Misericordia (Dedalus European Classics)

by Benito Perez Galdos

  “If pretty gentleman comes to me,” said Almudena bursting into such uproarious laughter that his mouth stretched to his ears, “I’ll beat him plenty.”

  “Poor Don Frasquito, poor good soul!” said Benina, wringing her hands, “I was afraid it would come to this.”

  “What an old scarecrow!” said Juliana. “And what does it matter to us whether that old man with all his make-up goes barmy or not? Do you know what I say? All this comes from the drugs he puts on his face. They are poisonous and attack the brain. Come on, let’s not waste time. Antonio, go back to the Calle Imperial and tell them to get everything ready. I’ll go to the removals firm to see if I can lay things on for this afternoon. Nina, goodbye, and take care not to catch – you know what. Oh dear, you’re sure to catch it however careful you are. You see, you’re taking the consequences of what’s happened and of not having listened to me. Doña Paca told me that you could call on her. She wants to see you, poor lady. I agreed and had intended to take you round there. But now I don’t dare, my girl, I don’t dare. Since you’ve got that plague so close to you, you mustn’t come near. I had arranged for you to go your ex-mistress’ house every day to collect the leftovers.”

  “But now I can’t?”

  “Yes, yes, you can have the food, but… This is what you must do. You’ll get to the street door at a time I shall fix, and my cousin Hilaria will bring it down and give it to you –keeping as far away from you as possible. You understand. Some people are fussier than others. Not everyone’s got a cast-iron stomach like you, Nina. And so …”

  “I understand, Señora Juliana. God be with you.”

  40

  These misfortunes dashed themselves against Benina’s heart like wild waves against a rocky cliff. They broke with a roar, dispersed into white foam and left nothing behind. Though rejected by the family whom she had supported through desperate times of poverty and countless disasters, she soon recovered from the deep shock produced by their flagrant ingratitude. Her clear conscience was a consolation in itself and because she despised human vanities she could see life as if from above. The people who surrounded her looked tiny and absurd from that height and her own spirit appeared strong and great. A glorious triumph was hers. She felt victorious though she had lost the battle on the material plane. But the satisfaction she felt at her victory in no way affected her powers of organisation and it was not long after Juliana had left her that she turned her mind to solving the practical problem of their immediate needs. She had to find a lodging, then she would try to cure Mordejai of his scabies or whatever it was. Nothing in the world would have made her desert him in his pathetic state, even though she might catch his revolting disease herself. She went to Santa Casilda with him, and finding that the little room he had lived in with Pedra was unoccupied, she took it. Pedra the drunkard and Diega had gone to live in the Cava de San Miguel, behind the Escalerilla. Once they were both installed in this hideout, which was quite comfortable, Benina went to fetch water at once, all the water she could carry, and soaped and washed herself all over. It was an old habit she had always practised at Doña Francisca’s whenever possible. She then put on clean clothes. The feeling of well-being which cleanliness and freshness gave her body was merged to some extent with the calm she felt in her conscience, which also gave her the sensation of complete purity and comfort.

  She then set about her household tasks and with the little money she had she did her shopping and prepared a good meal for Mordejai. She intended to take him to the clinic the next day, and he was prepared to agree to anything she suggested. During the meal, she chatted and encouraged him with words of hope and affection, agreeing to go to Jerusalem or even further with him, as soon as he had recovered his health. Until his skin ailment had gone, she told him, travelling was out of the question. They would stay quiet, he at home, she going out to beg every day alone, to see if she could make enough to survive. Surely God would not let them starve. The blind man was so happy at the plan cleverly thought up and proposed by his friend, and by her affectionate words, that he burst into singing the Arabic chant which Benina had already heard him sing on the hillside. But since he had lost his little guitar when they fled from the stoning, he had nothing to provide that harsh accompaniment. He then suggested that she should set the incense burner going, and this she did willingly, for the smoke would purify and perfume the air in that humble habitation.

  They went to the clinic the following morning, but as they were given an appointment for the afternoon they spent the first half of the day begging in various streets, always taking great care to avoid the police, so that they wouldn’t fall into the hands of the patrols again, which round up beggars as if they were dogs and take them to the collecting point where they continue to treat them no better than dogs. Since Benina felt no resentment against Doña Paca for her ingratitude she still wanted to see her, and still loved her dearly, having shared so many distressful years with her. She longed to see her, if only from afar, and was drawn towards the Calle de la Lechuga to watch from a discreet distance whether the family were moving out or had already done so. She arrived just in time. The van was at the door and the men were loading at great speed with their usual roughness. From her hiding place Benina recognised the worn out, decrepit furniture and the sight filled her with emotion. These things were almost hers, were part of her life and in them as in a mirror she saw the image of her sorrows and joys. She felt that if she went closer, these poor bits and pieces would speak to her or would weep with her. But what moved her deeply was Doña Paca and Obdulia, with Polidura and Juliana, emerging from the doorway, presumably on their way to the new flat, while the servants stayed in the old one seeing to the collection and transport of the odds and ends of household junk.

  Nina was upset and bewildered, and hid in a doorway, so that she could see without being seen. How Doña Francisca seemed to have deteriorated! She was wearing a new dress, but so badly made, as if it had been cut and sewn in a hurry. The poor lady looked as if she had been dressed by charity. She wore a cape over her head, while Obdulia sported a huge hat with outsize frills and feathers. Doña Paca walked slowly, her eyes on the ground and she looked crushed and melancholy, as if escorted by policemen. The child laughed as she chatted with Polidura. Juliana walked behind, shooing them all along, seeing that they hurried in the right direction. She only needed a stick to look like someone driving turkeys to market on Christmas eve. Her tyranny was obvious in every movement she made. Doña Paca was the patient beast that goes where it’s driven, even to slaughter, and Juliana was the herdsman. They disappeared into the Plaza Mayor, down the Calle de Botoneras. Benina walked a few steps after the unhappy flock, and when she had lost sight of them she dried the tears that ran down her face.

  “My poor mistress!” she said to Almudena when she rejoined him. “I love her like a sister because we have shared so much suffering. I was everything to her and she was everything to me. She forgave me my faults and I forgave hers. She looked so sad. Maybe she was thinking how badly she had behaved to her Nina! Her rheumatism seemed worse, to judge by the way she was limping, and from her face you’d think she hadn’t eaten for four days. I spoiled her and protected her, hiding our poverty from her and abasing myself so that she could eat the food she liked and was used to. Well, as they say, what’s over is over. Let’s go, Almudena, away from here, and God grant you’ll soon be well enough for us to set off for Jerusalem. It no longer scares me that it’s far away. By walking and walking, my boy, one can travel the world. There’s the pleasure of enjoying the open air and seeing new things, but on the other hand we can be sure that everywhere’s really the same, that each part of the world is like the whole, so to speak. What I mean is that there will be ingratitude and selfishness wherever men and women live, and that some will rule and deprive others of their freedom. We have to follow our consciences and leave it to others to fight over, like dogs do over a bone, or like children over a toy, or about who shall be the boss, like their elder
s. We should quarrel with no one and take what God provides, like the birds. Come on, to the hospital, and don’t be sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” said Almudena. “I’m happy to be with you. You know everything, like God, and I love you, like beautiful angel. If you don’t want to marry me, you can be my mother and I your blessed child.”

  “Good. That seems good to me.”

  “You are tall and beautiful like the palm tree in the desert; you are like the white lily. You are my friend, the friend of my soul.”

  As the pair of unfortunates went off towards the hospital, Doña Paca and her party were going in quite a different direction towards their new dwelling in Calle de Orellana. It was on the third floor, light and airy, with nice new wallpaper and plaster, an excellent kitchen and at a price they could afford. Doña Francisca gave her approval when she arrived, panting from the interminable stairs and she took care not to show any disapproval she felt, having given up any claim to willpower and opinions of her own. Her flexible – no, more than flexible, flabby –character had adapted to Juliana’s ways of thinking and feeling, and Juliana, having this piece of dough thrust into her grasp, shaped it to her will. Doña Paca could hardly breathe without her permission. The poor lady’s most insignificant acts were tyrannically controlled. She began to develop a childish fear of Juliana, feeling like putty in the iron hand of the seamstress. Yet it was not just fear that she felt, but a mixture of respect and admiration.

  She was seized with a feeling of the most acute melancholy as she rested from the bustle of the day, after all the furniture, the utensils and the flower pots had been put in place in the new house . She called to her tyrant and said: “Tell me again what you said as we came along. What about Nina and her Moor? Is he a good-looking fellow?”

  Juliana explained the situation, without giving a damaging account of Nina or putting her in a bad light, and in this she showed considerable tact.

  “And so it was decided that she couldn’t come and see me, for fear of our catching that horrid disease? You were right. If it weren’t for you, I should have been in danger of getting it, God knows. You decided that she could have the leftovers as well. That is not enough. I should very much like to grant her a regular amount, for example a peseta a day. What do you think?”

  “I say that if we start playing those sort of games, Señora Doña Paca, we shall soon be back at the pawnshop. No, no, a peseta is a peseta. Two reales will be enough for Nina. That’s what I’ve been thinking and if you decide differently, then I wash my hands of it.”

  “Two reales, two. If you say so, yes, that’s enough. Do you know how far, how amazingly far, Nina can make half a peseta go?”

  Here Daniela arrived in great alarm, saying that Frasquito was ringing at the front door. Obdulia, who had seen him through the spyhole, thought that they shouldn’t let him in, to avoid a repetition of the scandal in the Calle Imperial. Who had given him their new address? It must have been Polidura and Juliana swore she would twist his ear for him. But by great misfortune, while Ponte was ringing the bell furiously, as if determined to break it, Hilaria came up the stairs from the street and opened the apartment door with her latch key. It was impossible to prevent him from entering. He rushed inside waving his stick and stood in front of the frightened ladies with his hat pressed down onto his ears. His clothes were crumpled and mudstained, his mouth was twisted and he dragged his right leg painfully.

  “For heaven’s sake, Frasquito,” pleaded Doña Paca, “don’t make a scene. You’re ill and should be in bed.” Obdulia joined in with: “Frasquito, a man like you, so gentlemanly, from the best society, saying such things! Be sensible be yourself!”

  “Señora and Madam,” said Ponte, wrenching off his hat with great difficulty, “I am a gentleman and pride myself on knowing how to treat society ladies, but since the ridiculous rumour originated here, I have come to demand an explanation. My honour is at stake.”

  “And what have we got to do with your honour, you scarecrow?” Juliana shouted at him. “No decent man would treat ladies in this way. They were all ‘empresses’ to you the other day, and now.”

  “And now,” said Ponte, trembling at the powerful tones of Juliana’s speech like a reed before the wind, “and now – I am not disrespectful to ladies. Obdulia is a lady, Doña Francisca another. But these gentle ladies have slandered me, have wounded my most tender feelings, claiming that I paid court to Benina, that I tried to seduce her to betray the fidelity she owes the Arabian gentleman.”

  “As if we could have said anything so silly!”

  “All Madrid is talking about it. The shameful rumour spread from here, from these very walls. I am accused of a vile crime, of having desired an angel, a heavenly white-winged angel of spotless purity. Let it be known that I respect angels. If Nina had been of mortal clay, I should not have respected her because I am a man. I have sampled ladies fair and dark, married, widowed and maidens, Spanish and French, and none has resisted me because of my worth and because of my undying beauty. But I have never seduced angels, nor shall I do so. Mark my words, Francisca, and you, Obdulia. Nina is not of this world, Nina belongs to heaven. She begged to keep you and me, in beggar’s clothes. I do not seduce, I cannot seduce, I cannot make love to such a woman. My beauty is human and hers is divine. My handsome face is mortal flesh, hers is celestial light. No, no, no, I have not seduced her, she is God’s. And I say this to you , Curra Juárez de Ronda, you are so heavy with the weight of your ingratitude that you cannot move. Now I, because I am grateful, I can fly, don’t you see? But you, because you are ungrateful, you’re as heavy as lead, you’re stuck to the ground, don’t you see?”

  Mother and daughter in their consternation began to call to the neighbours for help, but Juliana, with more courage and strength of mind and unable to bear poor Ponte’s impertinent nonsense any longer, went up to him angrily, caught him by the lapels and devouring him with her eyes and her voice said: “If you don’t leave this house at once, you ridiculous creature, I shall throw you over the balcony.”

  And she might well have done so, if Hilaria and Daniela had not caught hold of the unfortunate son of Algeciras, and pushed him straight out of the front door. The porter, his wife and a few neighbours appeared, attracted by the din, and at the sight of all these people the four women came out on to the landing to explain that this person was out of his mind and had changed from the gentlest and best behaved man in the world to the most tiresome and shameless. Frasquito limped down to the next landing, stopped, and looking up, said: “Ungrateful woman, ungr…”

  He tried to finish the word, but a violent contortion of the mouth prevented him. All he could utter was a hoarse roar, as if an invisible hand were strangling him. Those watching could see how horribly his features distorted, his eyes protruded, his mouth twisted up towards one ear. His arms shot up, he uttered an anguished “Ah!” and suddenly slumped. As he fell, the rickety staircase shuddered down the whole of its length.

  Four of them carried him up to the flat to give first aid, but the poor fellow no longer required it. Juliana looked at him and said dryly: “He’s deader than my grandfather.”

  Finale

  Juliana, although a woman without principles and hardly able to read or write, was nevertheless a good example of the part played by willpower in controlling both large and small social groups. Nature had bequeathed her the rare ability to organise the lives and control the actions of others. If instead of the Zapata family another of greater consequence had fallen into her hands, or even the government of a small territory or of a country, she would have acquitted herself well. She had quelled all opposition in Doña Francisca’s territory, a month after taking up the reins. Everyone was toeing the line, no one rebelled or dared to call her immutable decisions into question. It is true that to attain such a splendid result she had to exercise an absolute dictatorship, a rule of terror. Her nature did not permit even the most timid of remarks: her will was law, her only argument, the stick.

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