cw.blackalibi-第12部分

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Then　as　the　girl　half　started　up　from　her　chair　in　unleashed　alacrity；　a　gesture　of　the　fan　stopped　her　short。　〃And　I　want　one　thing　understood。　You　are　not　to　go　there　acpanied　by　Rosita　any　more。〃
　　The　girl　looked　stricken。　〃But　I　can't　go　by　myself！　Who　else　is…？〃
　　〃I　don't　trust　her。　She's　giddy　and　only　a　few　months　older　than　yourself；　no　fit　panion！　I　should　have　put　a　stop　to　it　long　ago。　I　don't　know　what　I've　been　thinking　of　until　now。　It　will　be　old　Marta　who　will　take　you；　if　you　go　at　all。〃
　　A　look　of　unadulterated　horror　passed　over　the　girl's　face　at　this。　Before　she　could　answer；　a　telephone　had　pealed　distantly；　in　some　remote　room。
　　〃Rosita！〃　the　mistress　of　the　house　called。
　　There　was　a　wait　that　somehow　suggested　more　a　stage　wait　than　an　actual　approach　from　a　distance；　and　then　a　ely　young　girl…of…all…work；　with　a　shawl　already　coifed　around　her　head；　materialized　in　the　doorway；　without　any　preliminary　tread　along　the　hall　having　been　audible。
　　〃Si；　seсora？〃
　　〃Was　that　the　telephone　just　now？〃
　　〃The　operator　must　have　made　a　mistake。　Nobody　answered　when　I　got　to　it；　there　wasn't　anybody　on　it。〃
　　The　Seсora　Viuda's　horizontal　brow　line　arched　slightly；　then　evened　out　again。　〃Every　now　and　then　that　seems　to　happen　in　this　house。　You　can　take　off　your　shawl；　Rosita；〃　she　added　with　an　indifferent　drawl；　〃you　will　not　be　going　out。〃
　　The　girl　put　her　hands　to　it；　but　left　it　in　place；　as　if　hoping　the　order　might　yet　be　countermanded。　〃But　the　Seсorita　Conchita　wanted　me　to　acpany　her　to…〃　she　said　with　an　odd　sort　of　breathlessness。
　　〃Call　Doсa　Marta；　she　is　to　go　with　her　instead。〃
　　The　girl's　black…pitted　eyes　were　fixed　on　her　mistress'　face　with　a　sort　of　tremulous　fixity　that　somehow　suggested　they　wanted　to　direct　themselves　at　somebody　else　in　the　room；　but　were　being　restrained。　She　gave　a　little　knee　dip；　〃　Si；　seсora；〃　vanished　from　the　doorway。
　　The　Seсora　Viuda　turned　back　to　her　daughter。　The　latter　was　sitting　almost　in　the　attitude　of　a　penitent　by　now；　her　second　ankle　had　retreated　far　under　the　chair　to　join　the　first；　and　she　was　busily　engaged　with　both　hands　in　pleating　and　smoothing　out　again　a　small　section　of　dress　over　one　kneecap。　She　could　feel　her　mother's　gaze　on　her；　looked　up　through　her　long　lashes　to　confirm　the　impression；　looked　down　again　when　she　had。
　　Seсora　Contreras　said；　with　an　odd　sort　of　kindliness　seeping　through　her　mien　of　authority；　〃e　here　a　minute；　my　child。〃　Conchita　got　up；　moved　to　the　side　of　the　chaise　longue；　crouched　down　to　the　level　of　her　mother's　face。　The　fan　had　finally　stopped；　for　the　balance　of　the　interview；　was　laid　aside。　The　Seсora　reached　out；　tipped　up　her　hand　to　her　daughter's　chin；　held　it　under　it　in　a　sort　of　static　caress。　She　looked　questioningly　into　her　eyes。
　　The　girl's　eyes　never　wavered；　they　were　crystalline　innocence　itself。
　　〃I　did　not　e　into　this　world　a　middle…aged　woman；　a　widowed　mother；　as　you　see　me　now；　you　know。　I　was　a　young　girl　myself　once；　and　not　so　many　years　ago。　Always　remember；　hijita　de　mi　alma；　anything　you　think；　your　mother　thought　before　you。　Anything　you　do；　your　mother　did　before　you。　And　her　mother　before　her。　There　isn't　anything　new　in　women。　I　know；　I　know。〃
　　〃Know　what；　madrecita？　〃　the　girl　breathed　so　low　it　could　scarcely　be　heard。
　　The　Seсora　Viuda　kissed　her　with　classic　benevolence　on　the　forehead；　then　more　fondly　on　the　lips。　〃You　are　a　sweet　little　thing。　You　are　the　morning　sunlight　in　my　dreary　afternoon　sky。　It　is　not　that　you　would　do　anything　so　unforgivable。　It　is　just　that　there　is　a　way　of　doing　things　that　is　right　and　a　way　that　is　wrong。　You　are　young；　and　the　world　is　old。　When　you　are　a　few　years　older；　I　don't　want　you　to　have　to　look　back　on　anything　lacking　in　dignity；　in　which　you　cut　a　ridiculous　figure。　Anyone　who　may　bee　interested　in　you　should　e　here　to　our　house；　as　the　established　custom　is　with　us；　should　be　introduced　to　you　by　myself；　or　Uncle　Felipe；　or　some　other　older　relative。〃
　　〃　Mamacita；　I　don't　know　what　you　mean。〃
　　The　Seсora　gestured　leniently。　〃I　haven't　said　anything。　It　is　just　my　heart　talking　to　your　heart。　Now　go　there　if　you　insist；　with　Marta；　and　e　right　back。　The　sun　will　soon　be　down；　so　don't　linger。〃
　　Without　actually　springing　up；　the　girl　was　suddenly　all　the　way　across　at　the　open　doorway；　like　something　from　which　a　leash　has　just　been　detached。
　　At　the　threshold　she　turned　for　a　minute。　〃What；　madre　mia？　〃
　　〃Nothing。　Run　along。〃　What　the　Seсora　Viuda　had　just　said；　half　to　herself；　with　a　sigh　of　resignation；　was：　〃It　will　do　no　good。　It　never　has　from　the　beginning；　it　never　will　to　the　end　of　time。　One　can't　change　the　world。〃
　　In　the　passageway　outside；　Conchita　crossed　paths　with　Rosita。　They　brushed　by　one　another　like　two　people　unaware　of　one　another's　presence；　or　at　least　trying　to　give　that　impression。　The　daughter　of　the　house　whispered；　〃She's　sending　Marta　with　me；　what　am　I　going　to　do？〃
　　The　serving　girl　reached　out　backhand　and　clasped　hands　with　her　in　passing；　as　if　to　lend　moral　support。
　　Conchita　looked　down　at　something。　〃What's　that？〃
　　〃Don't　be　afraid；　it'll　just　make　her　drowsy。〃
　　〃Me？　I　can't！〃
　　The　other　fanned　both　hands　at　her　in　a　violent　affirmative。
　　〃It　won't　hurt　her；　will　it？〃　Conchita　breathed　anxiously。
　　〃It's　nothing；　just　an　herb　from　the　mountains。　I　got　it　from　an　Indian　down　at　the　market。　I've　tried　it　on　myself。　All　it　does　is…　Sh！　Here　she　es。〃　They　resumed　their　interrupted　transits。
　　An　old　woman　of　about　sixty；　shawled　for　the　street；　was　ing　down　the　passageway。　〃Are　you　ready；　my　flower？　Have　you　said　good…by　to　your　mother？〃　And　to　Rosita；　in　angry　authority；　〃Go　in　there　and　stay　with　the　Seсora；　useless　one！　She　may　need　you　for　something。〃
　　Conchita　brushed　past。　〃Wait　for　me　at　the　door。　I'm　just　going　back　to　my　room　a　second。〃
　　She　stopped　before　the　mirror　in　there；　scanned　herself　anxiously　as　though　to　make　sure　she　was　looking　her　best　for　the　sake　of　the　dead　in　the　cemetery。　She　threw　open　a　drawer；　unearthed　a　lipstick　from　some　secret　hiding　place　at　the　back　of　it；　hastily　touched　it　to　her　lips。　Then　she　lowered　the　dimming　veil　over　her　face；　obliterating　the　improvement　she　had　just　made；　and　hurried　demurely　back　along　the　passageway　to　rejoin　her　panion。
　　Her　chaperon　already　had　a　public　carriage　drawn　up　at　the　door　and　was　sitting　waiting　in　it。　To　go　to　the　cemetery　in　a　gasoline…powered　vehicle　was　somehow　improper；　she　seemed　to　feel。　〃To　the　flower　market；〃　she　ordered　the　driver；　as　the　slim　veiled　figure　climbed　in　next　to　her。
　　Ten　minutes　later；　after　driving　through　a　number　of　narrow；　elbow…jointed　streets；　they　reached　a　small　plaza　fronting　a　rose…tan　church　of　massive　Spanish　colonial　architecture。　What　was　remarkable　about　it　was　the　broad　expanse　of　worn　stone　steps　leading　up　to　it；　spanning　the　entire　foundation　in　width。　They　were　invisible　as　steps　save　for　a　narrow　lane　of　clearance　left　in　the　middle；　running　directly　up　to　the　entrance。　All　the　rest　had　disappeared　under　what　seemed　to　be　a　multicolored；　unbroken　flower　bed；　with　patches　of　shelter　over　it　here　and　there。　It　was　only　on　closer　inspection　that　this　disintegrated　into　separate　little　zones　of　barter；　each　presided　over　by　its　individual　vendor。　Some　had　rigged　up　little　portable　stalls；　poles　supporting　awnings；　or　straw　mats　to　keep　the　sun　off　their　perishable　wares。　Others；　unable　to　afford　this；　simply　squatted　on　the　steps　in　hollow　squares；　their　merchandise　ranged　around　them　in　open　sheaves　or　clusters　thrust　into　clay　water　jars。　The　air　was　cloying　with　an　indescribable　odor　of　ferns；　crushed　leaves；　bruised　and　trodden　petals　and　stalks；　and；　above　all　else；　the　peculiar　brackishness　given　off　by　age…old　paving　stones　saturated　repeatedly　with　water　all　day　long　without　ever　having　time　to　dry　off。　It　was　an　odor　pounded　in　equal　parts　of　verdant；　blooming　life　and　stagnant；　mildewed　decay。　This　was　the　flower　market；　held　on　this　site　for　two　hundred　years　past　every　day　from　sunrise　until　dusk。
　　Conchita's