Misericordia (Dedalus European Classics)

by Benito Perez Galdos

  “Straight away, as soon as I see what’s happening up there and whether my Doña Paca is in a good mood.”

  Nina climbed the stairs breathlessly and full of anxiety rang the bell. First surprise: a complete stranger opened the door, a smart young woman with a spotless apron. Was she dreaming? Perhaps the devils had picked up the house and carried it away, leaving another in its place, which looked the same but was very different. But to the great surprise of Daniela who did not recognise her at first, she walked in without asking. Where could those gardens have sprung from, making a kind of avenue of beautiful shrubs from the front door down the whole length of the corridor? Benina rubbed her eyes. Perhaps she was still sunk in the lethargy that had seized her in the rank and stifling halls of the Pardo. No, this was not her house, quite impossible, and this was confirmed by the appearance of another unknown figure, who looked like a high-class cook, well-dressed and haughty. Looking down the end of the corridor into the dining-room, the door of which was opened at that moment, she saw… good God! What a miracle, how amazing! Was she dreaming? No, no, she was quite sure that she saw it with her own two eyes. There was a mountain of precious stones with different reflections, lights and shades of colour, some red, some blue, some green above the table but not touching it, as if suspended in air. It was so gorgeous! Perhaps Doña Paca had been cleverer than she, had managed to summon up King Samdai and had asked for and had been granted the wagon loads of diamonds and sapphires? Before she perceived that all the sparkle came from the pendants of the dining-room chandelier, reflected by a candle that Doña Paca had lit to examine the knives that Juliana had just brought home from the pawnshop, Juliana herself appeared in the dining-room doorway and stopped the poor old lady in her tracks. With a smile though sharply she said: “Hello, Nina, so you’re here? You’ve finally turned up? We thought you’d gone to the Congo. Don’t come any further, stay where you are. You’ll ruin the floor, which was washed this afternoon. You are in a state! Get away from there, woman, you’re soiling the tiles.”

  “Where’s madam?”

  “She’s here, but she says you’re not to come in, you’re in such a wretched state.”

  Just then, Miss Obdulia appeared from another direction. “Nina, welcome!” she squealed, “but before you come in you’ll have to be fumigated and put in the bathtub. No, don’t come near me – you’ve spent so long with disgusting beggars. Look how pretty we’ve made everything!”

  Juliana came forward smiling to meet her, but beyond the smile Nina glimpsed the authority the seamstress had achieved in that house, and said to herself: “This is the one who wears the trousers here, and a right despot she is too.” Nina responded to this arrogance disguised as benevolence that she would not go without seeing her mistress.

  “Come in, dear, come in,” said Doña Francisca faintly, from the far end of the dining-room, her voice choked with sobs.

  Standing in the doorway, Benina answered her in a firm voice: “Here I am, madam and as they tell me that I’m soiling the tiles, I’ll come no further. What I’ve been through I’ll not say, so as not to upset you. I was arrested, I was starved, I suffered shame and ill treatment. All the time I thought of you, madam, wondering if you were hungry, with no one to look after you.”

  “No, Nina, not at all. Since you left, look what a strange thing has happened. We’ve been visited by good fortune. It’s like a miracle, isn’t it? Do you remember how we used to talk about miracles during those nights of loneliness and boredom? Well, it’s come true, my girl, and it was all the work of your Don Romualdo, such a saint, such an angel, who in his modesty, won’t admit to all the good deeds he’s done for you and me. He denies his merits and virtues and says he has no niece called Doña Patros and that they haven’t put his name up for a bishopric. But it’s the same man, because there can’t be another capable of working such miracles.”

  Nina didn’t answer, but leaning against the door post, sobbed.

  “I would be happy to have you here again,” went on Doña Francisca. (By now Juliana had placed herself beside her, and stood in the shadow, prompting her words.) “But there’s no room in the house and we are already very crowded. You know how fond I am of you and how I enjoy your company more than anyone’s but there it is. We shall be moving tomorrow and I’ll find a corner for you in the new house. What’s that? Do you want to say something? My girl, you can’t complain. Remember how you went off in that cruel way, leaving me without a crumb of bread in the house, abandoned and alone. What a thing to do! Frankly, your behaviour justifies my being just a tiny bit angry with you and to put all my cards on the table, I must say that you abandoned all the good principles that I have always taught you, by going off with a darky in that way. God knows what sort of bird he is and what sort of spell he cast over you to make you forget how to behave. Tell me, tell me everything – have you left him yet?”

  “No, madam.”

  “Have you brought him along?”

  “Yes, madam, he is waiting for me downstairs.”

  “If you can do that, you’re capable of anything. Fancy bringing him here!”

  “I brought him here because he is ill and I’m not going to leave him in the middle of the street,” said Benina firmly.

  “I know you’re good hearted and this makes you forget the proprieties sometimes.”

  “This has nothing to do with propriety,” said Nina, “and I’m doing no wrong by going about with Almudena. He is someone to be pitied. He loves me – and I look on him as a son.”

  The candour with which Nina spoke her mind was lost on Doña Paca, who continued without moving from where she sat with the knives on her lap: “No one knows how to put things and turn defects into virtues as you do, but I do love you, Nina, I know your good qualities and I’ll never forsake you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, many thanks.”

  “You’ll never want for food or for a bed to sleep in. You have served me, been my companion, you have supported me in adversity. You are a good person, a very good person. But don’t overdo it, my girl, don’t tell me that you brought your Moor home with you, because I shall think that you have gone mad.”

  “Yes, I brought him home out of charity, madam, as I brought Frasquito Ponte. If there was compassion for the one, why not for the other? Or is there one sort of compassion for a gentleman in a frock coat and another for a poor man without a shirt to his back? I don’t see it that way and that’s why I brought him. If you won’t let him in, it’s as if you won’t let me in.”

  “You can always come in – well, not always. I mean, there’s no room in the house. You can see that there are four of us here. Will you come back tomorrow? Put that poor fellow in a good inn – no, how silly of me, in the hospital. The best thing is to go to Don Romualdo and say that I recommend him, that he should treat him as if he were mine. What nonsense I’m talking, I mean yours, so much yours that… Well, anyway, you’ll see, my dear, perhaps they’ll put you up at Señor de Cedrón’s, which must be a big house. You told me it was enormous, big enough for a convent. You know me, I’m not perfect, I’m not heroic enough to mix with the dirty pestilent poor, no, dear, no: it’s my stomach and my nerves, I’d die of disgust and you know it. Look at all the filth you’ve brought in with you! I’m fond of you, Nina, but you know my weak stomach: a speck of dirt in the food and I’m all upset and sick for three days afterwards. Take your clothes with you if you want to change. Juliana will give you what you need. Do you hear what I’m saying? Why no answer? You’re acting humble to hide your pride but I forgive you everything, you know how fond I am of you, how good I am to you. What have you got to say?”

  “Nothing madam, I have said nothing and I have nothing to say,” replied Nina in a low voice, sighing deeply. “Be in God’s keeping.”

  “But you won’t go away in anger,” said Doña Paca, her voice trembling, following her at some distance as she began to walk down the corridor.

  “No, madam, you know that I’m not one to get angry,�
�� said Nina, looking at her more in pity than in anger. “Goodbye, goodbye.”

  Obdulia took her mother into the dining-room and said: “Poor Nina! She’s going. Do you know, I’d like to have seen this black man of hers and talked to him. That woman Juliana will interfere with everything!”

  Confused by cruel doubts that clouded her mind, Doña Francisca was unable to respond and continued to check the redeemed cutlery. Meanwhile, seeing Nina to the front door with a gentle but firm hand on the poor woman’s back, Juliana sent her off with the following affectionate words: “Don’t worry, Señá Benina, you’ll have everything you need. You can forget about the duro I lent you last week, remember?”

  “Señora Juliana, yes I do remember. Thank you.”

  “Well now, take this duro too, for tonight’s lodging. And come back tomorrow to pick up your clothes.”

  “Señora Juliana, God reward you.”

  “You could do worse than go to the Misericordia. I’ll speak to Don Romualdo if you’re ashamed to do so yourself. Doña Paca and I will act as sponsors. My lady mother-in-law has placed her complete trust in me and has given me her money to look after. I run her house and arrange her business affairs and everything she needs. She may thank God that my hands are there.”

  “They are good hands, Señora Juliana.”

  “Come and see us and I’ll tell you what you have to do.”

  “Perhaps I know already without you telling me.”

  “Perhaps – and if you don’t want to visit us .”

  “I’ll come.”

  “Well then, Señá Benina, till tomorrow.”

  “Señora Juliana, your servant, ma’am.”

  She hurried down the worn staircase, longing to be in the street. When she reached the blind man who was waiting for her close by, the surge of grief oppressing the poor old woman’s heart burst out into burning, bitter weeping and beating her brow with her fist she cried: “Ungrateful! Ungrateful! Ungrateful!”

  “Don’t cry my dear,” said the blind man affectionately, with sobs in his voice. “Your mistress a bad woman, you an angel.”

  “What ingratitude, oh Lord! What a world, what misery. One does good – and that’s the reward.”

  “We go far away, let’s go, despise bad world.”

  “God sees into all hearts. He sees mine too. Look into it, Lord of heaven and earth, look into it soon.”

  39

  She dried her eyes with a trembling hand after saying this and turned her mind to the practical measures that the situation demanded.

  “Let’s go, let’s go,” repeated Almudena, taking her arm.

  “But where?” said Nina blankly. “Ah yes, first to Don Romualdo’s.” As she spoke the name she stood for a second quite vacant and bewildered.

  “Romualdo is a lie,” declared the blind man.

  “Yes, he was my invention. The one who has brought such wealth to my mistress must be someone else, a fake one, a creature of the devil. No, I’m wrong, the fake one must be mine. I don’t know, I don’t know. Come on, Almudena, the thing to remember is that you’re ill and that you must have a good night’s lodging. Señá Juliana, who now wears the trousers in my mistress’s house and manages everything (I hope it’s for the best), has given me this duro. I’ll take you to Bernarda’s establishment, and tomorrow we’ll see.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to Hierusalaim.”

  “Where do you say? Jerusalem? And where’s that? You want to take me off there, as if it were round the corner, like Jetafe or Carabanchel de Abajo?”

  “Far off, far off. You marry me then we’ll be one. We’ll go to Marseilles, begging by the wayside. In Marseilles, take a steamer, in no time to Jaffa. Hierusalaim! We’ll marry in your religion, we’ll marry in mine. You’ll see the Tomb. I’ll go to Synagogue, pray to Adonai.”

  “Just a moment, my boy, calm down, and stop making me giddy with your feverish ideas. First of all, you must get well.”

  “I’m quite well now, no more fever, very happy. You come with me always, through the great world, travel far, freedom, sea and land, much joy.”

  “Splendid. But right now, you and I are both hungry and we must find somewhere to eat. How about here, in the Cava Baja?”

  “Where you wish, I wish.”

  They dined relatively happily, Almudena expounding all the time the delight of going together to Jerusalem, begging by the way on land and sea, without hurry and without worries. It would take months, perhaps half a year, but at last they would land in Palestine, even if they had to go by land via Constantinople. And there were many beautiful countries on the way! Nina objected that her bones were already too old for such a long expedition, but he tried to convince her by saying: “Spain is an ungrateful country. We must go far away, far from ingratitude.”

  As soon as they had dined, they went to Bernarda’s and managed to find space in the downstairs dormitories, at two reales a bed. Almudena was restless all night long, unable to sleep, talking deliriously about the journey to Jerusalem; and Benina, hoping to calm him, said she would go on that long pilgrimage. But to Mordejai the bed was like a bed of thorns and he tossed continuously to and fro, complaining of a burning skin and intolerable itching. His fever seemed to have taken a strange turn, visible next morning as a red rash on his arms and legs. The poor man scratched himself desperately and Benina took him outdoors, hoping that fresh air and exercise would ease his discomfort. They wandered around begging, because they didn’t want to get out of practice, then went to the Calle de San Carlos. Benina went up to see Juliana, who had got her clothes with her and she gave them to her in a bundle. She said that while she organised her entry into the Misericordia, Benina should find a cheap lodging, with or without “that man”, though it would be better for her reputation if she gave up such unsuitable company altogether. She added that as soon as Benina had cleansed herself of all the filth she had brought from the Pardo, she could call on Doña Paca, who would be happy to see her; but she had to give up any thought of returning to live with her. Her children were opposed to it, wishing their mamma to be properly looked after and her affairs managed. The good woman agreed to all this, for she recognised a superior and unyielding will.

  Juliana was not a bad woman. Dominating, yes, anxious to exercise the great gifts of management that the Lord had given her and not one to let go once she had caught her prey. But she was capable of loving her neighbour and was sorry for Benina. When Benina told her that the Moor was waiting in the street, she wanted to see him and judge with her own eyes. She thought him a pitiful sight, as was clear from the gesture she made, the face she pulled and the way she said: “I’ve seen him before, begging in the Calle del Duque de Alba. He’s a real rogue and very susceptible. Isn’t that true, Señor Almudena, that you like girls?”

  “I like Benina, she’s my friend.”

  “Ha, ha! Poor Benina, you’ve settled for a rum one! If it’s out of charity, I must say you are a saint.”

  “The poor fellow is ill and can’t manage for himself.”

  The Moor was prey to the most violent irritation on his arms and chest and used his nails to give himself a hearty scratch. The seamstress came closer to look at his bare arms.

  “What that man has is leprosy,” she said, horrified. “Lord, what leprosy, Señá Benina. I’ve seen another case, a poor beggar, also a Moor, from Oran, who used to beg near my stepfather’s workshop in Puerta Cerrada. He was in such a state that no one would go near him, nor would they take him into any hospital.”

  “Itches, itches much,” was all that Almudena had to say, scratching the whole length of his arm as if he were combing a skein of wool.

  Hiding her disgust because she did not want to upset the unfortunate couple, Juliana said to Nina: “Well, you have taken on something with that fellow! You realise that it’s catching, that itch. You really are going to be in a pickle, I must say. You must be about as silly as the woman who baked the butter.”

  With her eyes Nina showed her pity for the
blind man, her decision not to abandon him and her acceptance of all the calamities that God might send her. At this point Antonio Zapata, on the way home, saw his wife in the group, hurried to meet her and when he had discovered what had happened, advised Benina to take the Moor to the clinic for skin diseases at San Juan de Dios.

  “Better send him back where he comes from,” said Juliana.

  “Far off, far off, we’re going to Hierusalaim.”

  “Not bad,” said Antonio. “From Madrid to Jerusalem or the family of Uncle Mahomet. But to change the subject, wife of my heart, listen and don’t beat me: I’ve not been able to do the errands you sent me on because – don’t beat me!”

  “Because you went and played billiards, you ragamuffin. Come inside and we’ll settle our accounts.”

  “I can’t come in because I have to go back to the damn removals men.”

  “What’s that, ragamuffin?”

  “They won’t send the big van for less than forty reales and you told me not to pay more than thirty.”

  “I shall have to see to it. These men are nothing but a nuisance, aren’t they, Nina?”

  “Yes, indeed. What’s happening? Is madam moving?”

  “Yes she is, but she won’t be able to until tomorrow, because the idiot husband I’m blessed with went out before eight to take possession of the house and hire the van, and look how he turns up now as calm as you please and nothing done.”

  “I’ve done plenty, my girl. By nine o’clock I was at mother’s with the contract for her to sign. Quick work, you see. But do you know how much time I lost over Frasquito Ponte and what a lot of trouble he gave us? Polidura and I had a great deal of difficulty getting him back to his place. What a state the man is in, quite out of his mind since that fall yesterday!”

  Benina and Juliana were both equally interested in news of Frasquito and listened as Antonio described the tragic consequences of his fall on the way back from the Pardo. When the cycle party saw that he had been thrown, they were all sure that the poor gentleman had ended his earthly tour of duty. But when they picked him up, he regained his powers of movement and of speech, as if raised from the dead, and insisted that he had not injured his head – the most sensitive part of his body. Feeling various parts of his cranium, he said: “Nothing, gentlemen, feel for yourselves and you won’t find the slightest bump.” As for his arms and legs, he seemed to be lucky at first, since he definitely had no broken bones. As soon as he started to walk though, he limped badly with his left leg, no doubt because he had fallen heavily upon it. But the strange thing was that no sooner was he standing upright than he broke into a torrent of incoherent speech, his face turned as red as a tomato and the words came out shrilly and jerkily. They took him home by cab, thinking that he would recover after a complete rest, rubbed him all over with arnica, put him to bed and left him. But the landlady told them later that the old devil had dressed hurriedly, gone out and made his way to Boto’s as soon as he was alone. He stayed there until quite late, quarrelling with everybody and provoking the peaceful customers with taunts and insults. This was so untypical of Frasquito’s placid nature, his shyness and courtesy, that he must have had a serious mental upset as a result of his tumble. No one knew where he had spent the rest of the night – it seemed he had made a lot of trouble in the two streets called Mediodía Grande and Mediodía Chica. But soon after Antonio and Polidura reached Doña Francisca’s, Frasquito became greatly agitated, his face glowed, his eyes shone and to the great surprise and consternation of the ladies he began to utter the most awful nonsense, speaking with a slightly twisted mouth. With a mixture of guile and force they managed to get him out and back home, where they left him, telling his landlady to do what she could to keep him under control and to try to get him to eat. One of his fixations was that honour obliged him to challenge the Moor for the dastardly offence of having supposed, and declared publicly, that he, Frasquito, was courting Benina. He had set off for the Calle de Mediodía Grande a score of times and more intending to find Señor Almudena and give him his card – but the Moor had sneaked off and was nowhere to be found. He had obviously left for his own country, fleeing Ponte’s fury; but Ponte was determined not to stop until he found him –even if he hid in the furthest recesses of the Atlas mountains – and obliged him to make amends like a gentleman.