The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California

  XX.

  While we were eating supper, a dozen Indian girls were gathered abouta table in one of the large rooms behind the house, busily engagedin blowing out the contents of several hundred eggs and filling thehollowed shells with cologne, flour, tinsel, bright scraps of paper.Each egg-was then sealed with white wax, and ready for the cascaronfrolic of the evening.

  We had been dancing, singing, and talking for an hour after rosario,when the eggs were brought in. In an instant every girl's hair wasunbound, a wild dive was made for the great trays, and eggs flew inevery direction. Dancing was forgotten. The girls and men chased eachother about the room, the air was filled with perfume and glitteringparticles, the latter looking very pretty on black floating hair.Etiquette demanded that only one egg should be thrown by the same handat a time, but quick turns of supple wrists followed each other veryrapidly. To really accomplish a feat the egg must crash on the back ofthe head, and each occupied in attack was easy prey.

  Chonita was like a child. Two priests were of our party, and she madea target of their shaven crowns, shrieking with delight. They vowedrevenge, and chased her all over the house; but not an egg had brokenon that golden mane. She was surrounded at one time by caballeros, butshe whirled and doubled so swiftly that every cascaron flew afield.

  The pelting grew faster and more furious; every room was invaded; wechased each other up and down the corridors. The people in the courthad their cascarones also, and the noise must have been heard at theMission. Don Guillermo hobbled about delightedly, covered with tinseland flour. Estenega had tried a dozen times to hit Chonita, but asif by instinct she faced him each time before the egg could leave hishand. Finally he pursued her down the corridor to her library, whereI, fortunately, happened to be resting, and both threw themselves intochairs, breathless.

  "Let us stay here," he said. "We have had enough of this."

  "Very well," she said. She bent her head to lift a book which hadfallen from a shelf, and felt the soft blow of the cascaron.

  "At last!" said Estenega, contentedly. "I was determined to conquer,if I waited until morning."

  Chonita looked vexed for a moment,--she did not like to bevanquished,--then shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in her chair.The little room was plainly furnished. Shelves covered three sides,and the window-seat and the table were littered with books. There wereno curtains, no ornaments; but Chonita's hair, billowing to the floor,her slender voluptuous form, her white skin and green irradiatingeyes, the candlelight half revealing, half concealing, made a picturerequiring no background. I caught the expression of Estenega's face,and determined to remain if he murdered me.

  Peals of laughter, joyous shrieks, screams of mock terror, floated into us. I broke a silence which was growing awkward:

  "How happy they are! Creatures of air and sunshine! Life in thisArcadia is an idyl."

  "They are not happy," said Estenega, contemptuously; "they are gay.They are light of heart through absence of material cares and endlesssources of enjoyment, which in turn have bred a careless order ofmind. But did each pause long enough to look into his own heart, wouldhe not find a stone somewhere in its depths?--perhaps a skull gravenon the stone,--who knows?"

  "Oh, Diego!" I exclaimed, impatiently, "this is a party, not afuneral."

  "Then is no one happy?" asked Chonita, wistfully.

  "How can he be, when in each moment of attainment he is pricked by theknowledge that it must soon be over? The youth is not happy, becausethe shadow of the future is on him. The man is not happy, because theknowledge of life's incompleteness is with him."

  "Then of what use to live at all?"

  "No use. It is no use to die, neither, so we live. I will grant thatthere may be ten completely happy moments in life,--the ten consciousmoments preceding certain death--and oblivion."

  "I will not discuss the beautiful hope of our religion with you,because you do not believe, and I should only get angry. But whatare we to do with this life? You say nothing is wrong nor right. Whatwould you have the stumbling and unanchored do with what has beenthrust upon him?"

  "Man, in his gropings down through the centuries, has concocted,shivered, and patched certain social conditions well enough calculatedto develop the best and the worst that is in us, making it easier forus to be bad than good, that good might be the standard. We feel adeeper satisfaction if we have conquered an evil impulse and donewhat is accepted as right, because we have groaned and stumbled inthe doing,--that is all. Temptation is sweet only because the impulsecomes from the depths of our being, not because it is difficult to betempted. If we overcome, the satisfaction is deep and enduring,--whichonly goes to show that man is but a petty egotist, always drawingpictures of himself on a pedestal. The man who emancipates himselffrom traditions and yields to his impulses is debarred from happinessby the blunders of the blindfolded generations preceding him, whicharranged that to yield was easy and to resist difficult. Had theyreversed the conditions and conclusions, the majority of the humanrace would have fought each other to death, but the selected remnantwould have had a better time of it.

  "Let us suppose a case as conditions now exist. Assume, for the sakeof argument, that you loved me and that you plucked from your natureyour religion, your fidelity to your house, your love for yourbrother, and gave yourself to me. You would stand appalled at thesacrifice until you realized that you had come to me only becauseit would have been more difficult to stay away. You conquer thepassionate cry of love,--the strongest the human compound has evervoiced,--and you are miserably happy for the rest of your life noattitude being so pleasing to the soul as the attitude of martyrdom.Many a man and woman looks with some impatience for the last good-byeto be said, so sweet is the prospect of sadness, of suffering, ofresignation."

  I was aghast at his audacity, but I saw that Chonita was fascinated.Her egotism was caressed, and her womanhood thrilled. "Are we all suchshams as that?" was what she said. "You make me despise myself."

  "Not yourself, but a great structure--of which you are but agrain--with a faulty foundation. Don't despise yourself. Curse thebuilders who shoveled those stones together."

  He left her then, and she told me to go to bed; she wanted to sit awhile and think.

  "He makes you think too much," I said. "Better forget what he says assoon as you can. He is a very disturbing influence."

  But she made me no reply, and sat there staring at the floor. Shebegan to feel a sense of helplessness, like a creature caught in anet. It was more the man's personality than his words which made herfeel as if he were pouring himself throughout her, taking possessionof brain and every sense, as though he were a sort of intellectualdrug.

  "I believe I was made from his rib," she thought, angrily, "else whycan he have this extraordinary power over me? I do not love him. Ihave read somewhat of love, and seen more. This is different, quite. Ionly feel that there is something in him that I want. Sometimes I feelthat I must dig my nails into him and tear him apart until I findwhat I want,--something that belongs to me. Sometimes it is as if hepromised it, at others as if he were unconscious of its existence;always it is evanescent. Is he going to make my mind his own?--and yethe always seems to leave mine free. He has never snubbed me. He makesme think: there is the danger."

  An hour later there was a tap on her door. Casa Grande was asleep. Shesat upright, her heart beating rapidly. Estenega was audacious enoughfor anything. But it was her brother who entered.

  "Reinaldo!" she exclaimed, horrified to feel an unmistakable stab ofdisappointment.

  "Yes, it is I. Art thou alone?"

  "Sure."

  "I have something to say to thee."

  He drew a chair close to her and sat down "Thou knowest, my sister,"he began, haltingly, "how I hate the house of Estenega. My hatredis as loyal as thine: every drop of blood in my veins is true to thehonor of the house of Iturbi y Moncada. But, my sister, is it not sothat one can sacrifice himself, his mere personal feelings, upon thealtar of his country? Is it not so, my siste
r?"

  "What is it thou wishest me to understand, Reinaldo?"

  "Do not look so stern, my Chonita. Thou hast not yet heard me; and,although thou mayest be angry then, thou wilt reason later. Thou artdevoted to thy house, no?"

  "Thou hast come here in the night to ask me such a question as that?"

  "And thou lovest thy brother?"

  "Reinaldo, thou hast drunken more mescal than Angelica. Go back to thybride." But, although she spoke lightly, she was uneasy.

  "My sister, I never drank a drop of mescal in my life! Listen. Itis our father's wish, thy wish, my wish, that I become a great anddistinguished man, an ornament to the house of Iturbi y Moncada, astar on the brow of California. How can I accomplish this greatand desirable end? By the medium of politics only; our wars are soinsignificant. I have been debarred from the Departmental Junta bythe enemy of our house, else would it have rung with my eloquence, andMexico have known me to-day. Yet I care little for the Junta. I wishto go as diputado to Mexico; it is a grander arena. Moreover, in thatgreat capital I shall become a man of the world,--which is necessaryto control men. That is _his_ power,--curse him! And he--he will notlet me go there. Even Alvarado listens to him. The Departmental Juntais under his thumb. I will never be anything but a caballero of SantaBarbara--I, an Iturbi y Moncada, the last scion of a line illustriousin war, in diplomacy, in politics--until he is either dead--do notjump, my sister; it is not my intention to murder him and ruin mycareer--or becomes my friend."

  "Canst thou not put thy meaning in fewer words?"

  "My sister, he loves thee, and thou lovest thy brother and thy house."

  Chonita rose to her full height, and although he rose too, and wastaller, she seemed to look down upon him.

  "Thou wouldst have me marry him? Is that thy meaning?"

  "Ay." His voice trembled. Under his swagger he was always a littleafraid of the Doomswoman.

  "Thou askest perjury and disloyalty and dishonor of an Iturbi yMoncada?"

  "An Iturbi y Moncada asks it of an Iturbi y Moncada. If the man isready to bend his neck in sacrifice to the glory of his house, is itfor the woman to think?"

  Chonita stood grasping the back of her chair convulsively; it wasthe only sign of emotion she betrayed. She knew that what he said wastrue: that Estenega, for public and personal reasons, never wouldlet him go to Mexico; he would permit no enemy at court. But thisknowledge drifted through her mind and out of it at the moment; shewas struggling to hold down a hot wave of contempt rushing upwardwithin her. She clung to her traditions as frantically as she clung toher religion.

  "Go," she said, after a moment.

  "Thou wilt think of what I have said?"

  "I shall pray to forget it."

  "Chonita!" his voice rang out so loud that she placed her hand on hismouth. He dashed it away. "Thou wilt!" he cried, like a spoilt child."Thou wilt! I shall go to the city of Mexico, and only thou canst sendme there. All my father's gold and leagues will not buy me a seat inthe Mexican Congress, unless this accursed Estenega lifts his handand says, 'Thou shalt.' Holy God! how I hate him! Would that I hadthe chance to murder him! I would cut his heart out to-morrow. Andmy father likes him, and has outlived rancor. And thou--thou art notindifferent."

  "Go!"

  He threw his arms about her, kissing and caressing her. "My sister! Mysister! Thou wilt! Say that thou wilt!" But she flung him off as if hewere a snake.

  "Wilt thou go?" she asked.

  "Ay! I go. But he shall suffer. I swear it! I swear it!" And he rushedfrom the room.

  Chonita sat there, staring more fixedly at the floor than whenEstenega had left her.