The Wanderess

by Roman Payne

  “Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, let’s see… I can meet you here on Sunday night…” She went for her guitar to lock it in its case, “I have a few personal things I need to take care of, some important things.”

  I sat stupefied. She stood next to me, rubbing my head like I was a pet.

  “So eight o’clock Sunday night? We can meet in here. The concierge gave me two keys. Here’s yours. You’re going to be good when I’m gone, right? You’re not going to have friends over, are you?—I’m kidding, you do what you want. But you won’t leave this hotel before Sunday, will you? I mean leave for good. You can go out to have fun, of course… But you won’t disappear from my life, will you? Promise me, Saul… I don’t want to come on Sunday and find another one of your terrible notes written in French—God, that was the saddest thing ever!—promise me, please, Saul, that you won’t disappear again.”

  “I won’t disappear again,” I promised. But all of this left me in a foul mood. I sat in a state of shock as Saskia left our hotel, leaving me by myself.

  ‘You can go out and have fun,’ she had told me as she rubbed my head like a pet—why would I want to go have fun?! I knew then I was attracted to her more than I had thought. The skillful hunter meets the wild gypsy girl, and that’s what happens. He catches her in his net, thinks she is caught for sure, and then she jumps out and is gone. It sounds like a silly thing: her leaving me alone for a weekend was tearing me to pieces—but that’s how it began.

  She said I could go out… The last thing I was going to do was leave that hotel. Not even for five minutes. An obsession grew hold of me. Where was she going for two days, for two nights?! I didn’t care, didn’t want to know; yet I wanted to be with her. I knew I shouldn’t leave the hotel even for a minute. What if she were to come back before Sunday and I wasn’t there to greet her? You see what a mess that girl put me in when she turned the tables on me? It was on that Friday that I really began to need her, that she began to take possession of my soul. I have never been the same since.

  Chapter Twenty

  That weekend without Saskia was horrible. I stayed in the hotel all day Friday. I wrote a letter to Juhani, read from The Odyssey, and drank coffee. It was now the new moon and the moon would be starting to grow. From Saturday onward I could drink wine again…

  Friday night, I stayed in the hotel and rested. A faint hope that Saskia would come by kept me there, but she never did. I slept early and woke up Saturday morning to continue the same boring regime.

  Saturday the moon turned to its growing phase. It was the slightest waxing crescent in the sky. I knew this was the time to begin living again. In a week it would be a half-moon. No time to waste.

  I spent Saturday in the hotel without Saskia, pacing the floor, thinking, trying to read, it was useless. I determined myself to go out Saturday night and distract myself. I asked the concierge at the Sant Felip Neri about the best entertainment and he suggested I go see a spectacle at the Teatro de la Santa Cruz on La Rambla. I followed his advice and bought a ticket for the theatre. It was the night of a special production followed by a costumed dance where all spectators were obliged to dress in the fashion of the last great Spanish war. I went to a tailor shop and bought finery for the evening. I went to an arms boutique where I spent fifteen pistoles on a fine sword of steal and Spanish silver, its handle decorated in emeralds. Before dressing in my royal pomp, I went to a tavern to toast a few drinks to the glory of the growing moon.

  It was an ordinary tavern, I talked to no one and drank a bottle of Rioja by myself. Feeling very light, I walked back to the hotel to drink some more wine and get dressed for the theatre.

  At nightfall, I left for the theatre. If it weren’t for the wine, I would have felt like a fool walking by myself in such pomp with my jeweled jacket and sword down Las Ramblas. A prince, such as I was dressed, should never walk in public without a valet. But the wine I had drunk at the tavern and in the hotel was in full effect, and I arrived at the theatre to see quite a crowd dressed as I. My head was spinning when I took my seat.

  The production was a bland sentimental ode to Spanish and Catalan victories. After a couple coupes of champagne I was thoroughly drunk. I kept my seat while the stage was cleared and the parterre was prepared for dancing.

  You can imagine my surprise when I saw among the guests in the theatre, Miss Saskia! She was dressed as a Spanish countess! And she wasn’t alone!—but on the arm of a young Spanish officer!

  Her date had a very pretty face, he looked like the perfect Romeo: Around twenty years old, possessing a slender, elegant figure, a noble face with the colorations of a Greek or Italian. I was stupefied by the sight, confused… in a tornado of rage I left my box and flew down to the parterre…

  On the theatre floor, I approached the couple. Their beauty was already attracting the attention of the other guests. The officer held Saskia’s small hand and turned her around as the dancing begun. I interrupted their activity by tapping the shoulder of the young man.

  “Yes,” he asked me.

  “Noble friend,” I said, “I would enjoy the pleasure of a dance with your beautiful partner.”

  “Well of course you would,” he smiled, “enjoy the pleasure. She is after all extremely beautiful.”

  I growled at this, his words drove me to fury. Nothing to do with a scoundrel like this but to drive a sword through his stomach! I touched the handle of my sword in a way that made it obvious of my challenge. Saskia fixed her eyes on both of us, remaining motionless herself. Her partner looked confused for a moment, then smiling, he said, “I think it would please the other guests more to see you dance with my partner than it would to see the two of us fight… but the decision is yours.” Saying this, he touched the handle of his own sword, while I made up my mind to kill him. Saskia reacted to this scene by blowing out a violent breath. “Don’t bother with this!” she shouted, “I’m going home!” Then like the queen she was, she picked up her dress and stamped out of the theatre.

  “If you’ll excuse me now,” said my rival, “I’m going to see my companion home.” Before I could react, he was gone. And all eyes turned to me. As I was quite drunk, I saw only a blurry haze in the faces of the theatre crowd. I quickly left the theatre, determined to kill him that night.

  The two were far off when I entered the smoky street. They were going on foot towards El Ravel. ‘And this is why she said she couldn’t see me until Sunday night? She had plans all along to spend the night with this... boy?’ I was stupefied. I couldn’t for the life of me understand what he had to offer her. Never before had I been outdone by a man of his stature.

  I stalked after the two while I debated whether I should rush the man now and dip my sword in his spine to let his guts spill on the street, or if I should follow discreetly from afar and kill him later. To this day, I do not know why I chose the reasonable act. Where women are concerned, my passion burns with ferocious heat, and I have little patience; yet today I am glad I decided then to follow them discreetly from afar.

  Saskia, countess of the night, walked on the arm of her friend and no one looked back to see if I followed. I assured myself that she was walking on his arm merely to avoid tripping on the stones in her high heels or to avoid the advances of predators lurking in the shadows, and not out of eagerness to be close to him. Still I didn’t know what their relationship was. All I was certain of was that this man was walking Saskia to her home late at night after a dance—you can believe this made me furious!

  I stalked the two like a lion through the shabby streets around a couple of turns where bleak figures hunched and slept in doorways. I recognized the apartment house where they stopped: a gated garden beside, a balcony above the street—it was the same balcony where I first set eyes on Saskia while she was serenading the night.

  After they entered the apartment house, the door shut and locked. From outside I hear the click-clack of four shoes walking up the stairs. ‘So am I to wait out here while these monsters make love?’ C
ursing and drunk, I shouted up to the balcony, “I will come back and kill you both!”

  Thus abandoning Saskia’s house and street, I walked a very short way and turned back. I passed again by her place, looked again at her lit window over her balcony, and went the other direction towards the supposed ‘hospital.’ I’d only walked a few meters down this street when I saw a tavern tucked in the shadows. I thought to myself that at least there I could drink myself to death. I must have appeared foolish dressed like a prince in their ridiculous tavern, but I was so angry and drunk, I didn’t care. I ordered a brandy, took a swallow and told the barman I would return in a minute. I walked back towards Saskia’s apartment, imagining that this was the moment when my rival was undressing her. I couldn’t stop asking myself why she would cheat on me with such a person. I would kill him no matter what the reason, I decided. Looking at her window, her room still glowed amber with lamplight. Across the street below I spotted a wretch in a doorway and tossed him a silver piece, saying, “Here’s a doubloon for you… tell me, man, will you be able to stay awake awhile?”

  The wretch fondled the silver piece, eyes dropping tears— clear and greedy tears, over the money he was given. “I’m at your service, Dueño y Señor1!”

  I made signal to the balcony up yonder and the room where Saskia lived. I told the wretch to pay attention to that window, that balcony and the door leading out to the street. If he saw a young man with a sword leave that building—or with no sword—he was to run to the tavern and fetch me. There was a gold pistole in it for him.

  Back at the tavern I order a full bottle of brandy and began to increase my drunkenness ten-fold. A few minutes later, the tavern-keeper approached me…

  “Señor, there is a person at the door who wishes to speak with you… says he has business with you. I responded that I can’t imagine what his business could possibly be—you see, he is a complete…” I didn’t let the tavern-keeper finish, mid-phrase I bolted to the door, went into the street and found the wretch. He was out of breath…

  1 DUEÑO Y SEÑOR: (Sp): Lord and Master.

  “Sir…” he said, “the owner of the bar wouldn’t let me in… I ran here as fast as possible… to tell you some aristocrat with a sword left that building… the building you told me to watch… not more than two minutes ago… I ran here as fast as I could…”

  I was exalted hearing this. I fished in my pocket for a gold pistole and handed the money to my good messenger while he caught his breath. I then took off to find my enemy.

  I ran around each street leading away from Saskia’s home, hoping to see a figure walking in the darkness. I saw none. ‘If that beggar lied to me,’ I thought, ‘inventing the story of the aristocrat with the sword to rob me of a gold pistole, I will find and kill him…’ After a while of searching in vain, I gave up the hunt and made my way back to Saskia’s.

  The light in her window was now off. I imagined that the rascal was still there, that the two of them were sleeping in the darkness after the conquest of love-making—this made me furious! Below the balcony, I yelled out so the whole neighborhood could hear: Sah-skee-ah!”

  A light lit up in her room. I yelled again a second time but by that moment she was already climbing through her window to the balcony. She wore pajamas and seemed startled. Her beautiful eyes looked at me as she shouted, although in a whisper, “Shhh! Be quiet!” Then she disappeared back into her room and I feared that that would be the last I would ever see of her. A moment later, however, she appeared downstairs, leaving the front door of the building to greet me…

  “Saul! My God, what are you doing? I’m glad you came!... but why are you such a mess?!”

  “I’m a mess? Why? Because I was drinking myself to death while you were making love to that fool.”

  “Making love?! Crazy man! What are you talking about? Come inside, everyone can hear us out here…”

  I followed the liar into her apartment building, but stopped her on the stair, “So you know, Saskia, if he’s there when I go in, I will kill him.”

  “He who? The man I went to the theatre with? No, he’s not here. Of course not! Come on, let’s go up…”

  Saskia’s apartment was in fact empty, and showed no trace of a male’s presence—nothing hiding under the bed, no male clothing around and nothing discarded on the floor, no wetness on her bed sheets (of course I checked!). Still I was angry by all that was obvious, and I abused her with my words.

  “Come, let’s go into the kitchen and draw the curtain. We can talk there. I want my bedroom to stay as dark as possible. I fear there may be curious people spying tonight. I’ll explain what I mean… do you want tea? I will set water to boil. It was nice to see you at the theatre, by the way. My night started to be interesting as soon as I saw you.”

  “Ah, interesting as soon as you saw me? So I was the start of the interesting part! The end of the interesting part was after you slept with that that fool! It seems he left your home just minutes ago…”

  She didn’t respond to my accusations, but merely uttered, “Hmm…”

  “Hmm what?”

  “ Hmm meant: I don’t recognize you, Saul… One would say you are jealous. Why would you be jealous of that young boy, it’s absurd! Maybe you have been drinking, but that is no excuse. Anyway, who do you think you are?!—do you think I am your woman? I am not your woman, so you know. Yes, I took an interest in you. Yes, I suggested we travel together, to which you consented; but I am not your woman and never said I would be. Therefore, I am free to sleep with whomever I want. You can sleep with whomever you want.”

  With that, Saskia turned away. She went into the dark part of her apartment and took her guitar into the kitchen where I was and began quietly plucking a mournful song, but she didn’t sing. I was struck miserable by her speech. She was right, after all. She never did propose that we be lovers, nor anything of the sort. The truth of the matter is that, simply put: Saskia outseduced me. I had flattered myself over the years, considering myself the great seducer of the Mediterranean world. Now here I was, out-seduced by a gypsy girl of seventeen. Was I not ashamed? Still, anger from jealousy is a difficult anger to shed, so I kept on being angry…

  “You disgust me, Saskia.”

  She looked shocked and put her guitar down.

  I told her that I acknowledged she was free to sleep with whom she wants. “But why do you hide it?” I asked, “You told me when we parted last that you had ‘personal business’ to take care of. You would see me Sunday night, you told me. If you are so ‘free,’ as you say, why didn’t you tell me Friday that you had a date to go to the theatre? You make me sick!”

  “You’re drunk! Do you want to know who the boy was?” “I don’t care. Light a lamp or two, will you?”

  “He’s a relative of my uncle—my dead uncle—and I can’t light lamps, he may come around again and see shadows in the windows. ”

  “So he’s your cousin? And apparently you are in love with him if you don’t want him knowing another man is here…”

  “No, I’m not in love with him! And he’s not a relative of mine. He’s a relative of my uncle, I think by marriage. I’m not really sure. It’s a complicated mess, but I already told you most of it…

  “When my uncle died he left me an income of twohundred pounds a year. The only condition on that income is that I can never live with a man or have it be discovered that I had any kind of romantic involvement with a man; otherwise, I lose the inheritance…

  “So if I lose the money, it has to go to somebody… This person you saw me with at the theatre, Andrea is his name, he’s a fool and he’s greedy. All he thinks about is money. His family has a ton of estates around Milan, in Lombardy. Already he has an impressive income and doesn’t need any more money. His position at a bank in Milan is secure. Apparently, before my uncle died, Andrea managed some accounts for him; and the two were related somehow but I don’t know how. Andrea discovered some document, or perhaps he counterfeited it; the document says that if I los
e my income through the discovery that I have a lover, my income will be lost according to the wishes of my uncle, and the document says it will come to Andrea instead of me. So you see, ever since my uncle died, Andrea has a way of ‘coincidentally’ running into me in various cities; he checks up on me to see if perchance there is a man in my life…

  “I’m better-off to agree to meet him when he finds me and asks to see me. It doesn’t cost me any real effort, and it certainly saves a lot of hassle. If I were to refuse an invitation from him, he would become suspicious and snoop into my life until he found something. As soon as he learned about you, I would be disinherited overnight—poor, and without family: Moi, qui ne suis qu’une petite orpheline!1 When I was little, my mother and father both worked… enough so I didn’t have to realize that money existed. You can say that they tried to hide our poverty from me. I had only modest clothes, but they seemed just as nice as the other girls around me. And on my birthday every year they gave me a bottle of eau parfumée2. On Christmas they sent me new guitar strings, and materials to make my own jewelry. My parents were virtuous souls: they somehow managed to put enough money together to send me to London so I could learn English with other girls of my age. I will never know how they managed to keep me all those years in London… I know they sacrificed a lot for me. They wanted me to have a good life. And they came to visit me once a year… each and every spring!… That is, until their last trip down, when they didn’t make it all the way…

  “At least my parents died while in a foreign country,” she went on, “They were seeing the world when they left it. Wandering is the way to die, wouldn’t you agree? But one must have money to wander. Still, I believe, one can be a wanderer, or a wanderess, without any money at all! …but that’s no way to live, is it? Just as it’s no way to live to be caring all the time about an ignorant fool like Andrea—even if he can lead you to ruin and make you go crazy.