Only the truth.
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  If you lied to me, I would kill you. In spite of his
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  words, his voice was very gentle. She turned to face him. Then,
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  through her tears, the seignor knows, she answered brokenly that I love
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  him far better than God. I She looked down at the ground and whispered
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  it, I would rather belong to you, Don Pablo, than to be
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  Santa Uleelia herself singing in heaven. He laughed a little. I was afraid
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  of that vacation, child, But if you will only choose the better part,
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  it shall be yours freely. For there is no question, Manuelita,
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  that what I am proposing to you is sin in the eyes of the church.
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  Yet, Don Fernando, she faltered, Oh, there is no one
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  will dare deny us. True, there may be heavy penances for you to
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  do, penances. She snapped her fingers at them. She looked up at
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  him timidly. But you do not love me, Don Pablo. Pablo frowned
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  a little. It was a stroke you must endure. Any man could love
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  a girl as pretty as you. Manuelita, No, no, she wailed,
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  you have never been kind to me, Don Pablo. I think you
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  hate me. I am afraid. He came to her then, and put
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  his arms about her. He lifted her lightly, and, carrying her to
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  a chair, seated himself and held her in a close heap. Not so,
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  he murmured. He straightened her limbs into comfort, and drew her head
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  down to his shoulder, resting his cheek upon hers. Not so, child,
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  I have nothing in my heart but a great tenderness for you. You
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  need not be afraid. I would not hurt you. For the world.
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  We shall comfort each other, Garita Mia, for I too need comforting.
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  These were high matters beyond her that Tom Pablo should need comforting. But her
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  lord had stooped to hold her in his arms, and she was no longer
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  afraid. As for him, he had found a woman who placed him above
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  God or loneliness. The comfort of that knowledge stole through every cranny of his
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  mind. And in truth he needed an anodyne. Remembering Dori Mayne's blonde head
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  and his rejected dreams, he had destroyed bitterness, yet he was inevitably soothed
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  uplifted by the sense that he was bringing to this girl beside him not only
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  joy but pride. Past telling her meekness and her passions stirred him to gratitude.
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  Ah, she should be happy. That would be his duty and his
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  reward. Pablo Gutias had made two vows, and by grace of this meek
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  and passionate creature, he would keep them both. He kissed her forehead gently,
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  and a great peace descended upon him. Santa Eleelia, He whispered,
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  as if a vision held him. Santa Eleelia, Manulita, numb with her
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  miracle, stirred faintly against him. You spoke to me, no child,
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  to God and to the noble deed. She shivered at that, and he
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  soothed her, leaning his cheek against her dark hair. End of Section ten,
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  End of Conquistador by Catherine Fullerton Gerald