The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Vicente Blasco IbanezЧитать онлайн книгу.
he had grasped his lash and with the butt end kept poking his manager in the stomach with such insistence that it might be construed in an affectionate or hostile way.
“For this reason I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Desnoyers haughtily. “I know that my love is absurd, and I wish to leave.”
“The gentleman would go away,” the ranchman continued spluttering. “The gentleman believes that here one can do what one pleases! No, siree! Here nobody commands but old Madariaga, and I order you to stay. … Ah, these women! They only serve to antagonize men. And yet we can’t live without them!” …
He took several turns up and down the room, as though his last words were making him think of something very different from what he had just been saying. Desnoyers looked uneasily at the thong which was still hanging from his wrist. Suppose he should attempt to whip him as he did the peons? … He was still undecided whether to hold his own against a man who had always treated him with benevolence or, while his back was turned, to take refuge in discreet flight, when the ranchman planted himself before him.
“You really love her, really?” he asked. “Are you sure that she loves you? Be careful what you say, for love is blind and deceitful. I, too, when I married my China was crazy about her. Do you love her, honestly and truly? … Well then, take her, you devilish Frenchy. Somebody has to take her, and may she not turn out a weak cow like her mother! … Let us have the ranch full of grandchildren!”
In voicing this stock-raiser’s wish, again appeared the great breeder of beasts and men. And as though he considered it necessary to explain his concession, he added—“I do all this because I like you; and I like you because you are serious.”
Again the Frenchman was plunged in doubt, not knowing in just what this greatly appreciated seriousness consisted.
At his wedding, Desnoyers thought much of his mother. If only the poor old woman could witness this extraordinary stroke of good fortune! But she had died the year before, believing her son enormously rich because he had been sending her sixty dollars every month, taken from the wages that he had earned on the ranch.
Desnoyers’ entrance into the family made his father-in-law pay less attention to business.
City life, with all its untried enchantments and snares, now attracted Madariaga, and he began to speak with contempt of country women, poorly groomed and inspiring him with disgust. He had given up his cowboy attire, and was displaying with childish satisfaction, the new suits in which a tailor of the Capital was trying to disguise him. When Elena wished to accompany him to Buenos Aires, he would wriggle out of it, trumping up some absorbing business. “No; you go with your mother.”
The fate of his fields and flocks gave him no uneasiness. His fortune, managed by Desnoyers, was in good hands.
“He is very serious,” again affirmed the old Spaniard to his family assembled in the dining roam—“as serious as I am. … Nobody can make a fool of him!”
And finally the Frenchman concluded that when his father-in-law spoke of seriousness he was referring to his strength of character. According to the spontaneous declaration of Madariaga, he had, from the very first day that he had dealings with Desnoyers, perceived in him a nature like his own, more hard and firm perhaps, but without splurges of eccentricities. On this account he had treated him with such extraordinary circumspection, foreseeing that a clash between the two could never be adjusted. Their only disagreements were about the expenses established by Madariaga during his regime. Since the son-in-law was managing the ranches, the work was costing less, and the people working more diligently;—and that, too, without yells, and without strong words and deeds, with only his presence and brief orders.
The old man was the only one defending the capricious system of a blow followed by a gift. He revolted against a minute and mechanical administration, always the same, without any arbitrary extravagance or good-natured tyranny. Very frequently some of the half-breed peons whom a malicious public supposed to be closely related to the ranchman, would present themselves before Desnoyers with, “Senor Manager, the old Patron say that you are to give me five dollars.” The Senor Manager would refuse, and soon after Madariaga would rush in in a furious temper, but measuring his words, nevertheless, remembering that his son-in-law’s disposition was as serious as his own.
“I like you very much, my son, but here no one overrules me. … Ah, Frenchy, you are like all the rest of your countrymen! Once you get your claws on a penny, it goes into your stocking, and nevermore sees the light of day, even though they crucify you … ! Did I say five dollars? Give him ten. I command it and that is enough.”
The Frenchman paid, shrugging his shoulders, whilst his father-in-law, satisfied with his triumph, fled to Buenos Aires. It was a good thing to have it well understood that the ranch still belonged to Madariaga, the Spaniard.
From one of these trips, he returned with a companion, a young German who, according to him, knew everything and could do everything. His son-in-law was working too hard. This Karl Hartrott would assist him in the bookkeeping. Desnoyers accepted the situation, and in a few days felt increasing esteem for the new incumbent.
Although they belonged to two unfriendly nations, it didn’t matter. There are good people everywhere, and this Karl was a subordinate worth considering. He kept his distance from his equals, and was hard and inflexible toward his inferiors. All his faculties seemed concentrated in service and admiration for those above him. Scarcely would Madariaga open his lips before the German’s head began nodding in agreement, anticipating his words. If he said anything funny, his clerk’s laugh would break forth in scandalous roars. With Desnoyers he appeared more taciturn, working without stopping for hours at a time. As soon as he saw the manager entering the office he would leap from his seat, holding himself erect with military precision. He was always ready to do anything whatever. Unasked, he spied on the workmen, reporting their carelessness and mistakes. This last service did not especially please his superior officer, but he appreciated it as a sign of interest in the establishment.
The old man bragged triumphantly of the new acquisition, urging his son-in-law also to rejoice.
“A very useful fellow, isn’t he? … These gringoes from Germany work well, know a good many things and cost little. Then, too, so disciplined! so servile! … I am sorry to praise him so to you because you are a Frenchy, and your nation has in them a very powerful enemy. His people are a hard-shelled race.”
Desnoyers replied with a shrug of indifference. His country was far away, and so was Germany. Who knew if they would ever return! … They were both Argentinians now, and ought to interest themselves in present affairs and not bother about the past.
“And how little pride they have!” sneered Madariaga in an ironical tone. “Every one of these gringoes when he is a clerk at the Capital sweeps the shop, prepares the meals, keeps the books, sells to the customers, works the typewriter, translates four or five languages, and dances attendance on the proprietor’s lady friend, as though she were a grand senora … all for twenty-five dollars a month. Who can compete with such people! You, Frenchy, you are like me, very serious, and would die of hunger before passing through certain things. But, mark my words, on this very account they are going to become a terrible people!”
After brief reflection, the ranchman added:
“Perhaps they are not so good as they seem. Just see how they treat those under them! It may be that they affect this simplicity without having it, and when they grin at receiving a kick, they are saying inside, ‘Just wait till my turn comes, and I’ll give you three!’ ”
Then he suddenly seemed to repent of his suspicions.
“At any rate, this Karl is a poor fellow, a mealy-mouthed simpleton who the minute I say anything opens his jaws like a fly-catcher. He insists that he comes of a great family, but who knows anything about these gringoes? … All of us, dead with hunger when we reach America, claim to be sons of princes.”
Madariaga had placed himself on a familiar footing with his Teutonic treasure, not through gratitude as with Desnoyers, but in order to make him feel his inferiority. He had also introduced