Dance of the Dwarfs (25 page)

Chucha asked me where the duck were. The fire and the spit had long been ready. After all, I never failed. I ignored her. I could not help it. I had no speech. She may have thought that I suspected she was making fun of me. I went straight to the laboratory and the whisky bottle. My clothes slopped off me onto the floor. When I had put on a dressing gown so as not to shock her blasted peasant prudery, I called to Teresa to take the mess away and rinse it. The woman stammered that the moon was clear again and that she would go out at once and fetch water from the well.

They are all mad, when there is nothing but a closed door between them and death. Just because Mario and Teresa know or think they know that the pitiable dwarfs are as solid as themselves, they are free of anxiety. What curiosities they are! Or perhaps we are all alike. Warn a man that the devil will get him if he doesn't do what he is told, and he obeys trembling. Warn him that his life is in danger, and the effect will wear off in a week.

I made no mistake with Teresa. I told her that there was a duende in the night and that I had seen it. Drastic, for what I say is the word of God. If now there were an accident without obvious cause, I can imagine them seized by such a concentration of twelve years' suppressed terror that they would rather fly hand in hand into the empty llano than stay another moment in the estancia. But it doesn't matter. When they see the dead animal tomorrow and I explain the source of the rumors which have oppressed them ever since the disappearance of Cisneros. I can trust their sound common sense.

The dead animal. Yes. It will not go far from the only food and at first light it will take to the shade of Mario's old house or one of the ruined, overgrown cabins. For such close quarters I shall use the 16-bore—quick, certain, and blast more effective than a single bullet at what is going to be the range.

Chucha came in some ten minutes ago while I was deep in this record. She had the impertinence to ask me why I had frightened the pair just because I had fallen in and bagged no duck. Impertinence? Or a daughter's utter trust in my gentleness? I told her to leave me alone, to go to bed and I would come. She saw that I was shaking with nerves and whisky. Not very tactful after her experience in a dim past. But I have to unwind, God damn it!

Women's lack of steady confidence is so absurd. She looked at me and seemed to wither as if love had suddenly come to an end. What does she think I am up to? Disillusioned with her and looking for another wife among the dwarfs? Well, of course she cannot know more than I tell her. If it were daylight I should find the child had run outside to talk to her sapling. I lack imagi

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1968 by The Estate of Geoffrey Household

Cover design by Drew Padrutt

978-1-4976-9857-4

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