This system was not unsuited to the weak characters of the mother and her offspring: after all, it had had signal success already in the case of Antonio. Juliana’s domination over Doña Francisca became so complete that the poor widow hardly dared to say the Lord’s Prayer without asking the dictator’s permission, and it was noticeable that before sighing, which she did often, she would look at her as if to say: “You won’t mind if I sigh a little.” She obeyed Juliana in every matter except one. The latter frequently commanded her not to be sad and although the slave answered with deferential words, it was clear that the order was not being obeyed. So it was that widow Zapata entered this new prosperous phase of her life with head bowed, eyes downcast and unseeing, fixed on the patterns on the carpet, sinking day by day into greater lethargy, with declining appetite, silent and surly, brooding darkly.
When Doña Francisca had been living in the Calle de Orellana for a fortnight, Juliana decided that her power would be more complete and the family easier to control if they all lived together under one roof: the general with her command. She moved in, therefore, with her modest household goods, her little children and their nurse, for whom she made room by throwing out all the pots and tubs of plants and by evicting Daniela, who had in fact been more of a nuisance than anything else. Juliana then added Grand Chancellor to her function of chambermaid and lady’s maid to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. In this way everything remained in the family.
But nothing is ever perfect in this imperfect world, and about a month after the move, when according to the chronicles of the Zapata family Frasquito Ponte Delgado had suffered his fatal accident, Juliana began to be conscious of most peculiar alterations in her health. She had always boasted of her lusty strength, comparing herself to a mule, but now she foolishly began to suffer from symptoms quite foreign to her perfectly balanced nature. What were they: fits of nerves and attacks of hysteria, such as she had so often laughed at as the affectations of spoilt women with imaginary ailments which husbands could cure with a dose of the stick.
Juliana’s troubles began with a stubborn insomnia. She rose every morning without having slept a wink. A few days later she lost her appetite, and finally in addition to the inability to sleep, she suffered fits of fear at night and a heavy, black, deadly depression by day. The worst thing for the family was that her tyrannical rule did not diminish with these troublesome ailments, rather it grew stronger. When Antonio suggested they should go out for a walk, she sent him packing with every sort of imprecation. She became disagreeable, surly, gross and insufferable.
In the end her hysterical fixations all merged into one – the idea that her twins were suffering from ill health. Their obvious robustness did nothing to shake her conviction. She smothered them with complicated precautions which upset them and made them cry. At night she jumped out of bed, convinced that they were swimming in blood, having been beheaded by an invisible assassin. If they coughed she thought they were choking, if they had no appetite, she was sure they had been poisoned.
One morning she put on a shawl and a kerchief and went out in a hurry to the southern suburbs, looking for Benina, with whom she felt she must speak. It took her many hours to find her, because she no longer lived in Santa Casilda but in the lowest pit of hell, that is, along the Toledo road, on the left hand side of the bridge. She found her there after much tiresome searching, going round and round in that maze of dwellings. The old woman lived with the Moor in a tiny house, little more than a hut, on the high ground above the main road to the south. Almudena’s unpleasant skin complaint was better, but his face was still covered in ugly scabs. He stayed at home and Nina went off early each morning to scrape a living begging at St Andrew’s church. Juliana was very surprised to find her looking well, and moreover happy, serene and completely reconciled to her lot.
“I’ve come to scold you, Señá Benina,” she said, sitting down on a slab of stone opposite the hut and near the trough in which Benina was washing clothes, but at a respectful distance from the blind man, who lay in a patch of shade. “Yes, to scold you, because you promised to come and collect the leftovers from our household, but you’ve never once put in an appearance.”
“I’ll tell you why, Señora Juliana,” replied Nina, “You must believe that it was not out of pride. No, it was not pride. It’s because I haven’t needed it. I get my food from another house and that, plus what I get in charity, is enough. You can give your leftovers to another poor person: it’ll make no difference to your conscience. What do you want to know? Who gives me the food? I can see you’re curious about that. Well I owe that blessed charity to Don Romualdo Cedron. I know him from St Andrew’s where he says mass. Yes, Don Romualdo, who is a saint, I must say. And I am now sure, after much thought, that he is not the Don Romualdo I invented, but another who is as like him as two peas. One invents things that turn out to be true, or else truth, before it becomes true, starts out as a big lie. So there you are.”
The seamstress said that she was very glad to hear what had happened, and since Don Romualdo was being so kind, Doña Paca and she would give their leftovers to another needy person. But she had something more she wanted to say: “I owe you money, Benina, because I decided that my mother-in-law, who is under my gentle guidance, should assign you two reales a day. Those two reales are on my conscience and I’ve brought you fifteen pesetas, which makes up the month’s allowance, Señá Benina.”
“I’ll take it, yes indeed,” said Nina delighted. “These pesetas are like manna from heaven, because I owe money to La Pitusa, in the Calle de Mediodía Grande, and I must give her the whole amount plus one peseta per duro interest. This will settle a little more than half. Such things should happen more often! I am really grateful. God give you, your husband and the babies health.”
Nervously but eloquently and with some exaggeration, Juliana told how her health had broken up and how she suffered from strange incomprehensible ailments. But she bore them, she said, with patience, without taking thought for herself. What worried her, what made her life a terrible torment, was the idea that her children might fall ill. It was not just an idea and not just a fear, it was the certainty that Paquito and Antonio would sicken and inevitably die.
Benina tried to get these ideas out of her mind, but Juliana was unconvinced as she took her leave hurriedly and returned to Madrid. To Benina and Almudena’s great surprise she appeared very early next morning in a state of agitation, trembling, with shining eyes. The dialogue was brief but heavy with psychological import.
“Juliana, what’s wrong with you?” asked Nina, addressing her for the first time in the familiar form.
“My children are dying – what else?”
“Oh dear, I am sorry, are they sick?”
“Yes. Well, no, they’re well. But I am tormented by the thought that they are dying. Oh Nina, dear Nina, I cannot get this idea out of my head. I do nothing but weep and weep, as you can see.”
“Yes, I can see. But if it’s only an idea, try to get rid of it, woman.”
“I’m coming to that, Señá Benina. Since last night I’ve had another idea – that you, and only you, can cure me.”
“How?”
“By telling me that I ought not to believe that the children are dying, by ordering me not to believe it.”
“I can do this?”
“If you tell me, I shall believe it and I shall be cured of this cursed idea – because, I declare it openly, I have sinned, I am a bad woman.”
“Well my girl, the cure is easy. I tell you that your children are not dying, that they are healthy and strong.”
“You see? The joy I feel is a sign that you know that what you are saying is true. Nina, Nina, you are a saint.”
“I’m no saint. But your children are well and have nothing wrong with them. Stop crying. Now go home and sin no more.”
Madrid, March–April 1897
Copyright
Published in the UK by Dedalus Limited,
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Publishing History
First published in Spain in 1819
First published by Dedalus in 1995
First ebook edition in 2013
Translation copyright © Dedalus and Charles de Salis in 1994
Introduction copyright © Andrew Crumey 1994
The right of Charls de Salis to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Printed in Finland by Bookwell Ltd.
Typeset by Refine Catch
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Misericordia (Dedalus European Classics) Page 27