The Torrent by Vicente Blasco Ibanez
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Vicente Blasco Ibanez >> The Torrent
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Rafael was still fond of Cupido, though not very intimate with him. In
all the sedate, conservative world around him, the barber seemed the
only person really worth while talking with. Cupido was almost an
artist. In winter he would go to Valencia to hear the operas praised by
the newspapers, and in one corner of his shop he had heaps of novels and
illustrated magazines, much mildewed and softened by the damp, and their
leaves worn through from continual thumbing by customers.
He had very little to do with Rafael, guessing that the youth's mother
would not regard such a friendship with any too much favor; but he
displayed a certain liking for the boy; and addressed him familiarly,
having known him as a child. Of Rafael he said everywhere:
"He's the best one in the family; the only Brull with more brains than
crookedness."
Nothing too small for Cupido to notice ever happened in Alcira. Every
weakness, every foible of the city's celebrities was made public by him
in his barbershop, to the delight of the Opposition, whose members
gathered there to read their party organ. The gentlemen of the
_Ayuntamiento_ feared the barber more than any ten newspapers combined,
and whenever some famous Conservative minister referred in parliament to
a "revolutionary hydra" or a "hotbed of anarchy," they pictured to
themselves a barbershop like that of Cupido, but much larger perhaps,
scattering a poisonous atmosphere of cruel gibe and perverse effrontery
all through the nation.
The barber was inevitably on hand where anything was going on. It might
be at the very end of the suburbs, or away out in the country. In a few
moments Cupido would put in an appearance to learn all about it, give
advice to those who might need it, arbitrate between disputants and
afterward tell the whole story with a thousand embellishments.
He had plenty of time on his hands for leading such a life. Two young
fellows, as crazy as their employer, tended shop. Cupido paid them with
music-lessons and meals--better or worse these latter, according to the
day's receipts, which were divided fraternally among the three. And if
the "boss" sometimes astonished the city by going out for a walk in
midwinter in a suit of white duck, they, not to be outdone, would shave
off their hair and eyebrows and show heads as smooth as billiard-balls
behind the shop windows, to the great commotion of the city, which would
flock _en masse_ to see "Cupido's Chinamen."
A flood was always a great day for the barber. He closed shop and
planted himself out on a bridge, oblivious to wind and rain, haranguing
the crowds of spectators, terrifying the stupid with his exaggerations
and inventions, and announcing hair-raising news which he asserted he
had just received from the Governor by telegraph, and according to
which, in two hours, there would not be a cellar-hole left of the place.
Even the miracle-working San Bernardo would be washed into the sea!
When Rafael found him upon the bridge that night, after the procession,
Cupido was on the point of coming to blows with several rustics, who had
grown indignant at his heresies.
Stepping aside from the crowd, the two began a conversation about the
dangers of the flood. Cupido, as usual, was well-informed. He had been
told a poor old man had been cut off in an orchard and drowned. That was
probably not the only accident that had taken place. Horses and pigs in
large numbers had drifted past under the bridge, early in the afternoon.
The barber talked earnestly and with some sadness, it seemed. Rafael
listened in silence, scanning his face anxiously, as if looking for a
chance to speak of something which he dared not broach.
"And how about the Blue House," he ventured finally, "that farm of dona
Pepa's where you go sometimes? Will anything be wrong down there?"
"It's a good solid place," the barber replied, "and this isn't the first
flood it's been through.... But it's right on the river, and by this
time the garden must be a lake; the water will surely be up to the
second story. I'll bet dona Pepa's poor niece is scared out of her
wits... Just imagine--coming from so far away and from such pretty
places, and running into a mess like this ..."
Rafael seemed to meditate for a moment. Then as if an idea that had been
dancing about in his head all day had just occurred to him, he said:
"Suppose we take a run down there!... What do you say, Cupido?"
"Down there!... And how'll we get there?"
But the proposal, from its very rashness, was bound to appeal to a man
like the barber, who at length began to laugh, as if the adventure were
a highly amusing one.
"You're right! We could get through! It will look funny, all right! Us
two paddling up like a couple of Venetian gondoliers to serenade a
celebrated prima donna in her fright ... I've a good mind to run home
and fetch my guitar along ..."
"What the devil, Cupido! No guitar business! What a josher you are! Our
job is to get those women out of there. They'll get drowned if we
don't."
The barber, insisting on his romantic idea, fixed a pair of shrewd eyes
on Rafael.
"I see! So you're interested in the illustrious _artiste_, too ... You
rascal! You're smitten on her reputation for good looks ... But no ... I
remember ... you've seen her; she told me so herself."
"She!... She spoke to you about me?"
"Oh, nothing important! She told me she saw you one afternoon up at the
Hermitage."
Cupido kept the rest to himself. He did not say that Leonora, on
mentioning Rafael's name, had added that he looked like an "idiot."
Rafael's heart leaped with joy! She had talked of him! She had not
forgotten that meeting which had left such a painful memory in him!...
What was he doing, then, standing like a fool there on that bridge, when
down at the Blue House they might be needing a man's help?
"Listen, Cupido; I have my boat right handy here; you know, the boat
father had made to order in Valencia as a present for me. Steel frame;
hard wood; safe as a warship. You know the river ... I've seen you
handle an oar more than once; and I've got a pair of arms myself ...
What do you say?"
"I say, let's go," the barber answered resolutely.
They asked for a torch, and with the help of several men dragged
Rafael's boat toward a stairway on the riverbank.
Above, through the crowds on the bridge, the news of the expedition
flashed, but exaggerated and much idealized by the curious. The men were
going to save a poor family that had taken refuge on the roof of a
house--poor devils in danger of being swept off at any moment. Rafael
had learned of their plight, and he was starting to save them at the
risk of his own skin. And a wealthy, powerful man like him, with so much
to live for! Damn it, those Brulls were all men, anyhow!... And yet see
how people talked against them! What a heart! And the peasants followed
the blood-red glow of the torch in the boat as it mirrored across the
waters, gazing adoringly at Rafael, who was sitting in the stern. Out of
the dark entreating voices called. Many loyal followers of the Brulls
were eager to go with the chief--drown with him, if need be.
Cupido protested. No; for a job like that, the fewer the better; the
boat had to be light; he would do for the oars and Rafael could steer.
"Let her go! Let her go!" called Rafael.
And the boat, after hesitating a second, shot off on the current.
In the narrow gorge between the Old City and the New, the swollen
torrent swept them along like lightning. The barber used his oars just
to keep the boat away from the shore. Submerged rocks sent great
whirlpools to the surface and pulled the boat this way and that. The
light of the torch cast a dull reddish glow out over the muddy eddies.
Tree trunks, refuse, dead animals, went floating by, shapeless masses
with only a few dark points visible above the surface, as though some
dead man covered with mud were swimming under water. Out on that
swirling current, with the slimy vapors of the river rising to his
nostrils and the eddies sucking and boiling all around, Rafael thought
himself the victim of a weird nightmare and began even to repent of his
rashness. Cries kept coming from houses close to the river; windows were
suddenly lighted up; and from them great shadowy arms like the wings of
a windmill waved in greeting to that red flame which people saw gliding
past along the river, bringing the outlines of the boat and the two men
into distinct view. The news of their expedition had spread throughout
the city and people were on the watch for them as they sped by: "_Viva_
don Rafael! _Viva_ Brull!"
But the hero who was risking his life to save a family of poor folks out
there in the darkness of that sticky, murky, sepulchral night, had in
mind only one thing--a blue house, into which he was to penetrate at
last, in so strange and romantic a fashion.
From time to time a scraping sound or a jolt of the boat would bring him
back to reality.
"Your tiller there!" Cupido would shout, without, however, taking his
eyes from the water ahead. "Look out, Rafaelito, or we'll get smashed!"
The boat was indeed a good one, for any other, would long before have
come to grief in those rapids jammed with rocks and debris.
They were around the city in no time. Few lighted windows were now to be
seen. High, steep banks of slippery mud--quite unscalable--crested with
walls, were slipping past on either hand, with an occasional palisade,
the piles just emerging from the water. Somewhat ahead, the open river,
where the two arms that girt the Old City reunited in what was now a
vast lake!
The two men went on blindly. All normal landmarks were gone. The banks
had disappeared, and in the blackness, beyond the red circle of torch
light, they could make out only water and then more water--an immense
incessantly rolling sheet that was taking them they knew not where. From
time to time a black spot would show above the muddy surface; the crest
of some submerged canebrake; the top of a tree; a strange, fantastic
vegetation that seemed to be writhing in the gloom. The river, free now
from the gorges and shallows around the city, had ceased its roaring. It
seethed and swirled along in absolute silence, effacing all trace of the
land. The two men felt like a couple of shipwrecked sailors adrift on a
shoreless, sunless ocean, alone save for the reddish flame flickering at
the prow, and the submerged treetops that appeared and vanished rapidly.
"Better begin to row, Cupido," said Rafael. "The current is very strong.
We must be still in the river. Let's turn to the right and see if we can
get into the orchards."
The barber bent to the oars, and the boat, slowly, on account of the
current, came around and headed for a line of tree-tops that peered
above the surface of the flood like seaweed floating on the ocean.
Shortly the bottom began to scrape on invisible obstacles. Entanglements
below were clutching at the keel, and it took some effort occasionally
to get free. The lake was still dark and apparently shoreless, but the
current was not so strong and the surface had stopped rolling. The two
men knew they had reached dead water. What looked like dark, gigantic
mushrooms, huge umbrellas, or lustrous domes, caught the reflection of
the torch, at times. Those were orange-trees. The rescuers were in the
orchards. But in which? How find the way in the darkness? Here and there
the branches were too thick to break through and the boat would tip as
if it were going over. They would back water, make a detour, or try
another route.
They were going very slowly for fear of striking something, zig-zagging
meanwhile to avoid snags. As a result they lost direction altogether,
and could no longer say which way the river lay. Darkness and water
everywhere! The submerged orange-trees, all alike, formed complicated
lanes over the inundation, a labyrinth in which they grew momentarily
more confused. They were now rowing about quite aimlessly.
Cupido was perspiring freely, under the hard work. The boat was moving
slower and slower because of the branches catching at the keel.
"This is worse than the river," he murmured. "Rafael, you're facing
forward. Can't you make out any light ahead?"
"Not a one!"
The torch would throw some huge clump of leaves into relief for a
moment. When that was gone, the light would be swallowed up into damp,
thick, empty space.
Thus they wandered about and about the flooded countryside. The barber's
strength had given out and he passed the oars over to Rafael, who was
also nearly exhausted.
How long had they been gone? Were they to stay there forever? And their
minds dulled by fatigue and the sense of being lost, they imagined the
night would never end--that the torch would go out and leave the boat a
black coffin, for their corpses to float in eternally.
Rafael, who was now facing astern suddenly noticed a light on his left.
They were going away from it; perhaps that was the house they had been
so painfully searching for.
"It may be," Cupido agreed. "Perhaps we went by without seeing it, and
now we're downstream, toward the sea.... But even if it is not the Blue
House, what of it? The main thing is to find someone there. That's far
better than wandering around here in the dark. Give me the oars, again
Rafael. If that isn't dona Pepita's place, at least we'll find out where
we are."
He pulled the boat around, and gradually they made their way through the
treetops toward the light. They struck several snags, orchard fences,
perhaps, or submerged walls--but the light kept growing brighter.
Finally it had become a large red square across which dark forms were
moving. Over the waters a golden, shimmering wake of light was
streaming.
The torch from the boat brought out the lines of a broad house with a
low roof that seemed to be floating on the water. It was the upper story
of a building that had been swamped by the inundation. The lower story
was under water. The flood, indeed, was getting closer to the upper
rooms. The balconies and windows looked like landings of a pier in an
immense lake.
"Seems to me as if we'd struck the place," the barber said.
A warm, resonant voice, that of a woman, vibrant, but with a deep,
melodious softness, broke the silence.
"Hey, you in the boat there!... Here, here!"
The voice betrayed no fear. It showed not a trace of emotion.
"Didn't I tell you so I ..." the barber exclaimed. "The very place we
were looking for. Dona Leonora!... It's I! It's I!"
A rippling laugh came out into gloom.
"Why, it's Cupido! It's Cupido!... I can tell him by his voice. Auntie,
auntie! Don't cry any more. Don't be afraid; and stop your praying,
please! Here comes the God of Love in a pearl shallop to rescue us!"
Rafael shrank at the sound of that somewhat mocking voice, which seemed
to people the darkness with brilliantly colored butterflies.
Now in the luminous square of a window he could make out the haughty
profile of a woman among other black forms that were going to and fro
past the light inside, in agreeable surprise at the unexpected visit.
The craft drew up to the balcony. The men rose to their feet and were
able to reach an iron railing. The barber, from the prow, was looking
for something strong where he could make the boat fast.
Leonora was leaning over the balustrade while the light from the torch
lit up the golden helmet of her thick, luxuriant hair. She was trying to
identify that other man down there who had bashfully sat down again in
the stern.
"You're a real friend, Cupido!... Thank you, thank you, ever and ever
so much. This is one of the favors we never forget.... But who has come
along with you?..."
The barber was already fastening the boat to the iron railing.
"It's don Rafael Brull," he answered slowly. "A gentleman you have met
already, I believe. You must thank him for this visit. The boat is his,
and it was he who got me out on this adventure."
"Oh, thank you, Senor Brull," said Leonora, greeting the man with the
wave of a hand that flashed blue and red from the rings on its fingers.
"I must repeat what I said to our friend Cupido. Come right in, and I
hope you'll excuse my introducing you through a second-story window."
Rafael had jumped to his feet and was answering her greeting with an
awkward bow, clasping the iron railing in order not to fall. Cupido
jumped into the house and was followed by the young man, who took pains
to make the climb gracefully and sprightly.
He was not sure how well he succeeded. That had been too much excitement
for a single night: first the wild trip through the gorges near the
city; then those hours of desperate aimless rowing over the winding
lanes of the flooded countryside; and now, all at once, a solid floor
under his feet, a roof over his head, warmth, and the society of that
madly beautiful woman, who seemed to intoxicate him with her perfume,
and whose eyes he did not dare meet with his own for fear of fainting
from embarrassment.
"Come right in, _caballero_," she said to him. "You surely need
something after this escapade of yours. You are sopping wet, both of
you.... Poor boys! Just look at them!... Beppa!... Auntie! But do come
in, sir!"
And she fairly pushed Rafael forward with a sort of maternal
authoritativeness, much as a kindly woman might take her child in hand
after he has done some naughty prank of which she is secretly proud.
The rooms were in disorder. Clothes everywhere and heaps of rustic
furniture that contrasted with the other pieces arranged along the
walls! The household belongings of the gardener had been brought
upstairs as soon as the flood started. An old farmer, his wife--who was
beside herself with fear--and several children, who were slinking in the
corners, had taken refuge in the upper story with the ladies, as soon as
the water began seeping into their humble home.
Rafael entered the dining-room, and there sat dona Pepita, poor old
woman, heaped in an armchair, the wrinkles of her features moistened
with tears and her two hands clutching a rosary. Cupido was trying
vainly to cheer her with jokes about the inundation.
"Look, auntie! This gentleman is the son of your friend, dona Bernarda.
He came over here in a boat to help us out. It was very nice of him,
wasn't it?"
The old woman seemed quite to have lost her mind from terror. She looked
vacantly at the new arrivals, as if they had been there all their lives.
At last she seemed to realize what they were saying.
"Why, it's Rafael!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Rafaelito.... And you
came to see us in such weather! Suppose you get drowned? What will your
mother say?... Lord, how crazy of you! Lord!"
But it was not madness, and even if it were, it was very sweet of him!
That, at least, was what Rafael seemed to read in those clear, luminous
eyes of the golden sparkles that caressed him with their velvety touch
every time he dared to look at them. Leonora was staring at him:
studying him in the lamplight, as if trying to understand the difference
between the man in front of her and the boy she had met on her walk to
the Hermitage.
Dona Pepa's spirits rallied now that men were in the house; and with a
supreme effort of will, the old lady decided to leave her armchair for a
look at the flood, which had stopped rising, if, indeed, it were not
actually receding.
"How much water, oh Lord our God!... How many terrible things we'll
learn of tomorrow! This must be a punishment from Heaven ... a warning
to us to think of our many sins."
Leonora meanwhile was bustling busily about, hurrying the refreshments.
Those gentlemen couldn't be left like that--she kept cautioning to her
maid and the peasant woman. Just imagine, with their clothes wet
through! How tired they must be after that all night struggle! Poor
fellows! It was enough just to look at them! And she set biscuits on the
table, cakes, a bottle of rum--everything, including a box of Russian
cigarettes with gilded tips--to the shocked surprise of the gardener's
wife.
"Let them come here, auntie," she said to the old lady. "Don't make them
talk any more now.... They need to eat and drink a little, and get
warm.... I'm sorry I have so little to offer you. What in the world can
I get for them? Let's see! Let's see!"
And while the two men were being forced, by that somewhat despotic
attentiveness, to take seats at the table, Leonora and her maid went
into the adjoining room, where keys began to rattle and tops of chests
to rise and fall.
Rafael, in his deep emotion, could scarcely manage a few drops of rum;
but the barber chewed away for all he was worth, downing glass after
glass of liquor, and talking on and on through a mouth crammed with food
while his face grew redder and redder.
When Leonora reappeared, her maid was following her with a great bundle
of clothes in her arms.
"You understand, of course, we haven't a stitch of men's clothes in the
house. But in war-time we get along as best we can, eh? We're in what
you might call a state of siege here."
Rafael noted the dimples that a charming smile traced in those wonderful
cheeks! And what perfect teeth--jewels in a casket of red velvet!
"Now, Cupido; off with those wet things of yours; you're not going to
catch pneumonia on my account, and thus deprive the city of its one
bright spot. Here's something to put on while we are drying your
clothes."
And she offered the barber a magnificent gown of blue velvet, with
veritable cascades of lace at the breast and on the sleeves.
Cupido nearly fell off his chair.... Was he going to dress in top style
for once in his life? And with those side-whiskers?... How the people in
Alcira would howl if they could only see him now! And entering at once
into the fun of the situation, he hastened into the next room to don his
gown.
"For you," Leonora said to Rafael with a motherly smile, "I could find
only this fur cloak. Come, now, take off that jacket of yours; it's
dripping wet."
With a blush, the young man refused. No, he was all right! Nothing would
happen to him! He had been wetter than that many times.
Leonora without losing her smile, seemed to grow impatient. No one in
that house ever talked back to her.
"Come, Rafael, don't be so silly. We'll have to treat you like a child."
And taking him by a sleeve, as if he were a refractory baby, she began
to pull at his jacket.
The young man, in his confusion, was hardly aware of what was taking
place. He seemed to be traveling along on an endless horizon, at greater
speed than he had been swept down the river just before. She had called
him by his first name; he was a pampered guest in a house he had for
months been trying in vain to enter, and she, Leonora, was calling him
"child" and treating him like a child, as if they had been friends all
their lives. What sort of woman was this? Was he not lost in some
strange world? The women of the city--the girls he met at the parties at
his home, seemed to be creatures of another race, living far, ever so
far, away, at the other end of the earth, cut off from him forever by
that immense sheet of water.
"Come, Mr. Obstinate, or we'll have to undress you like a doll."
She was bending over him; he could feel her breath upon his cheeks, and
the touch of her delicate, agile hands; and a sense of delicious
intoxication swept over him.
The fur coat was drawn snugly about his shoulders. It was a rare
garment; a cloak of blue fox as soft as silk, thick, yet light as the
plumes of some fantastic bird. Though Rafael passed for a tall man, its
edges touched the floor. The young man realized that thousands of francs
had suddenly been thrown over his back, and tremblingly he gathered the
bottom up, lest he should step upon it.
Leonora laughed at his embarrassment.
"Don't be afraid; no matter if you do tread on it. One would think you
were wearing a sacred veil from the respect you show that coat. It isn't
worth much. I use it only to travel in. A grandduke gave it to me in
Saint Petersburg."
And to show more clearly how little she prized the princely gift, she
wrapped it closer around the boy, patting at his shoulders to fit it
more tightly to him.
Slowly they walked back into the front room. Meanwhile, the appearance
of the barber, dressed in his luxuriant gown, was greeted with shouts of
laughter in the dining-room. Cupido was taking full advantage of the
occasion. The train in one hand and stroking his side-whiskers with the
other, he was writhing about like a prima donna in her big scene and
singing in a falsetto soprano voice. The peasant family laughed like
mad, forgetting the disaster that had overtaken their home; Beppa opened
her eyes wide, surprised at the elegant figure of the man, and the grace
with which he pronounced the Italian verses. Even poor dona Pepa hitched
around in her armchair and applauded. The barber, according to her, was
the most charming devil in the world.
Rafael was standing on the balcony, at Leonora's side, his gaze lost in
the darkness, his spirit lulled by the music of her sweet voice, his
body snug and comfortable in that elegant garment which seemed to have
retained something of the warmth and perfume of her shoulders. With
marks of very real interest, she was questioning him about the desperate
trip down the river.
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