Джон Стейнбек - Cup of Gold [Золотая чаша]

She withdrew her head as though she renounced them for being only men.

In the afternoon a fire broke out. Tall flames lanced into the sky. A section caught, a street; half the city was burning.

Henry Morgan went to the Palace of the Governor to establish his quarters, and there, in the doorway, stood Don Juan Perez de Guzman, with a naked rapier in his hand.

"I am the Governor," he said brokenly. "My people looked to me to defend them against this scourge. I have failed-but perhaps I can manage to kill you."

Henry Morgan looked at the ground. Something about this hysterical man unnerved him. "I did not set the fire," he said. "Some of your own slaves did that out of revenge, I think."

Don Juan moved forward with his drawn rapier. "Defend yourself!" he cried.

Captain Morgan did not change his position.

The sword dropped from the Governor's hand. "I am a coward-a coward," he cried. "Why did I not strike without speaking? Why did you not oppose me? Ah, I am a coward! I waited too long. I should never have spoken at all, but driven my point into your throat. I wanted to die a moment ago-to die as a kind of atonement for my failure-and to take you with me as a peace offering to my conscience. Panama is gone-and I should be gone, too. It is as though a finger continued to live after the body had died. But I cannot die now. I haven't the courage. And I cannot kill you. I realize how I pretended. Ah! if I had only acted quickly! If I had not spoken-" He walked away toward the gate and the open country.

Henry Morgan watched him drunkenly lurching out of the city.

The black night came. Nearly all of the city was in flame, a garden of red fire. The tower of the Cathedral crashed down and threw a heaven of sparks into the air. Panama was dying in a bed of flame, and the buccaneers were murdering the people in the streets.

All night the captain sat in the audience chamber while his men brought in the gathered plunder. They piled golden bars on the floor like cordwood, bars so heavy that two men carried each of them with difficulty. There were little stacks of jewels like glittering haycocks, and in a corner the precious vestments of the church were heaped, the stock of a heavenly old clothes market.

Henry Morgan sat in a tall chair carved in the likeness of many serpents.

"Have you found La Santa Roja? "

"No, sir. The women of the town are more like devils. "

Prisoners were brought in to be put to the torture with a thumbscrew taken from the Spanish prison.

"Kneel! Your wealth? [Silence] Turn, Joe! "

"Mercy! Mercy! I will lead you; I swear it. A cistern near my house. "

Another-

"Kneel! Your wealth? Turn, Joe! "

"I will lead you. "

As regular, ruthless, and unfeeling they were as master slaughterers in a cow pen.

"Have you found La Santa Roja? I will hang all of you if she is harmed. "

"No one has seen her, sir. The men, except a few, are drunk. "

All through the night-With each confession of wealth concealed, the victim was led out by a party of searchers, and soon they would return, bearing cups and silver plates, jewels, and clothing of colored silk. The glowing treasure in the Hall of Audience was becoming one enormous heap.

And Captain Morgan, wearily: "Have you found the Red Saint?"

"We have not found her, sir, but we are seeking and inquiring over the whole city. Perhaps in the daylight, sir-"

"Where is Coeur de Gris?"

"I think he is drunk, sir, but-" He looked away from Henry Morgan.

"But what? What do you mean?" the captain cried.

"Nothing; I mean nothing at all, sir. It is almost certain that he is drunk. Only it takes such gallons of wine to make him drunk, and perhaps he has found a friend in the meantime."

"Did you see him with any one?"

"Yes, sir, I saw him with a woman, and she was drunk. I could swear that Coeur de Gris was drunk, too."

"Did you think the woman might have been La Santa Roja?"

"Oh, no, sir; I am sure it was not she. Only one of the women of the town, sir."

There was a clash of golden service thrown on the pile.

A yellow dawn crept out of the little painted hills of Panama and grew bolder as it edged across the plain.

The sun flashed up from behind a peak, and its golden rays sought for their city. But Panama had died, had felt the quick decay of fire in one red night. But then, as the sun is a fickle sphere, the seeking beams found joy in the new thing. They lighted on the poor ruins, peered into upturned dead faces, raced along the cluttered streets, fell headlong into broken patios. They came to the white Palace of the Governor, leaped through the windows of the audience chamber, and fingered the golden heap on the floor.

Henry Morgan was asleep in the serpent chair. His purple coat was draggled with the mud of the plain.

The gray-clad rapier lay on the floor beside him. He was alone in this room, for all the men who had helped to pick the city's bones during the night had gone away to drink and to sleep.

It was a high, long room, walled with panels of polished cedar. The beams of the ceiling were as black and heavy as old iron. It had been a court of justice, a place of wedding feasts, the hall where ambassadors were toasted or murdered. One door opened on the street; the other, a broad, arched opening, let into a lovely garden about which the Palace lay curled. In the middle of the garden a little marble whale spouted its steady stream into a pool. There were giant plants in red glazed pots, plants with purple leaves and flowers whose petals bore arrow heads or hearts or squares in cardinal. There were shrubs, lined with harsh tracery in the mad colors of the jungle. A monkey no larger than a rabbit picked over the gravel of the path, looking for seeds.

On one of the stone seats of the garden a woman was sitting. She pulled a yellow flower to bits while she sang fragments of a tender, silly song-"I would pluck the flower of the day for you, my love, where it grows in the dawning." Her eyes were black, but opaque. They were the rich, sheening, shallow black of a dead fly's wings, and under the lids there were sharp little lines. She could draw up the under lids of her eyes so that they shone with laughter, though her mouth remained harsh and placid. Her skin was very pale, her hair straight and black as obsidian.

Now she looked at the sun's inquisitive light, and now at the arched doorway of the Hall of Audience.

Her singing stopped. She listened intently a moment, then started the gentle song again. There was no other sound save the distant cracklings of the fire which still burned among the palm slave huts on the outskirts of the city. The little monkey came at a funny, crooked gallop along the path. He stopped in front of the woman and raised his black paws above his head as though in prayer.

The woman spoke softly to him. "You have learned your lesson well, Chico. Your teacher was a Castilian with a fearful mustache. I am well acquainted with him. Do you know, Chico, he wants what he considers my honor. He will not be satisfied until he has added my honor to his own, and then he will be almost boastful. You have no idea of the size and weight of his honor even as it is. But you would be satisfied with a nut, wouldn't you, Chico?" She dropped a piece of her flower to the tiny beast, whereupon he seized it, put it in his mouth, and spat in disgust.

"Chico! Chico! you forget your teacher! That is all wrong. You will get no woman's honor by it. Place the flower over your heart, kiss my hand with a loud snapping sound, and then stride off like a fierce sheep out searching for wolves." She laughed and glanced again toward the doorway. Although there was no sound, she rose and walked quickly toward the Hall of Audience.

Henry Morgan had turned slightly in his chair, and his turning allowed the sunlight to beat upon his eyelids. Suddenly he sat up and stared about him. He looked with satisfaction at the heap of treasure on the floor, then gazed full in the eyes of the woman standing under the broad arch.