Chapter 53
"_El destino_," he murmured. "I shall certainly see there the tobacco-shop that one day I shall have."
For two or three days Rodrigo guarded the pension against the conjuror and his spies. By this time between Concetta's apprehensions and Mrs.
Gainsborough's exaggeration of them, Zozo had acquired a demoniac menace, lurking in the background of enjoyment like a child's fear.
The train for Algeciras would leave in the morning at four o'clock. It was advisable, Rodrigo thought, to be at the railway station by two o'clock at the latest; he should come with a carriage to meet them.
Would the Senorita excuse him this evening, because his mother--he gave one of his inimitable shrugs to express the need of sometimes yielding to maternal fondness--wished him to spend his last evening with her.
At two o'clock next morning Rodrigo had not arrived, but at three a carriage drove up and the coachman handed Sylvia a note. It was in Spanish to say that Rodrigo had met with an accident and that he was very ill. He kissed the Senorita's hand. He believed that he was going to die, which was his only consolation for not being able to go with her to Gibraltar; it was _el destino_; he had brought the accident on himself.
Sylvia drove with Mrs. Gainsborough and Concetta to the railway station.
When she arrived and found that the train would not leave till five, she kept the coachman and, after seeing her companions safely into their compartment, drove to where Rodrigo lived.
He was lying in a hovel in the poorest part of the city. His mother, a ragged old woman, was lamenting in a corner; one or two neighbors were trying to quiet her. On Sylvia's arrival they all broke out in a loud wail of apology for the misfortune that had made Rodrigo break his engagement. Sylvia paid no attention to them, but went quickly across to the bed of the sick boy. He opened his eyes and with an effort put out a slim brown arm and caught hold of her hand to kiss it. She leaned over and kissed his pale lips. In a very faint voice, hiding his head in the pillow for shame, he explained that he had brought the accident on himself by his boasting. He had boasted so much about the tobacco-shop and the favor of the Senorita that an older boy, another guide, a--he tried to shrug his shoulders in contemptuous expression of this older boy's inferior quality, but his body contracted in a spasm of pain and he had to set criticism on one side. This older boy had hit him out of jealousy, and, alas! Rodrigo had lost his temper and drawn a knife, but the other boy had stabbed first. It was _el destino_ most unhappily precipitated by his own vainglory.
Sylvia turned to the women to ask what could be done. Their weeping redoubled. The doctor had declared it was only a matter of hours; the priest had given unction. Suddenly Rodrigo with a violent effort clutched at Sylvia's hand:
"Senorita, the train!"
He fell back dead.
Sylvia left money for the funeral; there was nothing more to be done. In the morning twilight she went down the foul stairs and back to the carriage that seemed now to smell of death.
When she arrived at the station a great commotion was taking place on the platform, and Mrs. Gainsborough appeared, surrounded by a gesticulating crowd of porters, officials, and pa.s.sengers.
"Sylvia! Well, I'm glad you've got here at last. She's gone. He's whisked her away. And can I explain what I want to these Spanish idiots?
No. I've shouted as hard as I could, and they _won't_ understand. They _won't_ understand me. They don't want to understand, that's my opinion."
With which Mrs. Gainsborough sailed off again along the platform, followed by the crowd, which, in addition to arguing with her occasionally, detached from itself small groups to argue furiously with one another about her incomprehensible desire. Sylvia extricated their luggage from the compartment, for the train to go to Algeciras without them; then she extricated Mrs. Gainsborough from the general noise and confusion that was now being added to by loud whistles from the impatient train.
"I was sitting in one corner and Concertina was sitting in the other,"
Mrs. Gainsborough explained to Sylvia. "I'd just bobbed down to pick up me gla.s.ses when I saw that Shoushou beckoning to her, though for the moment I thought it was the porter. Concertina went as white as paper.
'Here,' I hollered, 'what are you doing?' and with that I got up from me place and tripped over _your_ luggage and came down b.u.mp on the foot-warmer. When I got up she was gone. Depend upon it, he'd been watching out for her at the station. As soon as I could get out of the carriage I started hollering, and every one in the station came running round to see what was the matter. I tried to tell them about Shoushou, and they pretended--for don't you tell me I can't make myself understood if people want to understand--they pretended they thought I was asking whether I was in the right train. When I hollered 'Shoushou,' they all started to holler 'Shoushou' as well and nod their heads and point to the train. I got that aggravated, I could have
cloak-room. Well, that did make me annoyed, and I started in to tell them what I thought of such behavior. 'I don't want the moojeries,' I shouted. Then I tried to explain by ill.u.s.trating my meaning. I took hold of some young fellow and said 'Shoushou,' and then I caught hold of a hussy that was laughing, intending to make her Concertina, but the silly little b.i.t.c.h--really it's enough to make any one a bit unrefined--_she_ thought I was going to hit her and started in to scream the station-roof down. After that you came along, but of course it was too late."
Sylvia was very much upset by the death of Rodrigo and the loss of Concetta, but she could not help laughing over Mrs. Gainsborough's woes.
"It's all very well for you to sit there and laugh, you great tomboy, but it's your own fault. If you'd have let me bring Mr. Linthic.u.m, this wouldn't have happened. What could I do? I felt like a missionary among a lot of cannibals."
In the end Sylvia was glad to avail herself of the widower's help, but after two days even he had to admit himself beaten.
"And if he says they can't be found," said Mrs. Gainsborough, "depend upon it they can't be found--not by anybody. That man's as persistent as a beggar. When he came up to me this morning and cleared his throat and shook his head, well, then I knew we might as well give up hope."
Sylvia stayed on for a while in Granada because she did not like to admit defeat, but the sadness of Rodrigo's death and the disappointment over Concetta had spoiled the place for her. Here was another of these incomplete achievements that made life so bitter. She had thought for a brief s.p.a.ce that the solitary and frightened child would provide the aim that she had so ardently desired. Concetta had responded so sweetly to her protection, had chattered with such delight of going to England and of becoming English; now she had been dragged back. _El destino_!
Rodrigo's death did not affect her so much as the loss of that fair, slim child. His short life had been complete; he was spared forever from disillusionment, and by existing in her memory eternally young and joyous and wise he had spared his Senorita also the pain of disillusionment, just as when he was alive he had always a.s.sumed the little bothers upon his shoulders, the little bothers of every-day existence. His was a perfect episode, but Concetta disturbed her with vain regrets and speculations. Yet in a way Concetta had helped her, for she knew now that she held in her heart an inviolate treasure of love.
Never again could anything happen like those three months after she left Philip; never again could she treat any one with the scorn she had treated Michael; never again could she take such a cynical att.i.tude toward any one as that she had taken toward Lily. All these disappointments added a little gold tried by fire to the treasure in her heart, and firmly she must believe that it was being stored to some purpose soon to be showered prodigally, ah, how prodigally, upon somebody.
That evening Sylvia had made up her mind to return to England at once, but after she had gone to bed she was awakened by Mrs. Gainsborough's coming into her room and in a choked voice asking for help. When the light was turned on, Sylvia saw that she was enmeshed in a mosquito-net and looking in her nightgown like a large turbot.
"I knew it would happen," Mrs. Gainsborough panted. "Every night I've said to myself, 'It's bound to happen,' and it has. I was dreaming how that Shoushou was chasing me with a b.u.t.terfly-net, and look at me! Don't tell me dreams don't sometimes come true. Now don't stand there in fits of laughter. I can't get out of it, you unfeeling thing. I've swallowed about a pint of Keating's. I hope I sha'n't come out in spots. Come and help me out. I daren't move a finger, or I shall start off sneezing again. And every time I sneeze I get deeper in. It's something chronic."
"Didn't Linthic.u.m ever inform you how to get out of a mosquito-net that collapses in the middle of the night?" Sylvia asked, when she had extricated the old lady.
"No, the conversation never happened to take a turn that way. But depend upon it, I shall ask him to-morrow. I won't be caught twice."
Sylvia suddenly felt that it would be impossible to return to England yet.
"We must go on," she told Mrs. Gainsborough. "You must have more opportunities for practising what Linthic.u.m has been preaching to you."
"What you'd like is for me to make a poppy-show of myself all over the world and drag me round the Continent like a performing bear."
"We'll go to Morocco," Sylvia cried.
"Don't shout like that. You'll set me off on the sneeze again. You're here, there, and everywhere like a demon king, I do declare. Morocco?
That's where the leather comes from, isn't it? Do they have mosquito-nets there too?"
Sylvia nodded.
"Well, the first thing I shall do to-morrow is to ask Mr. Linthic.u.m what's the best way of fastening up a mosquito-net in Morocco. And now I suppose I shall wake up in the morning with a nose like a tomato. Ah, well, such is life."
Mrs. Gainsborough went back to bed, and Sylvia lay awake thinking of Morocco.
Mr. Linthic.u.m came to see them off on their second attempt to leave Granada. He cleared his throat rather more loudly than usual to compete with the noise of the railway, invited them to look him up if they ever came to Schenectady, pressed a book called _Five Hundred Facts for the Waistcoat Pocket_ into Mrs. Gainsborough's hands, and waved them out of sight with a large bandana handkerchief.
"Well, I shall miss that man," said Mrs. Gainsborough, settling down to the journey. "He must have been a regular education for his customers, and I shall never forget his recipe for avoiding bunions when mountaineering."
"How's that done?"
"Oh, I don't remember the details. I didn't pay any attention to them, because it's not to be supposed that I'm going to career up Mont Blong at my time of life. No, I was making a reference to the tone of his voice. They may be descended from Indians, but I dare say Adam wasn't much better than a red Indian, if it comes to that."
They traveled to Cadiz for the boat to Tangier. Mrs. Gainsborough got very worried on the long spit of land over which the train pa.s.sed, and insisted on piling up all the luggage at one end of the compartment in case they fell into the sea, though she was unable to explain her motive for doing this. The result was that, when they stopped at a station before Cadiz and the door of the compartment was opened suddenly, all the luggage fell out on top of three priests that were preparing to climb in, one of whom was knocked flat. Apart from the argument that ensued the journey was uneventful.
The boat from Tangier left in the dark. At dawn Cadiz glimmered like a rosy pearl upon the horizon.
"We're in Trafalgar Bay now," said Sylvia.
But Mrs. Gainsborough, who was feeling the effects of getting up so early, said she wished it was Trafalgar Square and begged to be left in peace. After an hour's doze in the sunlight she roused herself slightly:
"Where's this Trafalgar Bay you were making such a fuss about?"
"We've pa.s.sed it now," Sylvia said.
"Oh, well, I dare say it wasn't anything to look at. I'm bound to say the chocolate we had this morning does not seem to go with the sea air.
They're arguing the point inside me something dreadful. I suppose this boat is safe? It seems to be jigging a good deal. Mr. Linthic.u.m said it was a good plan to put the head between the knees when you felt a bit--well, I wouldn't say seasick--but you know.... I'm bound to say I think he was wrong for once. I feel more like putting my knees up over my head. Can't you speak to the captain and tell him to go a bit more quietly? It's no good racing along like he's doing. Of course the boat jigs. I shall get aggravated in two twos. It's to be hoped Morocco will be worth it. I never got up so early to go anywhere. Was that sailor laughing at me when he walked past? It's no good my getting up to tell him what I think of him, because every time I try to get up the boat gets up with me. It keeps b.u.t.ting into me behind like a great billy-goat."
Presently Mrs. Gainsborough was unable even to protest against the motion, and could only murmur faintly to Sylvia a request to remove her veil.
"Here we are," cried Sylvia, three or four hours later. "And it's glorious!"