Authors: Roman Payne
That weekend without Saskia was horrible. I stayed in the hotel
all day Friday. I wrote a letter to Juhani, read from
The Odyssey
,
and drank coffee. It was now the new moon and the moon would
be starting to grow. From Saturday onward I could drink wine
again…
Friday night, I stayed in the hotel and rested. A faint hope
that Saskia would come by kept me there, but she never did. I
slept early and woke up Saturday morning to continue the same
boring regime.
Saturday the moon turned to its growing phase. It was the
slightest waxing crescent in the sky. I knew this was the time to
begin living again. In a week it would be a half-moon. No time to
waste.
I spent Saturday in the hotel without Saskia, pacing the
floor, thinking, trying to read, it was useless. I determined myself
to go out Saturday night and distract myself. I asked the
concierge at the Sant Felip Neri about the best entertainment and
he suggested I go see a spectacle at the
Teatro de la Santa Cruz
on
La Rambla. I followed his advice and bought a ticket for the
theatre. It was the night of a special production followed by a
costumed dance where all spectators were obliged to dress in the
fashion of the last great Spanish war. I went to a tailor shop and
bought finery for the evening. I went to an arms boutique where I
spent fifteen pistoles on a fine sword of steal and Spanish silver,
its handle decorated in emeralds. Before dressing in my royal
pomp, I went to a tavern to toast a few drinks to the glory of the
growing moon.
It was an ordinary tavern, I talked to no one and drank a
bottle of Rioja by myself. Feeling very light, I walked back to the
hotel to drink some more wine and get dressed for the theatre.
At nightfall, I left for the theatre. If it weren’t for the wine,
I would have felt like a fool walking by myself in such pomp with
my jeweled jacket and sword down Las Ramblas. A prince, such
as I was dressed, should never walk in public without a valet. But
the wine I had drunk at the tavern and in the hotel was in full
effect, and I arrived at the theatre to see quite a crowd dressed as
I. My head was spinning when I took my seat.
The production was a bland sentimental ode to Spanish
and Catalan victories. After a couple coupes of champagne I was
thoroughly drunk. I kept my seat while the stage was cleared and
the parterre was prepared for dancing.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw among the guests
in the theatre, Miss Saskia! She was dressed as a Spanish
countess! And she wasn’t alone!—but on the arm of a young
Spanish officer!
Her date had a very pretty face, he looked like the perfect
Romeo: Around twenty years old, possessing a slender, elegant
figure, a noble face with the colorations of a Greek or Italian. I
was stupefied by the sight, confused… in a tornado of rage I left
my box and flew down to the parterre…
On the theatre floor, I approached the couple. Their
beauty was already attracting the attention of the other guests.
The officer held Saskia’s small hand and turned her around as the
dancing begun. I interrupted their activity by tapping the
shoulder of the young man.
I growled at this, his words drove me to fury. Nothing to
do with a scoundrel like this but to drive a sword through his
stomach! I touched the handle of my sword in a way that made it
obvious of my challenge. Saskia fixed her eyes on both of us,
remaining motionless herself. Her partner looked confused for a
moment, then smiling, he said, “I think it would please the other
guests more to see you dance with my partner than it would to see
the two of us fight… but the decision is yours.” Saying this, he
touched the handle of his own sword, while I made up my mind
to kill him. Saskia reacted to this scene by blowing out a violent
breath. “Don’t bother with this!” she shouted, “I’m going home!”
Then like the queen she was, she picked up her dress and stamped
out of the theatre.
“If you’ll excuse me now,” said my rival, “I’m going to see
my companion home.” Before I could react, he was gone. And all
eyes turned to me. As I was quite drunk, I saw only a blurry haze
in the faces of the theatre crowd. I quickly left the theatre,
determined to kill him that night.
The two were far off when I entered the smoky street.
They were going on foot towards El Ravel. ‘And this is why she
said she couldn’t see me until Sunday night? She had plans all
along to spend the night with this... boy?’ I was stupefied. I
couldn’t for the life of me understand what he had to offer her.
Never before had I been outdone by a man of his stature.
I stalked after the two while I debated whether I should
rush the man now and dip my sword in his spine to let his guts
spill on the street, or if I should follow discreetly from afar and kill
him later. To this day, I do not know why I chose the reasonable
act. Where women are concerned, my passion burns with
ferocious heat, and I have little patience; yet today I am glad I
decided then to follow them discreetly from afar.
Saskia, countess of the night, walked on the arm of her
friend and no one looked back to see if I followed. I assured
myself that she was walking on his arm merely to avoid tripping
on the stones in her high heels or to avoid the advances of
predators lurking in the shadows, and not out of eagerness to be
close to him. Still I didn’t know what their relationship was. All I
was certain of was that this man was walking Saskia to her home
late at night after a dance—you can believe this made me furious!
I stalked the two like a lion through the shabby streets
around a couple of turns where bleak figures hunched and slept in
doorways. I recognized the apartment house where they stopped:
a gated garden beside, a balcony above the street—it was the
same balcony where I first set eyes on Saskia while she was
serenading the night.
After they entered the apartment house, the door shut and
locked. From outside I hear the
click-clack
of four shoes walking
up the stairs. ‘So am I to wait out here while these monsters make
love?’ Cursing and drunk, I shouted up to the balcony, “I will
come back and kill you both!”
Thus abandoning Saskia’s house and street, I walked a very
short way and turned back. I passed again by her place, looked
again at her lit window over her balcony, and went the other
direction towards the supposed ‘hospital.’ I’d only walked a few
meters down this street when I saw a tavern tucked in the
shadows. I thought to myself that at least there I could drink
myself to death. I must have appeared foolish dressed like a
prince in their ridiculous tavern, but I was so angry and drunk, I
didn’t care. I ordered a brandy, took a swallow and told the
barman I would return in a minute. I walked back towards
Saskia’s apartment, imagining that this was the moment when my
rival was undressing her. I couldn’t stop asking myself why she
would cheat on me with such a person. I would kill him no
matter what the reason, I decided. Looking at her window, her
room still glowed amber with lamplight. Across the street below I
spotted a wretch in a doorway and tossed him a silver piece,
saying, “Here’s a doubloon for you… tell me, man, will you be able
to stay awake awhile?”
The wretch fondled the silver piece, eyes dropping tears—
clear and greedy tears, over the money he was given. “I’m at your
service,
Dueño y Señor
1
!
”
I made signal to the balcony up yonder and the room
where Saskia lived. I told the wretch to pay attention to that
window, that balcony and the door leading out to the street. If he
saw a young man with a sword leave that building—or with no
sword—he was to run to the tavern and fetch me. There was a
gold pistole in it for him.
Back at the tavern I order a full bottle of brandy and began
to increase my drunkenness ten-fold. A few minutes later, the
tavern-keeper approached me…
“Señor, there is a person at the door who wishes to speak
with you… says he has business with you. I responded that I can’t
imagine what his business could possibly be—you see, he is a
complete…” I didn’t let the tavern-keeper finish, mid-phrase I
bolted to the door, went into the street and found the wretch. He
was out of breath…
“Sir…” he said, “the owner of the bar wouldn’t let me in… I
ran here as fast as possible… to tell you some aristocrat with a
sword left that building… the building you told me to watch… not
more than two minutes ago… I ran here as fast as I could…”
I was exalted hearing this. I fished in my pocket for a gold
pistole and handed the money to my good messenger while he
caught his breath. I then took off to find my enemy.
I ran around each street leading away from Saskia’s home,
hoping to see a figure walking in the darkness. I saw none. ‘If
that beggar lied to me,’ I thought, ‘inventing the story of the
aristocrat with the sword to rob me of a gold pistole, I will find
and kill him…’ After a while of searching in vain, I gave up the
hunt and made my way back to Saskia’s.
The light in her window was now off. I imagined that the
rascal was still there, that the two of them were sleeping in the
darkness after the conquest of love-making—this made me
furious! Below the balcony, I yelled out so the whole
neighborhood could hear: Sah-skee-ah!”
A light lit up in her room. I yelled again a second time but
by that moment she was already climbing through her window to
the balcony. She wore pajamas and seemed startled. Her
beautiful eyes looked at me as she shouted, although in a whisper,
“Shhh! Be quiet!” Then she disappeared back into her room and I
feared that that would be the last I would ever see of her. A
moment later, however, she appeared downstairs, leaving the
front door of the building to greet me…
I followed the liar into her apartment building, but
stopped her on the stair, “So you know, Saskia, if
he’s
there when I
go in, I will kill him.”
Saskia’s apartment was in fact empty, and showed no trace
of a male’s presence—nothing hiding under the bed, no male
clothing around and nothing discarded on the floor, no wetness
on her bed sheets (of course I checked!). Still I was angry by all
that was obvious, and I abused her with my words.
“Come, let’s go into the kitchen and draw the curtain. We
can talk there. I want my bedroom to stay as dark as possible. I
fear there may be curious people spying tonight. I’ll explain what
I mean… do you want tea? I will set water to boil. It was nice to
see you at the theatre, by the way. My night started to be
interesting as soon as I saw you.”
“Ah, interesting as soon as you saw me? So I was the start
of the interesting part! The end of the interesting part was after
you slept with that that fool! It seems he left your home just
minutes ago…”
“
Hmm
meant: I don’t recognize you, Saul… One would say
you are jealous. Why would you be jealous of that young boy, it’s
absurd! Maybe you
have
been drinking, but that is no excuse.
Anyway,
who
do you think you are?!—do you think I am
your
woman?
I am
not
your woman, so you know. Yes, I took an
interest in you. Yes, I suggested we travel together, to which you
consented; but I am not
your woman
and never said I would be.
Therefore, I am free to sleep with whomever I want. You can
sleep with whomever you want.”
With that, Saskia turned away. She went into the dark
part of her apartment and took her guitar into the kitchen where I
was and began quietly plucking a mournful song, but she didn’t
sing. I was struck miserable by her speech. She was right, after
all. She never did propose that we be lovers, nor anything of the
sort. The truth of the matter is that, simply put: Saskia outseduced me. I had flattered myself over the years, considering
myself the great seducer of the Mediterranean world. Now here I
was, out-seduced by a gypsy girl of seventeen. Was I not
ashamed? Still, anger from jealousy is a difficult anger to shed, so
I kept on being angry…
“You disgust me, Saskia.”
She looked shocked and put her guitar down.
I told her that I acknowledged she was free to sleep with
whom she wants. “But why do you hide it?” I asked, “You told me
when we parted last that you had ‘personal business’ to take care
of. You would see me Sunday night, you told me. If you are so
‘free,’ as you say, why didn’t you tell me Friday that you had a date
to go to the theatre? You make me sick!”
“You’re drunk! Do you want to know who the boy was?”
“I don’t care. Light a lamp or two, will you?”
“He’s a relative of my uncle—my dead uncle—and I can’t
light lamps, he may come around again and see shadows in the
windows. ”
“No, I’m not in love with him! And he’s not a relative of
mine. He’s a relative of my uncle, I think by marriage. I’m not
really sure. It’s a complicated mess, but I already told you most of
it…
“When my uncle died he left me an income of twohundred pounds a year. The only condition on that income is
that I can never live with a man or have it be discovered that I had
any kind of romantic involvement with a man; otherwise, I lose
the inheritance…
“So if I lose the money, it has to go to somebody… This
person you saw me with at the theatre, Andrea is his name, he’s a
fool and he’s greedy. All he thinks about is money. His family has
a ton of estates around Milan, in Lombardy. Already he has an
impressive income and doesn’t need any more money. His
position at a bank in Milan is secure. Apparently, before my uncle
died, Andrea managed some accounts for him; and the two were
related somehow but I don’t know how. Andrea discovered some
document, or perhaps he counterfeited it; the document says that
if I lose my income through the discovery that I have a lover, my
income will be lost according to the wishes of my uncle, and the
document says it will come to Andrea instead of me. So you see,
ever since my uncle died, Andrea has a way of ‘coincidentally’
running into me in various cities; he checks up on me to see if
perchance there is a man in my life…
“I’m better-off to agree to meet him when he finds me and
asks to see me. It doesn’t cost me any real effort, and it certainly
saves a lot of hassle. If I were to refuse an invitation from him, he
would become suspicious and snoop into my life until he found
something. As soon as he learned about you, I would be
disinherited overnight—poor, and without family:
Moi, qui ne suis
qu’une petite orpheline!
1
When I was little, my mother and father
both worked… enough so I didn’t have to realize that money
existed. You can say that they tried to hide our poverty from me.
I had only modest clothes, but they seemed just as nice as the
other girls around me. And on my birthday every year they gave
me a bottle of
eau parfumée
2
. On Christmas they sent me new
guitar strings, and materials to make my own jewelry. My parents
were virtuous souls: they somehow managed to put enough
money together to send me to London so I could learn English
with other girls of my age. I will never know how they managed
to keep me all those years in London… I know they sacrificed a lot
for me. They wanted me to have a good life. And they came to
visit me once a year… each and every spring!… That is, until their
last trip down, when they didn’t make it all the way…
“At least my parents died while in a foreign country,” she
went on, “They were seeing the world when they left it.
Wandering is the way to die, wouldn’t you agree? But one must
have money to wander. Still, I believe, one can be a wanderer,
or
a wanderess
, without any money at all! …but that’s no way to live,
is it? Just as it’s no way to live to be caring all the time about an
ignorant fool like Andrea—even if he
can
lead you to ruin and
make you go crazy.