by Jane Bowles
The musician was playing a waltz at the request of Señora Ramirez, who was trying her best to attract again the attention of the stranger. "Tra-la-la-la," she sang, and in order better to convey the beauty of the waltz she folded her arms in front of her and rocked from side to side.
"Ay, Consuelo! It is for her to waltz," she said to the stranger. "There will be many people in the plaza tonight, and there is so much wind. I think that you must fetch my shawl, Consuelo. It is getting very cold."
While awaiting Consuelo's return she shivered and picked her teeth.
The traveler thought she was crazy and a little disgusting. He had come here as a buyer for a very important textile concern. Having completed all his work, he had for some reason decided to stay on another week, perhaps because he had always heard that a vacation in a foreign country was a desirable thing. Already he regretted his decision, but there was no boat out before the following Monday. By the end of the meal he was in such despair that his face wore a peculiarly young and sensitive look. In order to buoy himself up a bit, he began to think about what he would get to eat three weeks hence, seated at his mother's table on Thanksgiving Day. They would be very glad to hear that he had not enjoyed himself on this trip, because they had always considered it something in the nature of a betrayal when anyone in the family expressed a desire to travel. He thought they led a fine life and was inclined to agree with them.
Consuelo had returned with her mother's shawl. She was dreaming again when her mother pinched her arm.
"Well, Consuelo, are you coming to the band concert or are you going to sit here like a dummy? I daresay the Señor is not coming with us, but we like music, so get up, and we will say good night to this gentleman and be on our way."
The traveler had not understood this speech. He was therefore very much surprised when Señora Ramirez tapped him on the shoulder and said to him severely in English: "Good night, Señor. Consuelo and I are going to the band concert. We will see you tomorrow at breakfast."
"Oh, but I'm going to the band concert myself," he said, in a panic lest they leave him with a whole evening on his hands.
Señora Ramirez flushed with pleasure. The three walked down the badly lit street together, escorted by a group of skinny yellow dogs.
"These old grilled windows are certainly very beautiful," the traveler said to Señora Ramirez. "Old as the hills themselves, aren't they?"
"You must go to the capital if you want beautiful buildings," said Señora Ramirez. "Very new and clean they are."
"I should think," he said, "that these old buildings were your point of interest here, aside from your Indians and their native costumes."
They walked on for a little while in silence. A small boy came up to them and tried to sell them some lollipops.
"Five centavos," said the little boy.
"Absolutely not," said the traveler. He had been warned that the natives would cheat him, and he was acually enraged every time they approached him with their wares.
"Four centavos . . . three centavos. . . ."
"No, no, no! Go away!" The little boy ran ahead of them.
"I would like a lollipop," said Consuelo to him.
"Well, why didn't you say so, then?" he demanded.
"No," said Consuelo.
"She does not mean no," explained her mother. "She can't learn to speak English. She has clouds in her head."
"I see," said the traveler. Consuelo looked mortified. When they came to the end of the street, Señora Ramirez stood still and lowered her head like a bull.
"Listen," she said to Consuelo. "Listen. You can hear the music from here."
"Yes, mamà. Indeed you can." They stood listening to the faint marimba noise that reached them. The traveler sighed.
"Please, let's get going if we are going," he said. "Otherwise there is no point."
The square was already crowded when they arrived. The older people sat on benches under the trees, while the younger ones walked round and round, the girls in one direction and the boys in the other. The musicians played inside a kiosk in the center of the square. Señora Ramirez led both Consuelo and the stranger into the girls' line, and they had not been walking more than a minute before she settled into a comfortable gait, with an expression very much like that of someone relaxing in an armchair.
"We have three hours," she said to Consuelo.
The stranger looked around him. Many of the girls were barefoot and pure Indian. They walked along holding tightly to one another, and were frequently convulsed with laughter.
The musicians were playing a formless but militant-sounding piece which came to many climaxes without ending. The drummer was the man who had just played the violin at Señora Espinoza's pension.
"Look!" said the traveler excitedly. "Isn't that the man who was just playing for us at dinner. He must have run all the way. I'll bet he's sweating some."
"Yes, it is he," said Señora Ramirez. "The nasty little rat. I would like to tear him right off his stand. Remember the one at the Grand Hotel, Consuelo? He stopped at every table, senor, and I have never seen such beautiful teeth in my life. A smile on his face from the moment he came into the room until he went out again. This one looks at his shoes while he is playing, and he would like to kill us all."
Some big boys threw confetti into the traveler's face.
"I wonder," he asked himself. "I wonder what kind of fun they get out of just walking around and around this little park and throwing confetti at each other."
The boys' line was in a constant uproar about something. The broader their smiles became, the more he suspected them of plotting something, probably against him, for apparently he was the only tourist there that evening. Finally he was so upset that he walked along looking up at the stars, or even for short stretches with his eyes shut, because it seemed to him that somehow this rendered him a little less visible. Suddenly he caught sight of Señorita Côrdoba. She was across the street buying lollipops from a boy.
"Señorita!" He waved his hand from where he was, and then joyfully bounded out of the line and across the street. He stood panting by her side, while she reddened considerably and did not know what to say to him.
Señora Ramirez and Consuelo came to a standstill and stood like two monuments, staring after him, while the lines brushed past them on either side.
Lilina was looking out of her window at some boys who were playing on the corner of the street under the street light. One of them kept pulling a snake out of his pocket; he would then stuff it back in again. Lilina wanted the snake very much. She chose her toys according to the amount of power or responsibility she thought they would give her in the eyes of others. She thought now that if she were able to get the snake, she would perhaps put on a little act called "Lilina and the Viper," and charge admission. She imagined that she would wear a fancy dress and let the snake wriggle under her collar. She left her room and went out of doors. The wind was stronger than it had been, and she could hear the music playing even from where she was. She felt chilly and hurried toward the boys.
"For how much will you sell your snake?" she asked the oldest boy, Ramôn.
"You mean Victoria?" said Ramôn. His voice was beginning to change and there was a shadow above his upper lip.
"Victoria is too much of a queen for you to have," said one of the smaller boys. "She is a beauty and you are not." They all roared with laughter, including Ramôn, who all at once looked very silly. He giggled like a girl. Lilina's heart sank. She was determined to have the snake.
"Are you ever going to stop laughing and begin to bargain with me? If you don't I'll have to go back in, because my mother and sister will be coming home soon, and they wouldn't allow me to be talking here like this with you. I'm from a good family."
This sobered Ramôn, and he ordered the boys to be quiet. He took Victoria from his pocket and played with her in silence. Lilina stared at the snake.
"Come to my house," said Ramôn. "My mother will want to know how much I'm s
elling her for."
"All right," said Lilina. "But be quick, and I don't want them with us." She indicated the other boys. Ramôn gave them orders to go back to their houses and meet him later at the playground near the Cathedral.
"Where do you live?" she asked him.
"Calle de las Delicias number six."
"Does your house belong to you?"
"My house belongs to my Aunt Gudelia."
"Is she richer than your mother?"
"Oh, yes." They said no more to each other.
There were eight rooms opening onto the patio of Ramôn's house, but only one was furnished. In this room the family cooked and slept. His mother and his aunt were seated opposite one another on two brightly painted chairs. Both were fat and both were wearing black. The only light, came from a charcoal fire which was burning in a brazier on the floor.
They had bought the chairs that very morning and were consequently feeling lighthearted and festive. When the children arrived they were singing a little song together.
"Why don't we buy something to drink?" said Gudelia, when they stopped singing.
"Now you're going to go crazy, I see," said Ramôn's mother. "You're very disagreeable when you're drinking."
"No, I'm not," said Gudelia.
"Mother," said Ramôn. "This little girl has come to buy Victoria."
"I have never seen you before," said Ramôn's mother to Lilina.
"Nor I," said Gudelia. "I am Ramôn's aunt, Gudelia. This is my house."
"My name is Lilina Ramirez. I want to bargain for Ramôn's Victoria."
"Victoria," they repeated gravely.
"Ramôn is very fond of Victoria and so are Gudelia and I," said his mother. "It's a shame that we sold Alfredo the parrot. We sold him for far too little. He sang and danced. We have taken care of Victoria for a long time, and it has been very expensive. She eats much meat." This was an obvious lie. They all looked at Lilina.
"Where do you live, dear?" Gudelia asked Lilina.
"I live in the capital, but I'm staying now at Señora Espinoza's pension."
"I meet her in the market every day of my life," said Gudelia. "Maria de la Luz Espinoza. She buys a lot. How many people has she staying in her house? Five, six?"
"Nine."
"Nine! Dear God! Does she have many animals?"
"Certainly," said Lilina.
"Come," said Ramôn to Lilina. "Let's go outside and bargain."
"He loves that snake," said Ramôn's mother, looking fixedly at Lilina.
The aunt sighed. "Victoria . . . Victoria."
Lilina and Ramôn climbed through a hole in the wall and sat down together in the midst of some foliage.
"Listen," said Ramôn. "If you kiss me, I'll give you Victoria for nothing. You have blue eyes. I saw them when we were in the street."
"I can hear what you are saying," his mother called out from the kitchen.
"Shame, shame," said Gudelia. "Giving Victoria away for nothing. Your mother will be without food. I can buy my own food, but what will your mother do?"
Lilina jumped to her feet impatiently. She saw that they were getting nowhere, and unlike most of her countrymen, she was always eager to get things done quickly.
She stamped back into the kitchen, opened her eyes very wide in order to frighten the two ladies, and shouted as loud as she could: "Sell me that snake right now or I will go away and never put my foot in this house again."
The two women were not used to such a display of rage over the mere settlement of a price. They rose from their chairs and started moving about the room to no purpose, picking up things and putting them down again. They were not quite sure what to do. Gudelia was terribly upset. She stepped here and there with her hand below her breast, peering about cautiously. Finally she slipped out into the patio and disappeared.
Ramôn took Victoria out of his pocket. They arranged a price and Lilina left, carrying her in a little box.
Meanwhile Señora Ramirez and her daughter were on their way home from the band concert. Both of them were in a bad humor. Consuelo was not disposed to talk at all. She looked angrily at the houses they were passing and sighed at everything her mother had to say. "You have no merriment in your heart," said Señora Ramirez. "Just revenge." As Consuelo refused to answer, she continued. "Sometimes I feel that I am walking along with an assassin."
She stopped still in the street and looked up at the sky. "Jesu Maria!" she said. "Don't let me say such things about my own daughter." She clutched at Consuelo's arm.
"Come, come. Let us hurry. My feet ache. What an ugly city this is!"
Consuelo began to whimper. The word "assassin" had affected her painfully. Although she had no very clear idea of an assassin in her mind, she knew it to be a gross insult and contrary to all usage when applied to a young lady of breeding. It so frightened her that her mother had used such a word in connection with her that she actually felt a little sick to her stomach.
"No, mamà, no!" she cried. "Don't say that I am an assassin. Don't!" Her hands were beginning to shake, and already the tears were filling her eyes. Her mother hugged her and they stood for a moment locked in each other's arms.
Maria, the servant, was standing near the fountain looking into it when Consuelo and her mother arrived at the pension. The traveler and Señorita Côrdoba were seated together having a chat.
"Doesn't love interest you?" the traveler was asking her.
"No . . . no . . ." answered Señorita Côrdoba. "City life, business, the theater. . . ." She sounded somewhat halfhearted about the theater.
"Well, that's funny," said the traveler. "In my country most young girls are interested in love. There are some, of course, who are interested in having a career, either business or the stage. But I've heard tell that even these women deep down in their hearts want a home and everything that goes with it."
"So?" said Señorita Côrdoba.
"Well, yes," said the traveler. "Deep down in your heart, don't you always hope the right man will come along some day?"
"No . . . no . . . no. . . . Do you?" she said absent-mindedly.
"Who, me? No."
"No?"
She was the most preoccupied woman he had ever spoken with.
"Look, senoras," said Maria to Consuelo and her mother. "Look what is floating around in the fountain! What is it?"
Consuelo bent over the basin and fished around a bit. Presently she pulled out her mother's pink corset.
"Why, mamà," she said. "It's your corset."
Señora Ramirez examined the wet corset. It was covered with muck from the bottom of the fountain. She went over to a chair and sat down in it, burying her face in her hands. She rocked back and forth and sobbed very softly. Señora Espinoza came out of her room.
"Lilina, my sister, threw it into the fountain," Consuelo announced to all present.
Señora Espinoza looked at the corset.
"It can be fixed. It can be fixed," she said, walking over to Señora Ramirez and putting her arms around her.
"Look, my friend. My dear little friend, why don't you go to bed and get some sleep? Tomorrow you can think about getting it cleaned."
"How can we stand it? Oh, how can we stand it?" Señora Ramirez asked imploringly, her beautiful eyes filled with sorrow. "Sometimes," she said in a trembling voice, "I have no more strength than a sparrow. I would like to send my children to the four winds and sleep and sleep and sleep."
Consuelo, hearing this, said in a gentle tone: "Why don't you do so, mamà?"
"They are like two daggers in my heart, you see?" continued her mother.
"No, they are not," said Señora Espinoza. "They are flowers that brighten your life." She removed her glasses and polished them on her blouse.
"Daggers in my heart," repeated Señora Ramirez.
"Have some hot soup," urged Señora Espinoza. "Maria will make you some—a gift from me—and then you can go to bed and forget all about this."
"No, I think I will just sit here, thank
you."
"Mamà is going to have one of her fits," said Consuelo to the servant. "She does sometimes. She gets just like a child instead of getting angry, and she doesn't worry about what she is eating or when she goes to sleep, but she just sits in a chair or goes walking and her face looks very different from the way it looks at other times." The servant nodded, and Consuelo went in to bed.
"I have French blood," Señora Ramirez was saying to Señora Espinoza. "I am very delicate for that reason—too delicate for my husband."
Señora Espinoza seemed worried by the confession of her friend. She had no interest in gossip or in what people had to say about their lives. To Señora Ramirez she was like a man, and she often had dreams about her in which she became a man.
The traveler was highly amused.
"I'll be damned!" he said. "All this because of an old corset. Some people have nothing to think about in this world. It's funny, though, funny as a barrel of monkeys."
To Señorita Côrdoba it was not funny. "It's too bad," she said. "Very much too bad that the corset was spoiled. What are you doing here in this country?"
"I'm buying textiles. At least, I was, and now I'm just taking a little vacation here until the next boat leaves for the United States. I kind of miss my family and I'm anxious to get back. I don't see what you're supposed to get out of traveling."
"Oh, yes, yes. Surely you do," said Señorita Côrdoba politely. "Now if you will excuse me I am going inside to do a little drawing. I must not forget how in this peasant land."
"What are you, an artist?" he asked.
"I draw dresses." She disappeared.
"Oh, God!" thought the traveler after she had left. "Here I am, left alone, and I'm not sleepy yet. This empty patio is so barren and so uninteresting, and as far as Seiiorita Côrdoba is concerned, she's an iceberg. I like her neck though. She has a neck like a swan, so long and white and slender, the kind of neck you dream about girls having. But she's more like a virgin than a swan." He turned around and noticed that Señora Ramirez was still sitting in her chair. He picked up his own chair and carried it over next to hers.
