Felipe Alfau - Locos - A Comedy of Gestures

There he took to drinking and leading a riotous life. His two main weaknesses had been gambling and women, and both things nearly dissolved his fortune in less than two years. Again he found himself almost in misery, but he was not a man to worry over such trifles. He was entirely too popular, good or bad, his reputation was established in that part of the world and he had too many good connections to be long without a fortune. Therefore, he squared his shoulders and prepared himself to seek new adventure.

A Vision

One afternoon, as Chinelato was going in his carriage toward La Luneta, he saw one of the few women whom he really loved in his life.

It was a sudden and unexpected vision that for a moment disturbed all his mental faculties. She went by in her light carriage completely dressed in white, but her dress as well as her golden curls and snowy complexion were deeply tinted with the pink glow coming from a red parasol she held over her head and that of an elderly lady who sat by her side, and the red reflection turned her great blue eyes into two wonderful purple amethysts.

Chinelato did not notice the details. He was just struck by the whole of this fleeting vision of gold and red that led away into the sunset enveloped in a cloud of ilan-ilan and sampaguita . He literally turned around inside his carriage and leaned against the folded top as if it were a window, his mouth open, his eyes following the red parasol receding in the distance like a poppy carried by the wind in the afternoon glow.

The gentleman who sat beside him pulled him by the sleeve and said in a bland voice:

“Le gusta, Señor Chinelato? ”

“Who. is. that?” he inquired, not yet quite recovered from the impression.

“She is Señorita Bejarano, the only daughter of Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa, a government employee here.”

“Well, she is the most beautiful creature I have seen, even if she is the daughter of a government employee.”

“Why, Señor Chinelato, I thought you were past the stage of looking at beautiful ladies. You are a married man.”

“You know very well how much marriage stands in the way of love in these countries. Really, that girl is just simply marvelous and if I. ”

“But your wife is very beautiful, too, Señor Chinelato. ”

Juan Chinelato was always greatly annoyed at people bringing up objections to things he liked.

“If you find my wife so beautiful, take her!” he said brutally.

The other man raised his eyebrows slightly but again smiled softly.

“What things you say, Señor Chinelato.”

“What the devil? I speak what I think and say it clearly. My wife does not interest me any longer. I seek my amusement elsewhere. It is just that she gets someone who will love her oftener than I do, provided it is not a priest.”

The other man laughed.

“Certainly. I don’t mind being a cuckold, but I refuse to be the provider of a priest. What the devil? They are the regular home-wreckers in this land. There is not a single home here where they have not smuggled their little bastard in some corner. They live on the fat of the land. and you know how much I like the fat ladies.”

“Yes. Señorita Bejarano is rather plump and well developed for her age.”

At the mention of this name Chinelato went into a reverie. He seemed to be talking to himself and mentally smacking his tongue. He remained silent a while and then ended aloud:

“. yes, she is a capital female!” and went back into his reverie and spoke no more during the rest of the drive.

When he woke from his thoughts the carriage was standing still and the other man was asking him to dine in his company.

Chinelato excused himself and said good-by. When the coachman was beginning to turn toward his home, he touched him on the shoulder with his cane and said:

“Drive for an hour or so anywhere. I don’t care what direction you choose, just keep going and then take me to the house of Don Esteban Bejarano.” And he leaned back on the cushions and closed his eyes.

And for a long time he remained in the same position without opening his eyes until his carriage stopped at the residence of Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa.

“So you knew The Black Mandarin?”

“I never met him personally but I have heard of him.”

“He was a novelistic character and I can’t help admiring him. With more men of his caliber, perhaps Spain might not have lost the Philippines to the United States when it did.”

“Psss. I don’t know about that. Perhaps with more men of his caliber Spain might have lost the Philippines to the natives. Perhaps, without the United States, he might have ended by owning the whole country. He practically ruled there. and that with enemies on both sides of the fence.”

“Yes, he was a strong character and at that time the most influential man there. They were afraid of him. He knew mankind entirely too well.”

“He had money and he knew the price of men. In his dealings with Spanish authorities he said that if he wanted to convince a man, he set down a pile of gold and then he added more gold to it, and as the pile grew taller the man grew weaker, until the pile collapsed and the man fell, too. He was a philosopher and a cynic also.”

“Yes, every man had a price there, but once he failed. True, it was not precisely a matter of politics but rather a personal question, and that was the first time that he did not get what he had set out to win. It was also the first time that he could not get revenge. But perhaps you have not heard of that incident?”

“I have a vague recollection.”

One day The Black Mandarin called at the residence of Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa.

When he was announced, Don Esteban failed to register the natural surprise that this exceptional visit should have caused him. The Black Mandarin was not in the habit of calling on any of the Spanish authorities; he rather deigned to receive them at his own palace, where he entertained them in a condescending and royal manner.

However, Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa apparently was not surprised. Not even when The Black Mandarin appeared before him. The Black Mandarin was known to dress invariably in his native costume, costly garments of a subdued exterior which now and then allowed glimpses of a dazzling lining. But this day The Black Mandarin was attired in an immaculate white suit, closed to the neck, the whiteness of which made his gigantic figure seem larger still, and he held a cork hat in one hand and a small collapsible fan in the other. But for his face and hands, The Black Mandarin looked as European as possible.

For the third time I say that Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa was not surprised. He merely advanced a few steps to meet his guest and said:

“Oh, Señor Chinelato! To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

The Black Mandarin bowed and shook hands in the best European manner but his face, still as the surface of a pond, never rippled under the suggestion of a smile.

Don Esteban motioned him to a settee and then sat himself on a chair facing him and from a near table took a pay-pay and began to fan himself slowly.

Although outside the day was scorching hot as usual, a certain degree of coolness prevailed in the chamber where the two men sat. The drawn shades gave a refreshing and pronounced shade that lent everything, especially the pale face of Don Esteban, a greenish hue. The two men fanned themselves rhythmically and in silence. Then, through the porch and from some other chamber, the notes of a melody played upon a piano came to increase the calmness of the moment.

Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa spoke again: