Stories by Foreign Authors: Spanish
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Various >> Stories by Foreign Authors: Spanish
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"I am, in conclusion, the lord of this tower and of all the land
surrounding it, westward to the ravine of the Fox and eastward to the
ravine of the Asparagus, so called from the luxuriant growth and
exquisite flavor of the asparagus cultivated there by my grandfather,
Sidi-Jussef-ben-Jussuf.
"Things are going badly with us. Since the coming of the base-born Don
Juan of Austria (whom may Allah confound!) to fight against the faithful,
we have foreseen that, for the present, we shall be defeated, although in
the course of years or of centuries another Prince of the blood of the
Prophet may recover the throne of Granada which for seven hundred years
was in the possession of the Moors, and which will be theirs again when
Allah wills it, by the same right by which it was formerly possessed by
the Goths and Vandals, and before that by the Romans, and before that by
those other Africans, the Carthaginians--by the right of conquest. But
I know, as I have said, that, for the present, things are going badly with
us, and that I must very soon depart for Morocco, taking with me my
forty-three sons; that is to say, unless the Austrians capture me in the
coming battle and hang me on a tree, as I would hang all of them, if it
were in my power to do so.
"Well, then, when I depart from this tower to engage in the last and the
decisive campaign, I leave hidden here, in a place which no one can
discover without coming across this manuscript, all my gold, all my
silver, all my pearls, my family treasures, the possessions of my fathers,
of myself, and of my heirs; the fortune of which I am lord and master by
human and divine right, as the bird is of its feathers, or the child of
the teeth he cuts with suffering, or as every mortal is of the bad humors,
cancerous or leprous, which he may inherit from his ancestors.
"Stay thy hand, then, oh thou, Moor, Christian, or Jew, who, in tearing
down this, my dwelling, mayest discover and read these lines which I
am now writing! Stay thy hand and respect the treasure-house of thy
fellow-mortal! Touch not his estate! Take not possession of that which
belongs to another! Here there is none of the public wealth, nothing
belonging to the exchequer, nothing belonging to the state. The gold in
the mine may belong of right to him who discovers it, and a part of it to
the king of the country; but gold melted down and stamped--money, coin--
belongs to its owner and to no one but its owner. Rob me not, therefore,
evil man! Rob not my descendants who will come, on the day appointed, to
take possession of their inheritance. And if thou shouldst, without evil
intent, and by chance discover my treasure, I counsel thee to make public
proclamation, calling on and notifying the circumstance to the heirs of
Hassan-ben-Jussef; for it is not just to keep that which has been found
when it has a lawful owner.
"If thou doest not this, be accursed, with the curse of Allah, and with my
curse! And mayest thou be struck dead by lightning! And may each coin of
my money and each pearl of my treasure become a scorpion in thy hands! And
may thy children die of leprosy, may their fingers rot and drop off, so
that they may not have even the pleasure of scratching themselves! And may
the woman thou lovest love thy slave and betray thee for him. And may thy
eldest daughter leave thy house secretly with a Jew! And mayest thou be
impaled upon a stake, and suspended on high, exposed to the public gaze,
until by the weight of thy body the stake pierce thy crown and thou fall
parted asunder on the ground like a loathsome toad cut in twain by the
hoe!
"Now thou knowest what I would have thee know, and let all men know it,
and blessed be Allah who is Allah!
"Tower of Zoraya, in Aldeire, in El Cenet, On the fifteenth day of the
month of Saphar, Of the year of the Hegira 968.
"HASSEN-BEN-JUSSEF."
IX.
Manos-gordas was profoundly impressed by a second reading of this
document; not because of the moral maxims or the terrible curses it
contained, for the rascal had lost his faith both in Allah and in
Mohammed, through his frequent intercourse with the Christians and the
Jews of Tetuan and Ceuta, who naturally scoffed at the Koran, but because
he believed that his face, his accent, and some other personal
peculiarities of his forbade his going to Spain, where he would find
himself exposed to certain death should any Christian man or woman
discover him to be an enemy to the Virgin Mary.
"Besides, what aid" (in the opinion of Manos-gordas) "could a foreigner, a
Mohammedan, a semi-barbarian, expect from the laws or the authorities of
Spain, in acquiring possession of the Tower of Zoraya for the purpose of
making excavations there, or what protection in retaining possession of
the treasure when he should have discovered it, or even of his life? There
is no help for it," was the conclusion to which he came, after much
reflection. "I must trust the secret to the renegade Ben-Munuza. He is a
Spaniard, and his companionship will protect me from danger in that
country. But as there does not exist under the canopy of heaven a wickeder
man than this same renegade, it will not be amiss to take some
precautions."
And, as a result of his reflections, he took from his pocket writing
materials, wrote a letter, and inclosed it in an envelope, which he sealed
with a bit of moistened bread, and this done, he burst into a sardonic
laugh.
He then looked at his wife, who was still engaged in removing the filth of
an entire year from her person, at the expense of the material and moral
cleanliness of the poor rivulet, and having attracted her attention by a
whistle, he deigned to address her in these terms:
"Sit down here beside me, fig-face, and listen to what I am going to say.
You can afterward finish washing yourself--and well you need it--and
perhaps I may then think you worthy of something better than the daily
drubbing by which I show my affection for you. But for the present,
brazenface, leave off your grimaces, and listen well to what I am going to
tell you."
The Moorish woman, who after her toilet looked younger and more artistic,
though no less ugly than before, licked her lips like a cat, fixed the two
carbuncles that served her for eyes on Manos-gordas, and said, showing her
broad white teeth, that bore no resemblance to those of a human being:
"Speak, my lord, your slave desires only to serve you."
Manos-gordas continued:
"If, in the future, any misfortune should happen to me, or if I should
suddenly disappear without taking leave of you, or if, after taking leave
of you, you should hear nothing from me within six weeks' time, make your
way back to Ceuta and put this letter in the post. Do you understand fully
what I have said, monkey-face?"
Zama burst into tears and exclaimed:
"Admet, do you intend to abandon me?"
"Don't be an ass, woman!" answered the Moor. "Who is talking of such a
thing now? You know very well that you please me and that you are useful
to me. The question now is whether you have understood my charge
perfectly."
"Give it here!" said the Moorish woman, taking the letter and placing it
in her dark-skinned bosom, next her heart. "If any evil should happen to
you, this letter shall be placed in the post at Ceuta, though I should
drop dead the moment after."
Aben-Carime smiled with a human smile when he heard these words, and
deigned to let his eyes rest upon his wife as if she were a human being.
X.
The Moorish couple must have slept soundly and sweetly among the thickets
on the roadside that night, for it was fully nine o'clock on the following
morning when they reached the foot of Cape Negro.
At that place there is a village of Arab shepherds and husbandmen, called
Medick, consisting of a few huts, a morabito or Mohammedan hermitage, and
a well of fresh water, with its curb-stone and its copper bucket, like the
wells we see represented in certain biblical scenes.
At this hour the village was completely deserted, its inhabitants having
betaken themselves, with their cattle and their implements of labor, to
the neighboring hills and glens.
"Wait for me here," said Manos-gordas to his wife. "I am going in quest of
Ben-Munuza, who at this hour is probably ploughing his fields on the other
side of yonder hill."
"Ben-Munuza!" exclaimed Zama, with a look of terror; "the renegade of whom
you spoke to me?"
"Make your mind easy," returned Manos-gordas. "I have the upper hand now.
In a few hours I shall be back and you will see him following me like a
dog. This is his cabin. Wait for us inside, and make us a good mess of
alcazus, with the maize and the butter you will find at hand. You know I
like it well cooked. Ah, I forgot. If I should not be back before
nightfall, ascend the hill, crossover to the other side, and if you do not
find me there, or if you should find my dead body, return to Ceuta and
post this letter.--Another thing: if you should find me dead, search my
clothing for this parchment; if you do not find it upon me, you will know
that Ben-Munuza has robbed me of it; in which case proceed from Ceuta to
Tetuan and denounce him as a thief and an assassin to the authorities.
That is all I have to tell you. Farewell!"
The Moorish woman wept bitterly as Manos-gordas took the path that led to
the summit of the neighboring hill.
XI.
On reaching the other side of the hill Manos-gordas descried in a glen, a
short distance off, a corpulent Moor dressed in white, ploughing the black
earth with the help of a fine yoke of oxen, in patriarchal fashion. This
man, who seemed a statue of Peace carved in marble, was the morose and
dreaded renegade, Ben-Munuza, the details of whose story would make the
reader shudder with horror, if he were to hear them.
Suffice it for the present to say that he was some forty years old, that
he was active, vigorous, and robust, and that he was of a gloomy cast of
countenance, although his eyes were blue as the sky, and his beard yellow
as the African sunlight, which had bronzed his originally fair complexion.
"Good-morning, Manos-gordas!" cried the renegade, as soon as he perceived
the Moor.
And his voice expressed the melancholy pleasure the exile feels in a
foreign land when he meets some one with whom he can converse in his
native tongue.
"Good-morning, Juan Falgueira!" responded Ben-Carime, in ironical accents.
As he heard this name the renegade trembled from head to foot, and seizing
the iron bar of the plough prepared to defend himself.
"What name is that you have just pronounced?" he said, advancing
threateningly toward Manos-gordas.
The latter awaited his approach, laughing, and answered in Arabic, with a
courage which no one would have supposed him to possess:
"I have pronounced your real name; the name you bore in Spain when you
were a Christian, and which I learned when I was in Oran three years ago."
"In Oran?"
"Yes, in Oran. What is there extraordinary in that? You had come from Oran
to Morocco; I went to Oran to buy hens. I inquired there concerning your
history, describing your appearance, and some Spaniards living there
related it to me. I learned that you were a Galician, that your name was
Juan Falgueira, and that you had escaped from the prison of Granada, on
the eve of the day appointed for your execution, for having robbed and
murdered, fifteen years ago, a party of gentlemen, whom you were serving
in the capacity of muleteer. Do you still doubt that I know who you are?"
"Tell me, my soul," responded the renegade, in a hollow voice, looking
cautiously around, "have you related this story to any of the Moors? Does
any one but yourself in this accursed land know it? Because the fact is, I
want to live in peace, without having any one or anything to remind me of
that fatal deed which I have well expiated. I am a poor man. I have
neither family, nor country, nor language, nor even the God who made me
left to me. I live among enemies, with no other wealth than these oxen and
these fields, bought by the fruit of ten years' sweat and toil.
Consequently, you do very wrong to come and tell me--"
"Hold!" cried Manos-gordas, greatly alarmed. "Don't cast those wolfish
glances at me, for I come to do you a great service, and not to vex you
needlessly. I have told your unfortunate story to no one. What for? Any
secret may be a treasure, which he who tells gives away. There are,
however, occasions in which an EXCHANGE OF SECRETS may be made with
profit. For instance, I am going to tell you an important secret of mine,
which will serve as security for yours, and which will oblige us to be
friends for the rest of our lives."
"I am listening; go on," responded the renegade quietly.
Aben-Carime then read aloud the Arabic document, which Juan Falgueira
listened to without moving a muscle of his still angry countenance.
The Moor seeing this, in order to dispel his distrust, disclosed to him
the fact that he had stolen the paper he had just read from a Christian in
Ceuta.
The Spaniard smiled slightly to think how great must be the huckster's
fear of him to cause him voluntarily to reveal to him his theft, and poor
Manos-gordas, encouraged by Ben-Munuza's smile, proceeded to disclose his
plans, in the following terms:
"I take it for granted that you understand perfectly well the importance
of this document and the reason of my reading it to you. I know not where
the Tower of Zoraya, nor Aldeire, nor El Cenet is, nor do I know how to go
to Spain, nor should I be able to find my way through that country if I
were there; besides which, the people would kill me for not being a
Christian, or at least they would despoil me of the treasure after I had
found it, if not before. For all these reasons, I require that a trusty
and loyal Spaniard should accompany me, a man whose life shall be in my
power, and whom I can send to the gallows with half a word; a man, in
short like you, Juan Falgueira, who, after all, have gained nothing by
robbing and murdering, since you are now toiling here like a donkey, when
with the millions I am going to procure you, you can go to America, to
France, or to India, and enjoy yourself, and live in luxury, and rise in
time perhaps to be king. What do you think of my plan?"
"That it is well put together, like the work of a Moor," responded
Ben-Munuza, in whose nervous hands, clasped behind his back, the iron bar
swung back and forth like a tiger's tail.
Manos-gordas smiled with satisfaction, thinking that his proposition was
already accepted.
"But," added the sombre Galician, "there is one thing you have not
considered."
"And what is that?" asked Ben-Carime, throwing back his head with a
comical expression, and fixing his eyes on vacancy, like one who is
prepared to hear some trivial and easily answered objection.
"You have not considered that I should be an unmitigated fool if I were to
accompany you to Spain to put you in possession of half a treasure,
relying upon your putting me in possession of the other half. I say this
because you would only have to say half a word the day we arrived at
Aldeire, and you thought yourself free from danger, to rid yourself of my
company and avoid giving me my half of the treasure, after it was found.
In truth, you are not the clever man you imagine yourself to be, but only
a simpleton deserving of pity, who have deliberately walked into a trap
from which there is no escape, in telling me where this great treasure is
to be found, and telling me at the same time that you know my history, and
that if I were to accompany you to Spain you would there be absolute
master of my life. And what need, then, have I of you? What need have I of
your help to go and take possession of the entire treasure myself? What
need have I of you in the world at all? Who are you, now that you have
read me that document, now that I can take it from you?"
"What are you saying?" cried Manos-gordas, who all at once felt a chill,
like that of death, strike to the marrow of his bones.
"I am saying--nothing. Take that!" replied Juan Falgueira, dealing
Ben-Carime a tremendous blow on the head with the iron bar. The Moor
rolled over on the ground, the blood gushing from his eyes, nose, and
mouth, without uttering a single sound.
The unfortunate man was dead.
XII.
Three or four weeks after the death of Manos-gordas, somewhere about the
20th of February, 1821, it was snowing, if it ever were to snow, in the
town of Aldeire, and throughout the beautiful Andalusian sierra to which
the snow gives existence, as it were, and a name.
It was Carnival Sunday, and the church bell was for the fourth time
summoning to mass with its thin, clear tones, like those of a child, the
shivering Christians of this parish (too near to heaven for their
comfort), who found it difficult, on so raw and inclement a day, to bring
themselves to leave their beds or to move away from the fire, saying,
perhaps, in excuse for their not doing so, that on the three days before
Ash-Wednesday worship should be rendered not to God, but to the devil.
Some such excuse as this, at least, was given by Uncle Juan Gomez in
answer to the arguments with which his pious wife, our friend, Dame
Torcuata, tried to persuade him to give up drinking brandy and eating
biscuits, and accompany her, instead, to mass, like a good Christian,
regardless of the criticisms of the schoolmaster or the other electors of
the liberal party. And the dispute was beginning to grow warm, when
suddenly Genaro, his honor's head shepherd, entered the kitchen, and
taking off his hat, and scratching his head with the same movement, said:
"God give us good-day, Senor Juan and Senora Torcuata! You must have
guessed already that something has happened up above to bring me down here
on a day like this, it not being my Sunday for going to hear mass. I hope
you are both well!"
"There! there! I'll wait no longer!" cried the Alcalde's wife,
impatiently, folding her mantilla over her breast. "It was decreed that
you were not to hear mass to-day. You have drink enough there, and
conversation enough for the whole day, discussing the question as to
whether the goats are with kid or whether the young rams are beginning to
get their horns. You will go to perdition, Juan, you will go to perdition,
if you don't soon make your peace with the church and give up the accursed
alcaldeship!"
When Dame Torcuata had departed, the Alcalde handed a biscuit and a glass
of brandy to the head shepherd, saying:
"Women's nonsense, Uncle Genaro! Draw your chair up to the fire and tell
me what you have to say. What is going on up above there?"
"Oh, a mere nothing! Yesterday, Francisco, the goat-keeper, saw a man
dressed like a native of Malaga, with long trousers and a linen jacket,
and wrapped in a blanket, go into the cattle-yard you are making, from the
open side, and walk around the Moor's Tower, examining it and measuring
it, as if he were a master-builder. Francisco asked him what he was doing,
to which the stranger answered by asking in his turn who was the owner of
the tower, and Francisco saying that he was no less a person than the
Alcalde of the town, the stranger replied that he would speak with his
honor and explain his plans to him. Night soon fell, and as the man
pretended to be going away, the goat-herd went to his hut, which, as you
know, is but a short distance from the tower. Some two hours later the
same Francisco noticed that strange noises proceeded from the tower, in
which he also observed a light burning, all which terrified him so
greatly, that he did not even venture to go to my hut to tell me of what
he had seen and heard. This he did as soon as it was daylight, saying in
addition that the noises he had heard in the tower were kept up all night.
As I am an old man and have served my king and am not easily frightened, I
went at once to the Moor's Tower, accompanied by Francisco, who trembled
at every step he took, and we discovered the stranger, wrapped up in his
blanket, asleep in a little room on the ground floor where the plaster
still remains on the ceiling. I wakened the mysterious stranger and
reproved him for spending the night in a strange house without its owner's
permission, to which he answered that the building was not a house, but a
heap of ruins, where a poor wayfarer might very well take shelter on a
snowy night, and that he was ready to present himself before you and tell
you who he was and what his business and his plans were. I have brought
him with me, therefore, and he is now out in the yard with the goatherd,
waiting for your permission to enter."
"Let him come in," answered Uncle Hormiga, rising to his feet, greatly
disturbed, for the thought had presented itself to his mind at the head
shepherd's first words, that all this was closely connected with the
celebrated treasure, the hope of discovering which, by his own unaided
exertions, he had abandoned, a week before, after he had removed, without
result, several of the heaviest of the foundation stones.
XIII.
Here, then, we have, face to face and alone, Uncle Juan Gomez and the
stranger.
"What is your name?" the former asked the latter, with all the
imperiousness warranted by his exalted office, and without inviting him to
be seated.
"My name is Jaime Olot," responded the mysterious stranger.
"You do not speak like a native of this country. Are you English?"
"I am a Catalan."
"Ah, a Catalan! That may be. And what brings you to these parts? And,
above all, what the devil were you doing yesterday measuring my tower?"
"I will tell you. I am a miner by profession, and I have come to this
country, which is famous for its copper and silver mines, in search of
work. Yesterday afternoon, passing by the Moor's Tower, I saw that a wall
was being built with the stones that had been taken from it, and that it
would be necessary to tear down a great deal more of the building in order
to finish the wall. There is no one who can equal me in pulling down
buildings, whether by the use of tools or with hands only, for I have the
strength of an ox, and the idea occurred to me that I might be able to
make a contract with the owner of the tower to pull it down and dig up the
foundation stones."
Uncle Hormiga, with a wink of his little gray eyes, responded, dwelling
upon every word:
"Well, that arrangement does not suit me."
"I would do the work for very little--almost nothing."
"Now it would suit me less than before."
The so-called Jaime Olot was puzzled not a little by the mysterious
answers of Uncle Juan Gomez, and he tried to get some clue to their
meaning from the expression of his face; but as he was unsuccessful in his
efforts to read the fox-like countenance of his honor, he added, with
feigned naturalness:
"It would not displease me, either, to repair a part of the old building
and to live there, cultivating the ground that you had intended for a
cattle-yard. I will buy from you, then, the Moor's Tower with the ground
around it."
"I do not wish to sell it," responded Uncle Hormiga.
"But I will pay you double what it is worth!" said the self-styled Catalan
emphatically.
"It would suit me now less than ever to sell it," replied the Andalusian,
with so crafty and insulting a look that his interlocutor took a step
backward, suddenly becoming conscious that he was treading on false
ground.
He reflected for a moment, therefore, and then raising his head with a
determined air, and clasping his hands behind his back, he said, with a
cynical laugh:
"So, then, you know that there is a TREASURE on that ground!"
Uncle Juan Gomez leaned over in his seat, and scanning the Catalan from
head to foot, exclaimed with a comical air:
"What vexes me is that you, too, should know it!"
"And it would vex you much more if I should tell you that I am the only
person who knows it with certainty."
"That is to say, that you know the precise spot in which the treasure is
buried?"
"I know the precise spot, and it would not take me twenty-four hours to
disinter all the wealth that lies hidden there."
"According to that you have in your possession a certain document--"
"Yes; I have a document of the time of the Moors, half a yard square, in
which all the necessary directions to find the treasure are given."
"And tell me--this document--"
"I do not carry it about with me, nor is there any reason why I should do
so, since I know it word for word by heart, both in Spanish and in Arabic.
Oh, I am not such a fool as ever to deliver myself up, bag and baggage,
to the enemy! So that before coming to this country I concealed the
document--where no one but myself will ever be able to find it."
"In that case there is no more to be said. Senor Jaime Olot, let us come
to an understanding, like two good friends," exclaimed the Alcalde, at the
same time pouring out a glass of brandy for the stranger.
"Let us come to an understanding!" repeated the stranger, taking a seat
without waiting for further permission, and drinking his brandy with
gusto.
"Tell me," continued Uncle Hormiga, "and tell me without lying, so that I
may learn to put faith in you--"
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