Part 9 (1/2)

Late in the afternoon they entered the narrow vestibule of a house that had no janitor, and whose inhabitants were all away. _Chamorra_ knew his victim; a comfortably fixed artisan who must have a neat little pile saved up. He was surely at the beach with his wife or at the bull-fight.

Above, the door of the apartment yielded easily, and the two companions began to work in the gloom of the shuttered windows.

_Chamorra_ forced the locks of two chiffoniers and a closet. There was silver coin, copper coin, several bank-notes rolled up at the bottom of a fan-case, the wedding-jewelry, a clock. Not a bad haul. His anxious looks wandered over the place, seeking to make off with everything that could be carried. He lamented the uselessness of _Magdalena_, who, restless with fear and with his arms hanging limp at his sides, was pacing to and fro without knowing what to do.

”Take the quilts,” ordered _Chamorra_, ”We're sure to get something for the wool.”

And _Magdalena_, eager to finish the job as soon as possible, penetrated into the dark alcove, gropingly pa.s.sing a rope underneath the quilts and the bed-sheets. Then, aided by his friend, he hurriedly made a bundle of everything, casting the voluminous burden upon his shoulders.

They left without being detected, and walked off in the direction of the outskirts of the town, towards a shanty of Arrancapinos, where _Chamorra_ had his haunt. The latter walked ahead, ready to run at the first sign of danger; _Magdalena_ followed, trotting along, almost hidden beneath the tremendous load, fearing to feel at any moment the hand of the police upon his neck.

Upon examining the proceeds of the robbery in the remote corral, _Chamorra_ exhibited the arrogance of a lion, granting his accomplice a few copper coins. This must be enough for the moment. He did this for _Magdalena's_ own good, as _Magdalena_ was such a spendthrift. Later he would give more.

Then they untied the bundle of quilts, and _Chamorra_ bent over, his hands on his hips, exploding with laughter. What a find!... What a present!

_Magdalena_ likewise burst into guffaws, for the first time that afternoon. Upon the bed-clothes lay an infant, dressed only in a little s.h.i.+rt, its eyes shut and its face purple from suffocation, but moving its chest with difficulty at feeling the first caress of fresh air.

_Magdalena_ recalled the vague sensation he had experienced during his journey hither,--that of something alive moving inside the thick load on his back. A weak, suffocated whining pursued him in his flight.... The mother had left the little one asleep in the cool darkness of the alcove, and they, without knowing it, had carried it off together with the bed-clothes.

_Magdalena's_ frightened eyes now looked questioningly at his companion.

What were they to do with the child?... But that evil soul was laughing away like a very demon.

”It's yours; I present it to you.... Eat it with potatoes.”

And he went off with all the spoils. _Magdalena_ was left standing in doubt, while he cradled the child in his arms. The poor little thing!...

It looked just like his own Tono, when he sang him to sleep; just like him when he was ill and leaned his little head upon his father's bosom, while the parent wept, fearing for the child's life. The same little soft, pink feet; the same downy flesh, with skin as soft as silk.... The infant had ceased to cry, looking with surprised eyes at the robber, who was caressing it like a nurse.

”Lullaby, my poor little thing! There, there, my little king... child Jesus! Look at me. I'm your uncle.”

But _Magdalena_ stopped laughing, thinking of the mother, of her desperate grief when she would return to the house. The loss of her little fortune would be her least concern. The child! Where was she to find her child?... He knew what mothers were like. _Peluchona_ was the worst of women, yet he had seen even her weep and moan before her little one in danger.

He gazed toward the sun, which was beginning to sink in a majestic summer sunset. There was still time to take the infant back to the house before its parents would return. And if he should encounter them, he would lie, saying that he had found the infant in the middle of the street; he would extricate himself as well as he could. Forward; he had never felt so brave.

Carrying the infant in his arms he walked at ease through the very streets over which he had lately hastened with the anxious gait of fear.

He mounted the staircase without encountering anybody. Above, the same solitude. The door was still open, the bolt forced. Within, the disordered rooms, the broken furniture, the drawers upon the floor, the overturned chairs and clothes strewn about, filled him with a sensation of terror similar to that which a.s.sails the a.s.sa.s.sin who returns to contemplate the corpse of his victim some time after the crime.

He gave a last fond kiss to the child and left it upon the bed.

”Good-bye, my pet!”

But as he approached the head of the staircase he heard footsteps, and in the rectangle of light that entered through the open door there bulked the silhouette of a corpulent man. At the same time there rang out the shrill shriek of a female voice, trembling with fright:

”Robbers!... Help!”

_Magdalena_ tried to escape, opening a pa.s.sage for himself with his head lowered, like a cornered rat; but he felt himself seized by a pair of Cyclopean arms, accustomed to beating iron, and with a mighty thrust he was sent rolling down the stairs.

On his face there were still signs of the bruises he had received from contact with the steps, and from the blows rained upon him by the infuriated neighbors.

”In sum, sir. Breaking and entering. I'll get out in heaven knows how many years.... All for being kind-hearted. To make matters worse, they don't even give me any consideration, looking upon me as a clever criminal. Everybody knows that the real thief was _Chamorra_ whom I haven't seen since.... And they ridicule me for a silly fool.”