Felipe Alfau - Chromos

And Nero, still holding his lyre under his arm, laid a hand on the shoulder of Napoleon, who scratched his chest thoughtfully: “I think he deserves the beating the other one gave him. The crazy imbecile! Addressing us as if we were children.”

“And who is not a child? We were all enjoying ourselves tonight like children and now we are all like children who have lost a toy. Too bad, too bad.”

In a corner of the somber garden, leaning against a tree, the pale figure of Pierrot looked sadly at the lone forsaken harp on the stage.

The stars were fading. Crestfallen and with bowed heads, the strange figures left one by one.

Be quiet! Cheer no more! Rojelia’s birthday is over and she is the unhappiest maiden in the world.

And slowly, with gloom, the fantastic gathering paraded sadly into the dawn.

The next day as they sat at late breakfast, Enrique came down, his head swathed in bandages. He had spent the rest of the night dressing his bruises and was in a fearful humor. He entered the dining room however with the air of a hero. Jorge and Lolita were not up yet.

“My poor boy,” declaimed Trini. “How are you feeling? Could you sleep?”

He bellowed with rage and sat down to attack the food.

“Look at him. Look at your poor brother, all because of defending the honor of the Sandovals.”

Rojelia sat with dignified calm. She was paler and there were shadows under her eyes, but otherwise she was calm and even cheerful.

“What shall we do, decorate him? Those are only bruises that will heal easily. It is a good lesson for not minding his own business. If he were so ill, he wouldn’t be eating so much.”

Fernando was drumming on the table. Now he pounded his fist on it: “So that is the way you take it after having dragged the family name in the gutter with your wanton ways. And still you tell him to mind his own business?” He had stood up, upturning his chair and upsetting a glass of water. He was in a fit of fury: “Isn’t honor the business of every Sandoval?”

Enrique mumbled some unintelligible words with his disfigured mouth and helped himself to another buñuelo.

Rojelia also stood up. She could say a great deal but it was no use. She looked at the three of them as if they were objects of contempt and left the room.

Jorge appeared at the door and the servant asked him how he wanted whatever he wanted.

“In commercial quantities,” he answered cheerfully and slapped the servant on the back.

Trini scowled: “I don’t see why this sudden happiness after what has occurred, after the humiliation we have all suffered before all our friends.” The servant had gone back to the kitchen. “And besides, Jorge, you know I don’t approve of certain liberties with inferiors.”

Jorge subsided until he reached the point where his expression fitted the circumstances: “And tell me, Enrique, what did you do to the other fellow?”

“I think he will spend at least three months in the hospital.” His swollen mouth could scarcely pronounce the words: “If it had not been for his accomplices, he would now be in the cemetery.”

“I didn’t know he had anybody with him.”

“Certainly. There were three husky fellows hiding behind the fence and when they saw that I was finishing him, they jumped on me. I gave them what was coming to them, though, and they all ran away, dragging the tramp with them.”

They all looked at the weak body of Enrique but registered no expression. It was ridiculous. Fernando was walking up and down with his hands behind his back.

And then they all heard a loud laugh. It was Lolita looking at her brother, lifting her hands and then bringing them down on her knees:

“Oh, you look so funny, Enrique! You ought to see your mouth when you talk.”

Enrique looked at her with murderous eyes and said nothing.

She was little, excellently well-shaped, perhaps too much so for her age. Her complexion was as swarthy as that of a Gypsy, her hair furiously black, her eyes quite large and heavily lashed. She was a happy little being. Most of the time she was gay.

Jorge looked at her intently, an almost boobish expression on his face, oblivious of his surroundings, and he lost all interest in food.

Fernando was still angry about the scene with Rojelia. The exuberant laughter of his daughter irritated him. He felt that she was attractive with that selfish and cruel attractiveness of youth and that made him more indignant:

“Young lady! Your uncalled-for mirth is entirely out of place. If your brother is like that, it is because he tried to defend the honor of the family which apparently the women do not guard. You should feel sorry for him and not take his misfortune so lightly, and besides, to laugh so frantically at a man’s troubles, even if he is your brother, is, to say the least, somewhat—” He was going to say “whorish” but he said “indecent” and then walked out.

Enrique had finished. He stood up looking hideously at his young sister. He said: “I am going back to Madrid.” He turned to the servant who was waiting on Jorge: “Order my car, will you?”

Trini approached him: “You should stay here today and rest. I hope that you are not going to look for that criminal. He does not deserve it.”

“I look for him? He is probably in the hospital. I finished him well. I am only going to Madrid because I am bored.”

“Can’t you let a day go by without amusement? You are in no condition to run around. I bet it is that — woman again.”

“Oh hell! Are you going to begin with that again?” He walked out, followed by Trini. They quarreled loudly all the way to the hall. Then the door was slammed and he was heard outside calling for the car.

Lolita and Jorge remained alone. She had not eaten yet and reached for her brother’s dish coquettishly: “Let me taste it. How is it?”

“I haven’t touched it. Why don’t you take it?” He helped himself to some coffee. “I am not hungry this morning.”

She ate two mouthfuls and then pushed the dish away: “Neither am I. Pour me some coffee.”

While she drank it he placed an arm about her waist: “I am sorry you got that scolding from father, but you shouldn’t have laughed so at Enrique.”

“He looked so funny, didn’t he?”

“Yes — but. ” His hold tightened.

“You are going to make me spill this,” she whispered, and then she laughed again loudly.

Jorge forced a laugh, loosening his hold. She finished her coffee in silence, almost seriously, looking over the cup at the trees beyond the terrace.

“Shall we go out in the garden?”

They went out and spoke of the night before in the fashionable manner of their set which consists of using the opposite word to that which expresses a thing correctly and also using vulgarisms.

Then a town car coming along the driveway stopped before them. Their father and mother were in it. Fernando sat without looking at them. Trini spoke: “We are going to Madrid and I won’t be back until this evening. If you want to come you had better get in now.”

“If I want to come I’ll use the motorcycle.”

“But what about you, Lolita?”

“I can ride back of him.”

“No you won’t. If you want to come, get ready now or you will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Fernando impatiently struck the floor of the car with his stick.

“I was only joking, mother. I don’t want to go today.”

The car moved slowly and Trini called back: “Tell your sister that if that man appears, I have told the servants to throw him out.”

Lolita and Jorge followed the car a few steps: “But I overheard Enrique say that he was in the hospital.”

“Never mind that. Tell her what I said.”

“All right, mother. I’ll help with a kick also.”