Felipe Alfau - Locos - A Comedy of Gestures

“Yes. my mother—” Garcia attempted a sigh. His throat closed and quenched it. “My mother gave it to me on the day of my first communion. ” he attempted the skeptical smile, but he knew that it was only a grimace—”I shall always keep it. ” He could not remember the speech he had so often delivered; there was something else that he wanted to say. “Some people think it silly. yes, there is only one mother, you know. there is only one mother. Oh! There is only. ” He felt choking, for once tears were coming to his aid. No, to spoil his acting, to give him away. He did not suspect himself capable of producing tears and now he wished.

The beggar was watching him from the other side of the table with that profound, wise smile of his, and there was greatness in his countenance. Garcia felt small and mean before that man. He knew that the beggar could read through him, that he was laughing at him, at his efforts and failing attempts at hypocrisy, resenting having his intelligence offended so grossly. Garcia knew that he was a poor amateur before a great master in a profession greater than his, in a great profession; a man who had grown white hair playing on human sympathy and sentiments; a man who understood, with whom all this farce was unnecessary and useless.

And the beggar was watching him and smiling indulgently, almost like a father to a son, seeing through him, looking through him and recognizing beyond this miserable Garcia infinite other Garcias whom he had encountered in his long, intense life, disappointed at finding that people are always false and weak, that they lack the courage to be direct, that a man would lower himself to try and deceive a master for a small golden coin. And Garcia could no longer meet the smiling eyes of the beggar and felt the blood mounting to his cheeks; he felt ashamed, another new feeling he owed to this extraordinary man, and an overwhelming desire to be sincere, to confess to this understanding soul; he felt repentant and that tears were pushing their way out mightily. And then Garcia burst out crying and reached across the table and pressed the beggar’s hand.

“That story I told you about my mother giving me the coin is not true. it is not true. I am just a dirty liar. I have repaid your generosity with a lie. My mother never gave me such a coin, I bought it myself.” Garcia’s expression was now quite comical, his staring eyes trying to assume an appealing look and the saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. “My mother never gave it to me. I only said that for effect and everything I said was nothing but a lie. forgive me; you are a great man and can forgive, you understand. I admire you, Don Laureano, I am proud to be your friend. I. ”

The beggar assumed an expression as much like what he thought Garcia expected as possible. With his free hand he patted Garcia’s hand:

“You need not explain, my boy.” Garcia just loved this boy. “I told you that there was no necessity to explain. Of course, I understand, but don’t worry. After all, it is all the same to me. Really, all this is none of my business. The coin is yours, you gave it to me by mistake. all this is. unnecessary. ” He filled his glass and drank it.

“I never would have taken it back from you. but I will be frank with you now. It is all I have. I am broke. I have not eaten since last night because, in my stupidity, I thought that the coin was more profitable in my pocket than in my stomach. As a matter of fact, I only had that coin and a five centimes piece, which I intended to give to you.” Garcia produced the copper coin. “Here it is. have it, it was intended for you.”

The beggar pushed back the coin.

“You need it more than I. I could not accept it after what you say.”

“But it is your profession, this is a business question; you cannot refuse me that pleasure, at least let me feel. ”

“Impossible, it would be a crime; it makes me realize how often men who need money more than we do, come to our aid and keep our business going. Impossible, impossible, you keep it; it would be a crime.”

The Ojen was taking effect on both men alike. The beggar felt now for this stranger before him a sympathy he had never given to anyone before. He felt friendly toward this young man who had come to him with the intention of deceit and then had broken down and cried in bitter sincerity before his obvious superiority. A tremendous affection for this honest youth who recognized his indubitable greatness; an infinite sorrow for this poor being who had not eaten since the night before, who had offered him alms at a moment in which it meant that he was giving his last negotiable piece of money away for charity. He was sorry for this man who, impelled by necessity, was now on the verge of changing a coin upon which he had based all the past transactions of his life. And he also felt admiration for this young man who, on an empty stomach, showed enough character to admit his hypocrisy, to give himself away, because with an amazing intuition he had recognized in him a great man. And the tears rolled from the beggar’s eyes.

“You say you have not eaten since last night?”

“Yes. You see, I have accepted a position, but I do not begin working until next month. I have no money now and I did not want to change this coin because I depended on the sentimental tale attached to it for borrowing money from my friends. But your great example has enlightened me. I will change the coin now, I shall never borrow again. I have accepted a position and will work honestly for my money. You have saved me.!”

“Yes, my friend, you are right; you must work honestly; follow my example; it is hard, I know it. I usually work from six in the morning until six in the evening, but there is a satisfaction in knowing that you have earned a modest living, that you owe nothing to anyone. ”

Both men looked at each other and again cried abundantly in silence. At last the beggar repeated stupidly:

“You say you have not eaten since last night?”

Garcia shook his head.

“Lunarito!” cried the beggar suddenly with a broken voice.

Lunarito appeared at the door and regarded both men with the utmost perplexity. They were holding each other’s hands, their cheeks wet with tears.

“Lunarito, set another dish. This gentleman will do me the honor of dining with me. And bring another bottle of Ojen.”

Lunarito brought the dish and the bottle and Garcia began to eat in silence. He felt terribly hungry; the Ojen had awakened his appetite, which had long since gone to sleep for lack of attention. The beggar watched him eat with a tender expression. Every time Garcia lifted his eyes from the dish, the beggar met them with a maternal smile and filled both glasses with Ojen. At last he cried again:

“Lunarito, Lunarito, bring another glass.”

Lunarito appeared with a glass in her hand and a blank expression on her face. Garcia looked up from his dish. The beggar smiled:

“A toast, a toast. At last the hour of acknowledgment between two social classes has arrived.” He addressed Garcia, who staggered to his feet and filled the three glasses.

“To you, my friend, my brother.!” They all drank, Lunarito obediently.

Garcia felt a necessity to refer to politics as he always did when he heard the word classes mentioned:

“If the government only knew.!”

The beggar circled around the table and approached Garcia confidentially. Lunarito disappeared again.

“Never mind the government, my boy. you say that you are broke?” he whispered.

“What did you say?”

“That you have no money,” the beggar explained.

“Oh, yes, I am broke, but now I am going to change this coin and that will carry me through.”

“Change that coin? No, my boy, don’t even think of such a thing. You said your father gave it to you on your birthday?”