The Kingdom of the Damned

by Mario Garrido Espinosa

  “My God, speak Castagno!”

  The bachelor began to sweat. He was cornered. He did not know what to say. Drenched, the clothes clung to his body and that did not help him think. As the situation was truly tragic, he decided, instead of inventing nothing, to tell the truth, even if it hurts. And it was going to hurt. Therefore, he went to Sir Higinio's ear and told him something that Irene almost certainly knew for sure.

  “Listen, sir. What I am going to tell you, no one knows, but since your worship is almost a father to me, I am forced to confess to you, given the circumstances... Since I have so much esteem, I am calm, I do not feel any wrong, offense or injury in the future for this reason...”

  “Speak at once, damn it!” the former bailiff repeated, with a degree of exasperation.

  Benito lowered his voice a lot, and put his hand between his mouth and the ear of the retired military officer.

  “I'm infertile.”

  “You are what? Sir Higinio replied, somewhat disconcerted by a word he had never heard a Christian say, and which, having been pronounced so low, he only sensed in part.

  Irene, on the other hand, smiled as if she had heard it and the bachelor got very upset. Not without effort, he tried to explain himself again:

  “I tell you I'm impotent...”

  Sir Higinio turned away from Castagno in a quick reflex as if he had suddenly contracted leprosy. Then he looked very serious and disappointed —although not surprised—, and then apologized:

  “Excuse us, me and also my daughter.”

  "Forgotten," Benito said, relieved.

  "By the way, my good Castagno, I trust your discretion on this whole matter. Nobody in the town should know.”

  “You can trust me. You already know that.”

  “If someone found out from you...”

  "I repeat that you have nothing to fear with me," he interrupted.

  "I know, I know," Sir Higinio admitted, "but accept this bag with something of money, which will surely silence your mouth even more.”

  “I accept it, but more for having solved the matter that brought me to here, your house, Sir Higinio, than for my silence, which I was going to keep anyway and, of course, without receiving anything in return," the bachelor said, taking the bag impatiently to know what the Alexandrians added, perhaps of gold or silver, that was inside; but for not looking like a poor man, which is what he was, he waited to know the amount once he left the mansion.

  After the usual farewells, father and daughter were left alone in the room. The boy kicked Irene. It was very painful. It was not long before she uttered an exclamation of pain, but managed to restrain herself while placing her hands on her belly. Sir Higinio stared at her.

  4

  The Tarascan went back, though in a more tired and disorderly way, the street of Sir Higinio's mansion. The first time he was seen by this part of the town, the snake-dragon loaded on his green back with the doll of a chubby and smiling lady, beautifully adorned, with its multicolored parasol included. At this time, she no longer rode majestically on top of the beast, and, besides, it had been a while since she had fallen from her post. On the back of the procession, at least ten drunks danced and joked with the poor, stoned doll in tatters. The doll had transformed so much that was not even the shadow of his smile... And it was very old custom knock down by throwing stones everything that rode in the tarasca. More than one of these pebbles —released without much conviction— entered through the windows of the houses, damaging objects, crystals and people. The waiters of the place were always well supplied with pebbles —collected during the previous day—, which, in general, they pulled with skill, but that some, with bad intentions and desire to fight, directed towards they would be good to bother —or ruin—, apologizing then for their bad and unfortunate marksmanship.

  The Tarascan disappeared again. While inside the mansion on the Hundred Fires street a small battle was still being waged, almost with stones, like the one that had ended, a while ago, in some busy street of the town.

  “Who was it? Damn it!” Sir Lopezosa ordered again to his daughter.

  Irene was sitting in front of a square table. Sir Higinio, from time to time, took her hair and then stamped her face on the surface of the table. Irene was reluctant to give a name, and in one of those shoves, he almost broke her nose.

  “Speak!” He insisted, beginning now to slap his daughter and stop hitting her against the table. Moments before he had opened a gap in her forehead, that, without being too big, was very bulky. In addition, the small puddle of dense very dark red blood, that the wood of the table absorbed little by little, did not go behind in spectacle... However, Sir Higinio did not desist in his effort.

  “I do not know!” Irene protested, and it was true. So many lovers she had had in the last year that it was impossible to know who the father was.

  Seeing that if he continued on that road he was going to kill his daughter, the retired sheriff stopped hitting her and ended the long, useless and painful interrogation.

  “What can I do with you?” He murmured, leaning out of one of the windows and seeing the amount of waste that the people who chased the tarasca had left behind.

  Irene, with her face swollen, bloody and bruised, in a panic that at first she did not think she could experience, began to mentally go through the list of men of her love affairs. She did not seem to find anyone who was perfect to endorse the baby. While trying to remember, she nervously fiddled with the various objects —many of them valuable— that hung from one of the gold necklaces around his neck. Then she saw it and at once, she remembered the figure —partly in part— of Mario Toulon, the thief.

  “What are we going to do now?” Sir Higinio asked, knowing that he would not receive an answer, without looking out the window.

  “It was Mario Toulon Middle-Voice Rabid” Irene said, compulsively caressing the bronze cross that her sister and she had found among the clothes of the thief, the day he entered the mansion without being invited.

  Sir Higinio turned to his first-born and exclaimed:

  “Who!”

  “Mario Toulon Middle-Voice Rabid” she repeated.

  “And who the hell is that Mario Toulon?” It was Sir Higinio’s quick reply.

  “It is a man who walked through the town a few months ago and who forced me, despite my dear resignation, to make...”

  Irene did not dare to say in front of her father the words that defined what the cause of disgrace and dishonor was now.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. He raped me.”

  “And why did you not tell me anything?”

  “I was afraid. That man seemed dangerous," she lied, making a face of feigned fear.

  Sir Higinio did not believe a word, but now, at that point, he only cared to have someone to chastise, whether he was guilty or not. In spite of everything, he asked the same question again:

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Completely," she declared.

  Irene Lopezosa could not know for sure if it had been him or any of his multiple lovers; but she was aware that Mario Toulon had disappeared from the town, without a trace, after the incident in her sister's room. Besides, she remembered that he was a poor man, the most manageable one she had ever known, and in addition, ideal to carry the baby duty, because nobody knew where he was and nothing could be done against him.

  Although she lived in the same house, Irene Lopezosa did not seem to be aware of her father's power and how long his tentacles were.

  5

  Irene Lopezosa, after the intense conversation with her father on the day of the Festival in the Alpurria, was confined in her room, just as the Tarascan was passing for the fourth time and everything seemed to presage that last time. She was locked up waiting for the retired military man to come up with something to do about everything that was happening; and, above all, what was going to happen.

  Irene had thought face her father when Castagno left the mansion, but after the first blow of he
r head against the table, she lost all the strength and courage accumulated. The woman, more angry and humiliated than she ever was until now, swore to herself —while healing the wound on her forehead, which fortunately would not leave a mark, and wiped herself with a cosmetic her reddened and swollen complexion— that she would never submit to her father's authority in the future and that if he puts his hand on her again it would be the last time, since she personally would kill him.

  Days later, Sir Higinio seemed to have resolved, in his own way, part of the problem. Thus, he hired two servants of the place, frequent trusted men of his, and who, therefore, had already done some dirty work. Their names were Severus Galvan Ronquillo de Brizuelas and Sabine Olozaga Carpio de Villaquirán.

  "When you find him, you will give him the best beating you can," the old soldier said to the two men, after having given them a description of Mario Toulon, of he could take from his daughter. “Then I want him to disappear from Gurracam...”

  “Should we kill him, sir?” Severo interrupted.

  Sir Higinio looked at him seriously and for a long time. He turned around and slowly opened the door of a sturdy mahogany cabinet. He pulled out a beautifully decorated bottle and a no less ornate glass. While pouring some wine, still giving them back, he asked:

  “When did I use the word kill in your presence?”

  “Never. I never heard such a word from your worship," Sabine answered quickly, knowing that the former bailiff was not in the habit of being so direct when he decided that someone was left over. He used a thousand foolish and uncompromising ways, but the phrase "kill this or that person" never came out of his mouth.

  “You can break all his bones, split it, give it a hundred lashes, scald it, split an arm or crush a leg with a rock... I leave at your discretion and I know you are good at these things...” He offered little of wine to his interlocutors with a gesture, to which they responded by shaking their heads. “But if you kill him it will be your business, and not mine.”

  Sir Higinio really thought that death was a little punishment, and although this was going to be his end anyway if he left it in the hands of those two beasts, he preferred that it arrive as late and with the greatest possible suffering.

  “You must bring me part of your hair. Apparently, he has a white lock on the left side of his black hair.”

  “We'll bring her the whole hair, sir.”

  “Very good, very good... If so, you will receive so many Alexandrians that you will be rich.” None of the two men asked how many, because that impertinence, that lack of confidence, could cost them. “Now, if you try to deceive me...”

  "We will not deceive you, Sir Higinio," Severus answered, before the old soldier could continue, knowing that, right after the deception, it would be they who would disappear from Gurracam and surely be dead.

  “I hope so.” He drank from his glass, set it on the table, and after opening the door of another cupboard; he removed two saddlebags with money. “Here you are, at the moment. For travel expenses.”

  Without caring about the considerable weight of the pair of saddlebags, Severus loaded them on his right shoulder.

  “Use those Alexandrians wisely. I do not intend to ask you accounts. Remainders will be yours. I just want that Mario Toulon to regret of...”

  The old soldier did not finish the sentence. He remained thoughtful, with an unhappy look on his face. From the beginning, he insisted on keeping his daughter's pregnancy in secret; but he had failed, for one of the servants’ mouth that was responsible for being the first to report the matter to anyone who would listen. Moreover, in this way the news ran like wildfire of gunpowder and anyone who knew of Irene’s existence had knowledge that soon she was going to be a mother. Logically, Severus and Sabine, who like almost everyone did not ignore Irene’s state of good hope, immediately associated the objective of the retired sheriff’s order with the identity of the child’s father. Therefore, days later, in an unstoppable way, in the entire region began to sing in taverns and slums a clumsy ditty about that man Mario Toulon’s adventures.

  A happy day came to this place

  It is not known if great sir or schemer.

  But to my faith was brave and unparalleled

  for the worst belly was ready to fill.

  And the duffer went in good time

  after such exploits,

  Leaving the Lord, the successor,

  With great surprise in the bowels.

  The time a neighbor will bring us.

  In the great mansion will be born.

  We pray that what has to come

  Die before his dowry inherit.

  Since this seed,

  Of people so evil,

  God do not allow to settle

  Our fortunate land.

  “Do you need something else, Sir Higinio?” Severus asked, interrupting the disconcerting silence that had settled in the room.

  “I do not. I just want to see you on the road today. Take what you have to take and then go to my stables. You already know where they are. Let the two horses that you like best saddle and do not let them rest until you find that bastard. If you do your part and you have not burst them, you can keep them too."

  Saying this, Sir Higinio made a movement with his hand indicating that they should leave. Severus and Sabine said goodbye with maximum education and left the room with a determined step. After passing the heavy door of the mansion and putting one foot on the Hundred Fires cobbled street they looked each other satisfied, thinking surely that, apart from the Alexandrians, they were going to be the owners of two formidable horses.

  Chapter 6

  Bachelor castagno’s short and sad story

  1

  S

  he silence of the Hundred Fires Street began to fade, for the Tarascan, now accompanied by three giants, four big heads and by a large part of the inhabitants of the town, passed again in front of the one hundred and twenty-four coats of arms carved in the stone of Sir Higinio's mansion. Benito Castagno left behind the threshold of the door and joined the people who danced and shouted with desire for fun. After a while, leaving the drunken companions of the dragon, he went to the Inn of the Eternal Rest of the Happy Boar to spend in sweet wine some of the Alexandrians who had just won easily with the issue of Irene Lopezosa’s pregnancy.

  He entered the place —the only one in all of La Alpurria where wine was served— not without being appreciated by the people who were there to pass the hours of the day. The place oozed a strange substance ubiquitous, thick and stale, which once impregnated you, stayed in the body for weeks. As soon as you opened the door, it began to wrap around you and in the first moment, it was quite difficult to bear. Then you got used to it, but never quite all. Only the assiduous men and women who stayed at the inn —in truth, more time than is reasonable— seemed to be immune to the stale, rusting and omnipresent environment. The bachelor, after this first and unpleasant impression —which he had curiously forgotten, and which he did not remember with pleasure— asked for his wine, and once served, he paid from the bag of Alexandrians that the retired soldier had given him. This time it had been very generous, although with a simple order of silence on the retired military officer’s part it would have been enough to silence the bachelor.

  “With all that money you can go fucking”, eh Benito? Erasmus, the ugly innkeeper, was guided, seconded by the mocking laughter of someone next door. “Today, moreover, thanks to the Patron Saint, ten or twelve new ones have come from Sordillo and from Sand Calmonte.”

  "Such a bandit you are, Benito!” Exclaimed without coming to mind one of the regulars of the inn, laughing, giving a very loud and resounding pat on the back of the bachelor and causing the laughter of others.

  “Hey, reserve some fresh for when we want to go.”

  “Yes, that your worship is well able to leave them out of combat at all for the rest of the week.”

  And the laughter continued, to the point that a short, fat, badly shaved man choked on
the bad wine, and the nearest drunkard gave him four blows on the back so excessive that they ended up drowning him a little more.

  Castagno, of course, did not like the innkeeper’s comment, who always wore an apron full of dried, black grease and, since it was a family heirloom, also centenary. Less amused by the harmful mockery of those who followed the game to Erasmus, and was glad that the choked one now was as red as blood, looking at the ground, disheveled, with a hand to the neck and without any desire to continue making fun.

  He drank quickly, so he did not enjoy the wine, which was not very good either. He wondered why the hell he was going back to that inn as soon as he saw himself with some money, and when he did not find an answer he left among the other parishioners’ laughter, swearing never to put his foot on that dirty floor again.

  "Goodbye, big man," said one by a way of farewell.

  All the people seemed to know about their impotence although nobody said it openly. They used it as an argument to joke at the expense of the poor bachelor. There was a time when they called him the Hardcock, but not secretly, but loudly. Fortunately, for the bachelor, that nickname —product of a crude, cruel and illiterate backbiting—, fell into disuse, perhaps because the female strangers hearing it thought the opposite of what it really was. However, his unfortunate impotence was still a source of daily jokes.

  2

  When he was younger, Benito spent the money he did not have on dozens of dubious doctors and healers who, evidently, did not solve his inability to perform intercourse.

  The first solution that was recommended for his problem was to urinate in the hole of a wedding ring, before and after one of these ceremonies. First, they told him that it had to be at his own wedding, but since he had no commitment in a near future he was convinced that with of one of his brothers’ wedding, since they were direct family, it would also be worth it. Therefore, the aspiring bachelor bought the cheapest engagement ring he found and anxiously awaited his brothers Geronimo’s and Godofredo’s wedding, in which he performed the ritual without fail, but without results.