A MURDER

“Driveller” Juan, the town dandy protected by Father MartÍn, had from childhood distinguished himself by his cowardice and by his tendency to bullying. His appearance was that of an idiot; people said he drivelled; whence they gave him the nickname of “Driveller” Juan. He lived by pretending to be terrible in the gambling houses, and bragged of having been in prison several times.

The Clericals had made “Driveller” the janitor of the Benevolent Society, and at the same time its bully, so that he could inspire terror; but as he was a coward in reality, and this was evident, he did not succeed in terrifying the members of the Workmen’s Club.

“Driveller” Juan was tall, red-headed, with high cheek bones, knotty hands, and a pendulous lip; his father, like him, had been bony and strong, and for that reason had been called “Big Bones.”

“Driveller,” like the coward he was, knew that he was not filling his job; one day he had dared to go to a ball at the Workmen’s Club, and San RomÁn, the old Republican, had gone to him and tapped him on the arm, saying:

“Listen here, ‘Driveller,’ get out right now and don’t you come back.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you are not wanted.”

Juan had gone away like a whipped dog. “Driveller” wanted to do a manly action, and he did it.

There was a boy belonging to the Workmen’s Club, who was called “Lengthy,” one of the few type-setters in the town, a clever, facetious lad who now and then wrote an article for The Protest.

“Driveller” insisted that “Lengthy” wanted to make fun of him. No doubt he chose him for his victim, because he was so slim, lanky, and weak; perhaps he had some other reason for attacking him. One afternoon, at twilight, “Driveller” halted “Lengthy,” demanded an explanation, insulted him, and on finding his victim made no reply, gave him a blow. The street was wet, and “Driveller” stepped on a fruit-skin and fell headlong. Seeing the bully infuriated, “Lengthy” started to run, came to an open door, and ran rapidly up the stairs. “Driveller,” furious, ran after him. Pursued and pursuer went down a hallway and “Lengthy” managed to reach a door and close it. “Driveller’s” revengeful fury was not satisfied; he lay in wait until “Lengthy,” believing himself alone, tried to escape from his hiding-place and was walking down the hall, and then “Driveller” drew his pistol and fired with the mouth against “Lengthy’s” shoulder, and left him dead. As it was a rainy day, both the dead man’s footsteps and the murderer’s could be followed and everything that had happened ascertained.

The impression produced in the town by this assassination was enormous. Some people said that Father Martin and his followers had ordered “Lengthy” killed. In the Workmen’s Club there was talk of setting fire to the Benevolent Society of Saint Joseph and of burning the monastery of la PeÑa.

CÆsar was in Madrid at the time of the crime. Some days later a committee from the Club came to see him; it was necessary to have a charge pushed and for CÆsar to be the private attorney.

According to the Club people, the Clericals wanted to save “Driveller” Juan, and if he was not disposed of completely, he would begin his performances again.

CÆsar could see nothing for it but to accept the duty which the town put upon him.

Because of the crime, the history of “Driveller’s” family came to be public property. He had a mother and two sisters who were seamstresses, whom he exploited, and he lived with a tavern-keeper nicknamed “The Cub-Slut,” a buxom, malicious woman, who said horrible things about everybody.

LIFE OF “THE CUB-SLUT”

There were reasons for “The Cub-Slut’s” being what she was. Her parents being dead when she was a baby, having no relatives she had been left deserted. A farrier they called “Gaffer,” who seemed to have been a kind person, took in the infant and brought her up in his house. It was “Gaffer” who had given the nickname to the child, because instead of calling her by her name, he used to say:

“Hey, ‘Cub-Slut!’ Hey, little ‘Cub-Slut!’” and the appellation had stuck.

When the girl was fourteen, “Gaffer” ravished her, and afterwards, being tired of her, took her to a house of prostitution in the Capital and sold her. “The Cub-Slut” left the brothel to go and live with an old innkeeper, who died and made her his heiress. Six years later she went back to Castro. Those that had seen her come back maintained that when she reached the town and was told that “Gaffer” had died a few months before, she burst into tears; some said it was from sentiment, but others thought, very plausibly, that it was from rage at not being able to get revenge. “The Cub-Slut” set up a tavern at Castro.

“Driveller” and “The Cub-Slut” got along well, although, by what any one could discover, “The Cub-Slut” treated the bully more like a servant than anything else.

“The Cub-Slut” was said to be very outspoken. One Sunday, on the promenade, she had answered one of the young ladies of Castro rudely. The young lady was the daughter of a millionaire, who had married after having several children by a mistress of pretty bad reputation. The millionaire’s children had been educated in aristocratic schools, and his girls were very elegant young ladies; even the mother got to be refined and polished. One Sunday, on the promenade, one of them, on passing near “The Cub-Slut,” said in a low tone to her mother:

“Dear Lord, what riff-raff!”

And “The Cub-Slut,” hearing her, stopped and said violently:

“There’s no riff-raff here except your mother and me. Now you know it.”

The young lady was so upset by the harsh retort that she didn’t leave the house again for a long while.

Such rude candour on “The Cub-Slut’s” part had made her feared; so that nobody durst provoke her in the slightest degree. Besides, her history and her misfortune were known and people knew that she was not a vicious woman, but rather a victim of fate.

The assassination of “Lengthy” was one of those events that are not forgotten in a town. “Lengthy” was the son of “Gaffer,” “The Cub-Slut’s” protector, and some people imagined that she had persuaded “Driveller” to commit the crime; but the members of the Workmen’s Club continued to believe that it was a case of clerical revenge.

“THE CUB-SLUT’S” ARGUMENT

In the month of June, CÆsar and Amparito went to Castro Duro.

One afternoon when CÆsar was alone in the garden, a very buxom woman appeared before him, wearing a mantilla and dressed in black.

“I came in without anybody seeing me,” she said. “Your porter, ‘Wild Piglet,’ let me pass. I know that Amparito is not here.”

She didn’t say “Your wife,” or “Your lady,” but “Amparito.”

“Tell me what you want,” said CÆsar, looking at the woman with a certain dread.

“I am the woman that lives with ‘Driveller’ Juan.”

“Ah! You are...?” “Yes. ‘The Cub-Slut.’”

CÆsar looked at her attentively. She was of the aquiline type seen on Iberian coins, her nose arched, eyes big and black, thin-lipped mouth, and a protruding chin. She noticed his scrutiny, and stood as if on her guard.

“Sit down, if you will, please, and tell me what you wish.”

“I am all right,” she replied, continuing to stand; then, precipitately, she said, “What I want is for them not to punish Juan more than is just.”

“I don’t believe he will be punished unjustly,” responded CÆsar.

“The whole town says that if you speak against him in court, the punishment will be heavier.”

“And you want me not to speak?”

“That’s it.”

“It seems to me to be asking too much. I shall do no more than insist that they punish him justly.”

“There is no way to get out of it?”

“None.”

“If you wanted to... I would wait on you on my knees afterwards, I would make any sacrifice for you.”

“Are you so fond of the man?”

“The Cub-Slut” answered in the negative, by an energetic movement of her head.

“Well, then, what do you expect to get out of him?”

“I expect revenge.”

“The Cub-Slut’s” eyes flashed.

“Is what they say about you true?” asked CÆsar.

“Yes.”

“The dead boy was the son of the man that sold you?”

“Yes.”

“But to revenge oneself on the son for the sin of the father is horrible.”

“The son was just as wicked as the father.”

“So that you ordered him killed?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you come and tell that to me, when I am to be the private attorney.” “Have them arrest me. I don’t care.”

“The Cub-Slut” stood firm before CÆsar, provocative, with flashing eyes, in an attitude of challenge.

“You hated that dead boy so much as this?”

“Yes, him and all his family.”

“I can understand that if the father were alive, you might...”

“If he were alive! I would give my life to drag him out of his tomb, so as to make him suffer as much as he made me suffer.”

CÆsar vaguely remembered the story he had heard about this woman, whose adopted father had ruined her and then left her in a disreputable house in the Capital. In general, the most absolute lack of apprehension characterizes such village tragedies, and neither does the victim know she is a victim, nor the villain that he is a villain.

But in this case, judging by what “The Cub-Slut” was telling him, it had not been so; “Gaffer” had gone about it with a certain depravity, glutting his desires on her, and then selling her, putting her into an infamous house. The villain had been cruel and intelligent; the victim had realized that she was one, to the degree that her soul was filled with desires for vengeance.

“That man,” “The Cub-Slut” ended, sobbing, “took away my name and gave me a nickname; took away my honour, my life, everything; and if I cannot be revenged on him because he is dead, I will be revenged on his family.”

CÆsar listened attentively to the woman’s explanation, without interrupting her. Then, when she had finished speaking, he said:

“And why not go away?”

“Away? Where?” she asked, astonished.

“Anywhere. The world is so big! Why do you persist in living in the one spot where people know you and have a bad opinion of you? Go away from here. There are countries with more generous sentiments than these old corners of the world. You do not consider yourself infamous or vile.”

“No, no.”

“Then go away from here. To America, to Australia, anywhere. Perhaps you can reconstruct your life. At any rate, nobody will call you by your nickname; nobody will talk familiarly to you. You will conquer or you will be conquered in the struggle for life. That’s evident. You will share the common lot, but you will not be vilified. Do go.”

“The Cub-Slut” listened to CÆsar with eyes cast down. When he ceased, she stood looking at him intently, and then, without a word, she disappeared.