Section 6

There was a long pause. Esteban would not go to bed. He sat by the candle in the middle of the room, tapping with his hand on the edge of the table.
“Go to bed, you fool,” shouted Manuel, rising on one elbow under the blanket. He was talking in their secret language and the new pain at his heart, gave a greater ring of reality to his assump- tion of rage. “I’m all right.”
“I won’t. I’m going out for a walk,” replied Esteban picking up his coat.
“You can’t go out for a walk. It’s two o’clock. It’s raining. You can’t go and walk about for hours like that. Look, Esteban, I swear to you
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ESTEBAN there’s nothing left to all that. I don’t love her. I only did for a time.”
By now Esteban stood in the dark of the open door. In the unnatural voice with which we make the greatest declarations of our lives, he muttered: “T'm in your way,” and turned to go.
Manuel leapt out of his bed. His head seemed to be full of a great din, a voice crying out that Esteban was going away forever, was leaving him alone forever. “In the name of God, in the name of God, Esteban, come back here.”
Esteban came back and went to bed and the matter was not mentioned again for many weeks. The very next evening Manuel had an opportu- nity of declaring his position. A messenger ar- rived from the Perichole and was told harshly to inform the actress that Manuel would write no
more letters for her.
One evening Manuel tore open the flesh on his
knee against a piece of metal. 115
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Neither brother had ever been ill for as much as a day in his life, and now Manuel, utterly be- wildered, watched his leg swell and felt the waves of pain rise and fall in his body. Esteban sat by and stared at his face trying to imagine what great pain was. At last one midnight Manuel re- membered that the signboard of a certain hair- dresser in the city described the proprietor as an experienced barber and surgeon. Esteban ran through the streets to fetch him. He pounded on the door. Presently a woman leaned out of a win- dow and announced that her husband would be back in the morning. During the fearful hours that followed, they told one another that when the doctor had seen the leg all would be well. He would do something about it, and Manuel would be out around the town in a day or two, even in a day perhaps, even less than a day.
The barber arrived and prescribed various draughts and ointments. Esteban was instructed to lay cold cloths on his brother’s leg every hour.
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The barber withdrew and the brothers sat down to wait for the pain to subside. But while they continued staring into one another’s face waiting for the miracle of science the pain grew worse. Hour after hour Esteban approached with his dripping towel and they discovered that the mo- ment of its application was the worst of all. With all the fortitude in the world Manuel could not prevent himself from shouting and from flinging himself about upon the bed. Night came on and still Esteban stolidly waited and watched and worked. Nine, ten, eleven. Now when the time drew near to apply the cloths (the hour struck so musically from all those towers) Manuel would plead with Esteban not to do his work. He would resort to guile and declare that he scarcely felt it. But Esteban, his heart bursting with pain and his lips a line of iron, would roll back the blanket and bind the towel fiercely in its place. Manuel gradually became delirious and under this application all the 117
THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY thoughts he did not permit himself in his right mind would burst magnified from his mouth.
Finally at two o’clock, out of his mind with rage and pain, and flinging himself half out of the bed until his head struck the floor, Manuel cried: “God condemn your soul to the hottest hell there is. A thousand devils torture you for- ever, Esteban. God condemn your soul, do you hear?” At first, the air gone out of his body, Esteban went out into the hall and leaned against the door, his mouth and eyes wide open. Still he heard from within: “Yes, Esteban, may God damn your beastly soul forever, do you hear that? For coming between me and what was mine by right. She was mine, do you hear, and
> .
what right had you. ...” and he would go off into an elaborate description of the Peri- chole.
These outbursts recurred hourly. It was some time before Esteban was able to realize that his brother’s mind was not then clear. After some
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ESTEBAN moments of horror, in which his being a devout believer had its part, he would return to the room and go about his duties with bent head.
Towards dawn his brother became serener. (For what human ill does not dawn seem to be an alleviation?) It was in one of these intervals that Manuel said quite calmly:
“God’s son! I feel better, Esteban. Those cloths must be good after all. You'll see. ГИ be up and around tomorrow. You haven’t slept for days. You'll see I won't cause you any more trouble, Esteban.”
“Tt’s no trouble, you fool.”
“You mustn’t take me seriously when I try and stop you putting on the old cloths, Esteban.”
A long pause. At last Esteban brought out, barely audible:
“I think ... don’t you think it would be fine if I sent for the Perichole? She could just come and see you for a few minutes, I
шеап....”
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“Her? You still thinking about her? I wouldn’t have her here for anything. No.”
But Esteban was not content yet. He dragged up a few more phrases from the very centre of his being:
“Manuel, you still feel, don’t you, that I came between you and the Perichole and you don’t re- member that I told you it was all right with me. I swear to you Га have been glad if you'd gone away with her, or anything.”
“What are you bringing that up for, Esteban? I tell you, in God’s own name, I never think of that. She’s nothing to me. When are you going to forget that, Esteban? I tell you I’m glad things are as they are. Look, I got to get angry when you keep going back to that.”
“Manuel, I wouldn’t speak of it again, only when you get angry at me about the cloths . . you, you get angry at me about that, too. And you talk about it and you. . .”
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“Look, I’m not responsible what I say. My old leg hurts then, see.”
“Then you don’t damn me to hell because . . . it looks like I came between you and the Peri- chole?”
“Damn you to... ? What makes you say that? You’re going crazy, Esteban; you’re im- agining things. You haven’t had any sleep, Este- ban. Гуе been a curse to you and you’re losing your health because of me. But you’ll see, I won’t trouble you much more. How could I damn you to hell, Esteban, when you’re all I’ve got? Un- derstand, see, that when the cold cloths go on, I just lose myself, see. You know. Don’t think about it twice. It’s time to put them on now. I won’t say a word.”
“No, Manuel, ГП skip this time. It won't do you any harm, ГИ just skip this time.”
“Dye got to get well, Esteban. I’ve got to get up soon, you know. Put them on. But one min-
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THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY ute—give me the crucifix. I swear by the blood and body of Christ that if I say anything against Esteban, I don’t mean it and it’s just the foolish words when I’m dreaming because of the pain in my leg. God make me well again soon, amen. Put it back. There. Now I’m ready.”
“Look, Manuel, it won’t hurt if I skip just this once, see. РП be good for you, sure, to not get it all stirred up just this once.”
“No, I’ve got to get well. The doctor said it had to be done. I won’t say a word, Esteban.”
And it would begin all over again.
During the second night a prostitute in the next room started beating on the wall, outraged at such language. A priest in the room on the other side would come out into the hall and beat on the door. The whole floor would gather before the room in exasperation. The innkeeper came up the stairs, loudly promising his guests that the brothers would be dumped into the street the very next morning. Esteban, holding his candle,
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ESTEBAN would go into the hall and permit them to rage at him for as long as they pleased; but after that he took to pressing his hand firmly over his brother’s mouth during the moments of greatest stress. This increased Manuel’s personal rage at him and he would babble all through the night.
On the third night, Esteban sent for the priest and amidst the enormous shadows Manuel re- ceived the sacrament, and died.
Thereafter Esteban refused to come near the building. He would start off upon long walks, but presently drifting back, would hang about, star- ing at passers-by, within two streets of where his brother lay. The innkeeper failing to make any impression upon him and remembering that the boys were brought up at the Convent of Santa Maria Rosa de las Rosas, sent for the Abbess. Simply and soundly she directed all that was to be done. At last she went down to the street corner and spoke to Esteban. He watched her ap- proach him, a glance mixed of longing and dis-
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THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY trust. But when she stood near him he turned sideways and looked away.
“T want you to help me. Won’t you come in and see your brother? Won’t you come in and help me?”
“No.”
“You won’t help me!” A long pause. Suddenly as she stood there full of her helplessness there flashed through her mind an incident of many years before: the twin brothers about fifteen years old were sitting at her knee and she was telling them the story of the crucifixion. Their large grave eyes were fixed upon her lips. Sud- denly Manuel had cried out loudly: “If Esteban and I had been there we would have prevented 12
“Well, then, if you won’t help me, will you tell me which you are?”
“Manuel,” said Esteban.
“Manuel, won’t you come and sit with me up there for just a short time?”
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After a long pause: “No.”
“But Manuel, dear Manuel, can’t you remem- ber as children how you did so many things for me? You were willing to go across the town on some little errand. When I was ill you made the cook let you bring me my soup?” Another woman would have said: “Do you remember how much I did for you?”
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“I, too, Manuel have lost. I too . . . once. We know that God has taken them into His hands. . . .” But this did not do at all. Esteban turned vaguely and walked away from her. When he had gone about twenty paces he stopped and stared down a side-street, like a dog who wants to go away, but is reluctant to offend the mas- ter who calls him back.
That was all they could get out of him. When the fearful procession passed through the city, with its black hoods and masks, its candles in broad daylight, its display of heaped-up skulls,
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THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY its terrifying psalms, Esteban followed it in the parallel streets, catching glimpses of it from a distance, like a savage.
All Lima was interested in this separation of the brothers. Housewives whispered together sym- pathetically about it as they unfurled their car- pets from the balconies. The men in the wineshops, alluding to it, shook their heads and smoked in silence for a while. Travellers from the interior told of seeing Esteban as he strayed with eyes like coals along the dried-up beds of rivers or through the great ruins of the old race. A herder of llamas had come upon him standing upon a hilltop, asleep or dazed, wet with dew under the stars. Some fishermen surprised him swimming far out from shore. From time to time he would find work to do, he would become a shepherd or a carter, but after a few months he would disap- pear and stride from province to province. But he always returned to Lima. One day he appeared at the door of the Perichole’s dressing-room; he
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made as though to speak, gazed earnestly at her and vanished. One day a sister came running into the office of Madre Maria del Pilar with the news that Esteban (whom the world called Manuel) was lingering about the door of the convent. The Abbess hurried out into the street. For months she had been asking herself what strategy could reconcile this half-demented boy to living among them again. She assembled as grave and calm a manner as she was able and appearing at the street door murmured “My friend” and looked at him. He gazed back at her with the same glance of longing and distrust that he had shown her before, and stood trembling. Again she whis- pered “My friend” and moved a step forward. Suddenly Esteban turned and breaking into a run disappeared. Madre Maria del Pilar rushed stumbling back to her desk and fell upon her knees, exclaiming angrily: “I have prayed for wisdom and You have given me none. You have not chosen to give me the least grace. I am a 127
THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY mere scrubber of floors. . . .” But during the penance she set herself for this impudence the thought came to her to send for Captain Alvarado. Three weeks later she had a ten-minute conver- sation with him. And the next day he started for Cuzco where, it was said, Esteban was doing some copying for the University.
There was this strange and noble figure in Peru during these years, the Captain Alvarado, the traveller. He was blackened and cured by all weathers. He stood in the Square with feet apart as though they were planted on a shifting deck. His eyes were strange, unaccustomed to the shorter range, too used to seizing the appearances of a constellation between a cloud and a cloud, and the outline of a cape in rain. His reticence was sufficiently explained for most of us by his voyages, but the Marquesa de Montemayor had other light on the matter. “Captain Alvarado is bringing you this letter in person,” she wrote to her daughter. “Introduce him to some of your
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ESTEBAN geographers, my treasure, though it may make them a little uncomfortable, for he is the diamond of sincerity. They will never see anyone who has travelled so far. Last night he described to me some of his voyages. Imagine him pushing his prow through a sea of weeds, stirring up a cloud of fish like grasshoppers in June; or sailing be- tween islands of ice. Oh, he has been to China and up the rivers of Africa. But he is not merely an adventurer and he seems to take no pride in dis- covering new places; nor is he a mere merchant. One day I asked him narrowly why he lived so, and he avoided my question. I found out from my laundress what I think is the reason of his wan- dering: My child, he had a child; my daughter, he had a daughter. She was just old enough to cook a holiday meal, and do a little sewing for him. In those days he merely sailed between Mex- ico and Peru and hundreds of times she waved him farewell or welcome. We have no way of knowing whether she was more beautiful or in- 129
THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY telligent than the thousands of other girls that lived about him, but she was his. I suppose it seems ignoble to you that a great oak of a man should go about the world like a blind man about an empty house merely because a chit of a girl has been withdrawn from it. No, no, you cannot understand this, my adored one, but I understand and grow pale. Last night he sat with me and talked of her. He laid his cheek against his hand and looking into the fire, he said: ‘It sometimes seems to me that she is away upon a voyage and that I shall see her again. It seems to me that she is in England.’ You will laugh at me, but I think he goes about the hemispheres to pass the time between now and his old age.”
The brothers had always entertained a great respect for Captain Alvarado. They had worked for him a short time and the silence of the three of them had made a little kernel of sense in a world of boasting, self-excuse and rhetoric. So now when the great traveller came into the dark
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kitchen where Esteban was eating the boy drew his chair farther into the shadow, but at a dis- tance, he was glad. The Captain gave no sign of recognizing or even of seeing him until he had finished his meal. Esteban had finished long be- fore, but not wishing to be spoken to, waited until the Captain should have left the cave. At last the Captain walked over to him and said: