by Pierre Louys
But, as far as I was concerned, Concha remained invulnerable.
I didn’t go any closer. I stayed about three paces away and spoke to her from there. She was still standing up against the wall, perfectly straight above her long black stockings, like a flower in a slender vase, with her hands clasped behind her back, her chest thrust forward, and her feet together.
“Well then,” I began, “what have you got to say for yourself? Come on now, make something up! Defend yourself! Lie to me again – after all, you do it so well!”
“Oh! Now isn’t that just marvellous!” she exclaimed. “You’re accusing me! You come in here through the window, like a thief, smashing everything, and then you threaten me, you disrupt my dance, you force my friends to leave …”
“Shut up!”
“ … You’ll very likely get me dismissed from here too – and now I’m the one who has to explain myself! Of course, it was me who did all the damage, wasn’t it? And this ridiculous scene – I suppose it’s me who provoked it! Oh! Just leave, will you? You’re too stupid for words!”
And as, after her lively dance, beads of sweat were welling up from a thousand different points all over her glistening skin, she took a towel out of a side-board and rubbed herself up and down, from her belly to her head, as if she’d just stepped out of the bath.
“And so,” I resumed, “that’s what you’ve been up to in the very building in which I come to see you! That’s what you do for a living! That’s the woman I love!”
“That’s right. And you knew nothing about it, did you, you simpleton?”
“Me?”
“But no, of course you didn’t! Everyone in Spain talks about it, they know about it in Paris and Buenos Aires, and in Madrid even a twelve-year-old child can tell you that in the leading dance hall in Cadiz, the women dance stark naked. But you, who are forty years old, who aren’t married, you expect me to believe that no-one had told you about it!”
“I’d forgotten.”
“He’d forgotten! You’ve been coming here for two months, you’ve seen me go upstairs to the little room four times a week …”
“That’s enough, Concha; you’re making me suffer atrociously.”
“So now you know what it’s like! I’ll get my revenge for what you’ve done to me this evening, Mateo, because you’re behaving spitefully, out of stupid jealousy, and I’d like to know by what right! After all, who are you to treat me like this? Are you my father, eh? – No! Are you my husband? – No! Are you my lover …?”
“Yes! I’m your lover! I am!”
“Indeed! Well, you make do with very little for your pains!”
And she burst out laughing.
“Concha, my child,” I said, paling terribly once again, “speak to me, tell me now: is there anyone else? If you already belong to another, I swear I’ll leave you. Just say the word.”
“I belong to no-one but myself, and right now that’s the way it’s staying. I’m the most precious thing I have, Mateo, and no-one’s rich enough to make me part with myself.”
“But those men, those two men who were here a moment ago …?”
“What is it now? Do you suppose I know who they are?”
“Is that really true? You don’t know them?”
“No, of course I don’t know them! Where on earth do you think I could have met them? They’re just a couple of foreigners who arrived here with a hotel guide, that’s all. They’re leaving for Tangiers tomorrow. I’ve hardly compromised myself, my friend.”
“And what about here? Right here?”
“Really now, just look around you: is this a bedroom? Search the whole building: is there a bed anywhere? And besides, you saw them yourself, Mateo. They were dressed up like dummies, sitting there with their hats on their heads and their chins resting on their canes. You must be mad, I tell you, absolutely mad to make such a scene when I haven’t done a single thing for which you can reproach me.”
*
Even had she defended herself much worse than that, I believe I’d still have made excuses for her, so greatly did I crave forgiveness. I was only afraid that she might actually own up to something.
One final question was already tormenting me.
As I asked it, I was trembling all over:
“And Morenito? … Tell me the truth, Concha. This time I really want to know. Swear that you won’t try to hide anything from me, and that if there’s anything between you, you’ll tell me everything. Please, my dear child, I beseech you!”
“Morenito? He was in my bed this morning.”
For a moment everything went black, and then my arms closed around her and I hugged her tightly, hardly knowing myself whether I wanted to smother her or ravish her from some imaginary rival.
She realised this, and laughingly cried out:
“Let go! Let go of me, Mateo! For a minute there you were becoming dangerous. You might have had me against my will, in a fit of jealousy. That’s better. Now, stay where you are! I’m going to explain … But there’s no need to tremble like that, my poor friend, really there isn’t.”
“Is that so?”
“Morenito lives with his two sisters, Mercedes and Pipa. They’re very poor. There’s only one bed for the three of them, and it’s not very big. So, since the weather’s been so hot lately, they prefer to sleep less tightly squashed together after their eight hours’ dancing, and they send the little lad to stay with the other girls in the house. This week mama’s taking part in the Perpetual Adoration at the parish church. She’s not at home when I’m in bed, and so Mercedes asked me if I had any room for her brother, and I said yes. I don’t see that there’s anything for you to get worried about.”
I looked at her without replying.
“Oh!” she went on, “If that’s still what’s bothering you, you can set your mind at rest! I no more yield to him, you know, than do his sisters. Honestly – I give you my word. He barely even kisses me four or five times before going to sleep, and then I turn over with my back to him, as if we were married.”
She pulled her stocking back up over her right thigh, then slowly added:
“As if I were with you.”
The thoughtlessness, impudence or plain craftiness of that woman – for I really didn’t know what to make of her – left me feeling utterly bewildered, and conscious only of my own mental suffering. In fact, I was even more unhappy than uncertain; but this unhappiness was too unbearable for words.
I very gently took her onto my lap. She didn’t try to stop me.
“Listen to me, my child,” I said. “I can’t go on living according to your whims as I’ve been doing for the past year. You must speak to me quite frankly now, and perhaps for the last time. I’m suffering terribly, and if you spend another day in this dance hall, or even in this town, you’ll never see me again. Is that what you want, Conchita?”
*
“You’ve never understood me, Don Mateo,” she replied, in a voice so changed that it was like listening to a completely different woman. “You thought that you were chasing after me and that I was with-holding myself from you, when, on the contrary, it’s I who love you, and want you to be mine for the rest of my life. You remember at the Fábrica? Was it you who accosted me? Was it you who took me away from there? No. It was I who ran down the street after you and dragged you along to my mother’s, keeping you there almost forcibly, I was so afraid I might lose you. And next day … Do you remember that too? You came in. I was alone. You didn’t even kiss me. I can still picture you, in the armchair, with your back to the window … Then, throwing myself upon you, I held your head in my hands, and your lips to mine, and – I’ve never told you this before – but I was very young then, and it was during that kiss, Mateo, that for the first time in my life I felt a sensation of pleasure melting inside me … I was sitting on your lap, just as I am now …”
Overcome with emotion, I held her close. She’d won me back, just like that, with a few words. She was simply toying with me, in wh
atever way she saw fit.
“I’ve never loved anyone but you,” she went on, “ever since that December night when I saw you in the train, just after I’d left my convent in Avila. At first I loved you because you’re handsome. Your eyes are so bright, and have such a tender expression in them, that I was sure that every woman you’d met must have fallen in love with them too. If you only knew how many nights I’ve spent thinking of those eyes of yours! But later on I came to love you most of all because of your goodness. I wouldn’t have wished to join my life to that of a man who was selfish as well as handsome, for, as you know, I’m far too self-centred myself to accept ever being anything less than completely happy. No; I wanted all the happiness I could get, and I soon realised that if I asked you, you’d make this possible.”
“But then why this long silence, my precious?”
“Because what’s good enough for other women still doesn’t satisfy me. Not only do I want all the happiness, I also want it for all the rest of my life. I want to marry you, Mateo, so that I’ll be able to go on loving you when you no longer love me. Oh, don’t be alarmed! We won’t go to the church, nor before the mayor. I’m a good Christian, but I know that God smiles on true love, and I’ll get to Heaven ahead of plenty of women who are married. I won’t ask you to wed me publicly, because I know that’s out of the question. You’ll never address the woman who danced naked in this dreadful hovel, in front of all the foreigners who passed through here, as Doña Concepción Pérez de Díaz …”
And she burst into tears.
“Concepción, my child,” I went, deeply moved, “calm yourself, now. I love you. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“No!” she cried, giving a sob. “No, I don’t wish it! It’s impossible! I don’t want you to sully your good name by adding mine to it. And so now, you see, I can no longer accept your generosity. In the eyes of the world, Mateo, we won’t be married; but you’ll treat me as if I were your wife, and you must promise never to abandon me. I’m not asking for much: just a little house of my own, somewhere close to you. And a dowry. The same dowry you’d give to the woman you were going to marry. I’ve nothing to offer you in return, my darling. Nothing except my undying love – along with my virginity, that I’ve kept for you in spite of everyone.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SCENE BEHIND A CLOSED IRON GATE
Never before had she spoken to me in such a touching and unaffected way. I believed that I’d finally succeeded in releasing her true soul from behind the proud, ironic mask that had kept it hidden from me for too long, and with my moral recovery, a new life opened out before me.
(By the way, do you happen to know that remarkable painting by Goya in the Madrid art gallery, the first on your left as you enter the room on the last floor? Four women in flounced skirts, standing on a garden lawn, are holding out a shawl by its four corners and, laughing all the while, are bouncing a man-sized puppet up and down on it …)
Anyway, we returned to Seville.
By now she’d recovered her mocking voice and her distinctive smile; but I no longer felt worried. A Spanish proverb tells us that “Women, like cats, belong to whoever takes care of them”. I took excellent care of her, and I was just happy that she should let me do so!
I’d managed to convince myself that she’d never swerved from the path that had led her to me; that she’d really been the one who’d accosted me and then, little by little, seduced me; and that her twice running away could be accounted for not, as I’d suspected, by wretched material calculations, but by my own misconduct, mine alone, and by my neglecting my obligations. I even forgave her for her indecent dancing, telling myself that at the time she’d despaired of ever being able to live out her dream with me, and that in Cadiz a young virgin can scarcely earn a living without assuming at least the appearance of a woman of pleasure.
But what can I say? I loved her.
On the very day of our return, I found a large house for her in the calle Lucena, in front of the parish church of San Isidorio. It’s a quiet district, virtually deserted in summer, but cool and shady. I could see her being happy in this yellow and mauve street, not far from the calle del Candilejo, where Carmen entertained Don José.
The house needed furnishing. I wanted to get it done quickly, but she was terribly capricious. An interminable week went by amidst decorators and removal men. But for me it was like a week of wedding festivities. Concha became almost tender, and if she still held out, it seemed to be half-heartedly, as if in order to avoid breaking the promises that she’d made to herself.
I didn’t try to rush her.
When I decided that I ought to settle her mistress-wife’s dowry on her in advance, I recalled her reserve the day she’d asked me for this pledge of future constancy. She didn’t impose any particular amount on me and so, anxious to avoid disappointing her, I presented her with five hundred thousand pesetas – which she accepted, moreover, like a bit of loose change.
The weekend was drawing near. I was beside myself with impatience. Never did fiancé long more ardently for his wedding day. Henceforth I need no longer fear her former coquettish ways: she was mine, I’d fathomed her out, and I’d responded to her pure desire for a happy, blameless life. The love that she’d been unable to hide from me during her last night as a dancer was going to be able to express itself freely for many untroubled years to come, and now nothing but joy, utter joy, awaited me in the white bridal house in the calle Lucena.
Just what this joy would be – that’s what you’re about to find out.
On a whim that I found delightful, she’d expressed the wish to enter her new house – at long last ready for us both – ahead of me and there, all alone, receive me like a secret visitor on the stroke of midnight.
When I arrived, I found the iron gate was barred shut.
I rang. After a few moments Concha came down and smiled at me. She was wearing a plain pink skirt and a small cream-coloured shawl, and had two large red flowers in her hair. In the bright evening light I could make out every detail of her features.
She walked slowly up to the gate, still smiling.
“Kiss my hands,” she said.
The gate remained closed.
“Next, kiss the hem of my skirt, and underneath the toe of my slipper.”
Her voice seemed radiant.
“Good,” she continued, “now go away.”
A cold sweat ran down my temples. I felt that I could guess everything that she was going to say and do.
“Conchita, my girl … You’re joking … You’re having a laugh … Tell me now …”
“Oh yes! I’m having a laugh all right! If that’s all you want to know, well, I may as well tell you! I’m laughing! I’m laughing! Are you satisfied? I’m laughing with all my heart – listen, just listen how I’m laughing! Ha! Ha! I’m laughing as no-one’s laughed since laughter was invented! I’m convulsed, choking, bursting with laughter! You’ve never seen me so merry! I’m laughing as if I were tipsy! Look at me, Mateo, see how happy I am!”
And she threw up her arms and snapped her fingers like a dancer.
“Free! I’m free of you! Free for the rest of my life! Mistress of my body and of my blood! Oh, don’t try to come in – the gate’s far too secure! But stay a bit longer. I wouldn’t feel happy if I hadn’t got everything off my chest.”
She moved forward again and spoke to me from close to, in a ferocious voice, her head clamped between her fingernails:
“I loathe you, Mateo. Words simply cannot express how much I detest you. If you were covered in ulcers, filth and vermin, I couldn’t find you more repulsive than I do already when your skin comes near to mine. It’s all over now, God willing. I’ve been running away from you for fourteen months, but you always get me back and every time you touch me, you clasp me in your arms, your lips search for mine … Ugh! How it revolts me! At night I used to spit each of your kisses out onto the floor. You’ll never know how my flesh crept when you climbed into my bed! Oh, how I’ve h
ated you! How I’ve prayed to God, that He might turn against you! I’ve received Holy Communion seven times since last winter, so that you might die the day after being ruined by me. Let it be as God wills! I no longer care – I’m free! Now go away, Mateo. I’ve done.”
I stood there, as if turned to stone.
“Go away!” she repeated. “Haven’t you understood?”
Then, as I could neither speak nor move, for my mouth had gone dry and my legs seemed frozen to the spot, she sprang back towards the staircase, and her eyes blazed with a kind of fury.
“So you won’t go away!” she shouted. “You won’t go away? Right then, I’ll show you!”
And with a cry of triumph, she called out:
“Morenito!”
My arms were trembling so much that I was shaking the bars of the gate around which my fists were clenched.
There he was. I watched him come down.
Throwing back her shawl, she opened her bare arms wide to greet him.
“Here he comes – my lover! See how handsome he is! And how young, Mateo! Watch me carefully now. How I adore him! … Come, my little darling, give me your lips! … Once more … And again … Longer … How sweet life is! Ah! I’m so in love! …”
And that’s not all she was saying to him …
Finally … as if she deemed my torment insufficient … she … I can hardly bring myself to tell you, sir … she joined with him … there … in front of me … right before my very eyes …
I can still hear, like the buzzing of an insect in its death throes, the moans of pleasure that made her mouth tremble even as mine gasped for air – and also the tone of her voice when, as she went back upstairs with her lover, she threw this final phrase at me:
