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<h2> CHAPTER VIII </h2>
<p>When I began to listen, it was a surprise to find that the subject of
conversation was no longer the favourite one of horse-flesh, which had
held undisputed sway the whole evening. Uncle Anselmo was just now
expatiating on the merits of gin, a beverage for which he confessed to a
special liking.</p>
<p>“Gin is, without doubt,” said he, “the flower of all strong drinks. I have
always maintained that it is incomparable. And for this reason I always
keep a little of it in the house in a stone bottle; for, when I have taken
my <i>maté</i> in the morning, and, after it, one or two or three or four
sips of gin, I saddle my horse and go out with a tranquil stomach, feeling
at peace with the whole world.</p>
<p>“Well, sirs, it happened that on the morning in question, I noticed that
there was very little gin left in the bottle; for, though I could not see
how much it contained, owing to its being of stone and not of glass, I
judged from the manner in which I had to tip it upwards when pouring it
out. In order to remember that I had to bring home some with me that day I
tied a knot in my handkerchief; then, mounting my horse, I rode out
towards the side on which the sun sets, little expecting that anything
unusual was going to happen to me that day. But thus it often is; for no
man, however learned he may be and able to read the almanac, can tell what
a day will bring forth.”</p>
<p>Anselmo was so outrageously prosy, I felt strongly inclined to go to bed
to dream of beautiful Margarita; but politeness forbade, and I was also
somewhat curious to hear what extraordinary thing had happened to him on
that very eventful day.</p>
<p>“It fortunately happened,” continued Anselmo, “that I had that morning
saddled the best of my cream-noses; for on that horse I could say without
fear of contradiction, I am on horseback and not on foot. I called him
Chingolo, a name which Manuel, also called the Fox, gave him, because he
was a young horse of promise, able to fly with his rider. Manuel had nine
horses—cream-noses every one—and how from being Manuel's they
came to be mine I will tell you. He, poor man, had just lost all his money
at cards—perhaps the money he lost was not much, but how he came to
have any was a mystery to many. To me, however, it was no mystery, and
when my cattle were slaughtered and had their hides stripped off by night,
perhaps I could have gone to Justice—feeling like a blind man for
something in the wrong place—and led her in the direction of the
offender's house; but when one has it in his power to speak, knowing at
the same time that his words will fall like a thunderbolt out of a blue
sky upon a neighbour's dwelling, consuming it to ashes and killing all
within it, why, sirs, in such a case the good Christian prefers to hold
his peace. For what has one man more than another that he should put
himself in the place of Providence? We are all of flesh. True, some of us
are only dog's flesh, fit for nothing; but to all of us the lash is
painful, and where it rains blood will sprout. This, I say; but, remember,
I say not that Manuel the Fox robbed me—for I would sully no man's
reputation, even a robber's, or have anyone suffer on my account.</p>
<p>“Well, sirs, to go back to what I was saying, Manuel lost everything; then
his wife fell ill with fever; and what was there left for him but to turn
his horses into money? In this way it came about that I bought the
cream-noses and paid him fifty dollars for them. True, the horses were
young and sound; nevertheless, it was a great price, and I paid it not
without first weighing the matter well in my own mind. For in things of
this nature if a person makes not his reckoning beforehand, where, let me
ask, sirs, will he find himself at the year's end? The devil will take him
with all the cattle he inherited from his fathers, or got together by his
own proper abilities and industry.</p>
<p>“For you see the thing is this. I have a poor head for figures; all other
kinds of knowledge come easy to me, but how to calculate readily has never
yet found an entrance into my head. At the same time, whenever I find it
impossible to make out my accounts, or settle what to do, I have only to
take the matter to bed with me and lie awake thinking it over. For when I
do that, I rise next morning feeling free and refreshed, like a man that
has just eaten a water-melon; for what I have to do and how it is to be
done is all as plain to my sight as this <i>maté</i>-cup I hold in my
hand.</p>
<p>“In this difficulty I therefore resolved to take the subject of the horses
to bed with me, and to say, 'Here I have you and you shall not escape from
me.' But about supper-time Manuel came in to molest me, and sat in the
kitchen with a sad face, like a prisoner under sentence of death.</p>
<p>“'If Providence is angry against the entire human race,' said he, 'and is
anxious to make an example, I know not for what reason so harmless and
obscure a person as I am should have been selected.'</p>
<p>“'What would you have, Manuel?' I replied. 'Wise men tell us that
Providence sends us misfortunes for our good.'</p>
<p>“'True, I agree with you,' he said. 'It is not for me to doubt it, for
what can be said of that soldier who finds fault with the measures of his
commander? But you know, Anselmo, the man I am, and it is bitter that
these troubles should fall on one who has never offended except in being
always poor.'</p>
<p>“The vulture,' said I, 'ever preys on the weak and ailing.'</p>
<p>“'First I lose everything,' he continued, 'then this woman must fall ill
of a calenture; and now I am forced to believe that even my credit is
gone, since I cannot borrow the money I require. Those who knew me best
have suddenly become strangers.'</p>
<p>“'When a man is down,' said I, 'the very dogs will scratch up the dust
against him.'</p>
<p>“'True,' said Manuel; 'and since these calamities fell on me, what has
become of the friendships that were so many? For nothing has a worse
smell, or stinks more, than poverty, so that all men when they behold it
cover up their faces or fly from such a pestilence.'</p>
<p>“'You speak the truth, Manuel,' I returned; 'but say not all men, for who
knows—there being so many souls in the world—whether you may
not be doing injustice to someone.'</p>
<p>“'I say it not of you,' he replied, 'On the contrary, if any person has
had compassion on me it is you; and this I say, not in your presence only,
but publicly proclaim it to all men.'</p>
<p>“Words only were these. 'And now,' he continued 'my cards oblige me to
part with my horses for money; therefore I come this evening to learn your
decision.'</p>
<p>“'Manuel,' said I, 'I am a man of few words, as you know, and
straightforward, therefore you need not have used compliments, and before
saying this to have said so many things; for in this you do not treat me
as a friend.'</p>
<p>“'You say well,' he replied; 'but I love not to dismount before checking
my horse and taking my toes from the stirrups.'</p>
<p>“'That is only as it should be,' said I; 'nevertheless, when you come to a
friend's house, you need not alight at such a distance from the gate.'</p>
<p>“'For what you say, I thank you,' he answered. 'My faults are more
numerous than the spots on the wild cat, but not amongst them is
precipitancy.'</p>
<p>“'That is what I like,' said I; 'for I do not love to go about like a
drunk man embracing strangers. But our acquaintance is not of yesterday,
for we have looked into and know each other, even to the bowels and to the
marrow in the bones. Why, then, should we meet as strangers, since we have
never had a difference, or any occasion to speak ill of each other?'</p>
<p>“'And how should we speak ill,' replied Manuel, 'since it has never
entered into either of us, even in a dream, to do the other an injury?
Some there are, who, loving me badly, would blow up your head like a
bladder with lies if they could, laying I know not what things to my
charge, when—heaven knows—they themselves are perhaps the
authors of all they so readily blame me for.'</p>
<p>“'If you speak,' said I, 'of the cattle I have lost, trouble not yourself
about such trifles; for if those who speak evil of you, only because they
themselves are evil, were listening, they might say, This man begins to
defend himself when no one has so much as thought of drawing against him.'</p>
<p>“'True, there is nothing they will not say of me,' said Manuel; 'therefore
I am dumb, for nothing is to be gained by speaking. They have already
judged me, and no man wishes to be made a liar.'</p>
<p>“'As for me,' I said, 'I never doubted you, knowing you to be a man,
honest, sober, and diligent. If in anything you had given offence I should
have told you of it, so great is my frankness towards all men.'</p>
<p>“'All that you tell me I firmly believe,' said he, 'for I know that you
are not one that wears a mask like others. Therefore, relying on your
great openness in all things, I come to you about these horses; for I love
not dealing with those who shake you out a whole bushel of chaff for every
grain of corn.'</p>
<p>“'But, Manuel,' said I, 'you know that I am not made of gold, and that the
mines of Peru were not left to me for an inheritance. You ask a high price
for your horses.'</p>
<p>“'I do not deny it,' he replied. 'But you are not one to stop your ears
against reason and poverty when they speak. My horses are my only wealth
and happiness, and I have no glory but them.'</p>
<p>“'Frankly, then,' I answered, 'to-morrow I will tell you yes or no.'</p>
<p>“'Let it be as you say; but, friend, if you will close with me tonight I
will abate something from the price.'</p>
<p>“'If you wish to abate anything,' said I, 'let it be to-morrow, for I have
accounts to make up to-night and a thousand things to think of.'</p>
<p>“After that Manuel got on to his horse and rode away. It was black and
rainy, but he had never needed moon or lantern to find what he sought by
night, whether his own house, or a fat cow—also his own, perhaps.</p>
<p>“Then I went to bed. The first question I asked myself, when I had blown
out the candle, was, Are there fat wethers enough in my flock to pay for
the cream-noses? Then I asked, How many fat wethers will it take at the
price Don Sebastian—a miserly cheat be it said in passing—offers
me a head for them to make up the amount I require?</p>
<p>“That was the question; but, you see, friends, I could not answer it. At
length, about midnight, I resolved to light the candle and get an ear of
maize; for by putting the grains into small heaps, each heap the price of
a wether, then counting the whole, I could get to know what I wanted.</p>
<p>“The idea was good. I was feeling under my pillow for the matches to
strike a light when I suddenly remembered that all the grain had been
given to the poultry. No matter, said I to myself, I have been spared the
trouble of getting out of bed for nothing. Why, it was only yesterday,
said I, still thinking about the maize, that Pascuala, the cook, said to
me when she put my dinner before me, 'Master, when are you going to buy
some grain for the fowls? How can you expect the soup to be good when
there is not even an egg to put in it? Then there is the black cock with
the twisted toe—one of the second brood the spotted hen raised last
summer, though the foxes carried off no less than three hens from the very
bushes where she was sitting—he has been going round with drooping
wings all day, so that I verily believe he is going to have the pip. And
if any epidemic comes amongst the fowls as there was in neighbour
Gumesinda's the year before last, you may be sure it will only be for want
of corn. And the strangest thing is, and it is quite true, though you may
doubt it, for neighbour Gumesinda told me only yesterday when she came to
ask me for some parsley, because, as you know very well, her own was all
rooted up when the pigs broke into her garden last October; well, sir, she
says the epidemic which swept off twenty-seven of her best fowls in one
week began by a black cock with a broken toe, just like ours, beginning to
droop its wings as if it had the pip.'</p>
<p>“'May all the demons take this woman!' I cried, throwing down the spoon I
had been using, 'with her chatter about eggs and pip and neighbour
Gumesinda, and I know not what besides! Do you think I have nothing to do
but to gallop about the country looking for maize, when it is not to be
had for its weight in gold at this season, and all because a sickly
spotted hen is likely to have the pip?'</p>
<p>“'I have said no such thing,' retorted Pascuala, raising her voice as
women do. 'Either you are not paying proper attention to what I am telling
you, or you pretend not to understand me. For I never said the spotted hen
was likely to have the pip; and if she is the fattest fowl in all this
neighbourhood you may thank me, after the Virgin, for it, as neighbour
Gumesinda often says, for I never fail to give her chopped meat three
times a day; and that is why she is never out of the kitchen, so that even
the cats are afraid to come into the house, for she flies like a fury into
their faces. But you are always laying hold of my words by the heels; and
if I said anything at all about pip, it was not the spotted hen, but the
black cock with the twisted toe, I said was likely to have it.'</p>
<p>“'To the devil with your cock and your hen!' I shouted, rising in haste
from my chair, for my patience was all gone and the woman was driving me
crazy with her story of a twisted toe and what neighbour Gumesinda said.
'And may all the curses fall on that same woman, who is always full as a
gazette of her neighbours' affairs! I know well what the parsley is she
comes to gather in my garden. It is not enough that she goes about the
country giving importance to the couplets I sang to Montenegro's daughter,
when I danced with her at Cousin Teodoro's dance after the cattle-marking,
when, heaven knows, I never cared the blue end of a finger-nail for that
girl. But things have now come to a pretty pass when even a chicken with a
broken toe cannot be indisposed in my house without neighbour Gumesinda
thrusting her beak into the matter!'</p>
<p>“Such anger did I feel at Pascuala when I remembered these things and
other things besides, for there is no end to that woman's tongue, that I
could have thrown the dish of meat at her head.</p>
<p>“Just then, while occupied with these thoughts, I fell asleep. Next
morning I got up, and without beating my head any more I bought the horses
and paid Manuel his price. For there is in me this excellent gift, when I
am puzzled in mind and in doubt about anything, night makes everything
plain to me, and I rise refreshed and with my determination formed.”</p>
<p>Here ended Anselmo's story, without one word about those marvellous
matters he had set out to tell. They had all been clean forgotten. He
began to make a cigarette, and, fearing that he was about to launch forth
on some fresh subject, I hastily bade good night and retreated to my bed.</p>
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