Part 7 (1/2)
Mother and son had to wait until the shop was opened. The building was not the tiny, evil-boding one, but it looked as if it had an atrocious desire to cave in, for here and there it, too, showed cracks, holes and all manner of disfigurements. It had a lower and upper floor, large and wide balconies the bal.u.s.trades of which were gnawed by rust and the diminutive panes of gla.s.s held in place by leaden strips.
On the ground floor of the house, in the part that faced Aguila Street, there was a livery-stable, a carpenter's shop, a tavern and the cobbler's shop owned by Petra's relation. This establishment displayed over the entrance a sign that read:
_For The Regeneration of Footwear._
The historian of the future will surely find in this sign proof of how widespread, during several epochs, was a certain notion of national regeneration, and it will not surprise him that this idea, which was launched in the aim to reform and regenerate the Const.i.tution and the Spanish people, came to an end upon the signboard of a shop on a foresaken corner of the slums, where the only thing done was the reformation and regeneration of footwear.
We will not deny the influence of this regenerating theory upon the proprietor of the establishment _For The Regeneration of Footwear;_ but we must point out that this presumptuous legend was put up in token of his defiance of the cobbler across the way, and we must register likewise that it had been answered by another, and even more presumptuous, one.
One fine morning the workmen in the establishment for _The Regeneration of Footwear_ were dumfounded to find staring them in the face the sign of the rival shop. It was a beautiful signboard about two metres long, bearing this inscription:
_The Lion of the Shoemaker's Art_
This in itself was quite tolerable; the terrible, annihilating thing about it was the painting that sprawled over the middle of the board.
A handsome yellow lion with the face of a man and with wavy mane, standing erect; in his front paws he held a boot, apparently of patent-leather. Beneath this representation was printed the following: _You may break, but never unst.i.tch it._
This was a crus.h.i.+ng motto: A lion (wild beast) trying to unseam the boot made by the Lion (shoemaker), and powerless before the task! What a humiliation for the lion! What a triumph for the shoemaker! The lion, in this case, was _For The Regeneration of Footwear,_ which, as the saying goes, had been compelled to bite the dust.
In addition to Senor Ignacio's sign there was, in one of the balconies of the large house, the bust of a woman, made probably of pasteboard, with lettering beneath: _Perfecta Ruiz: Ladies' Hair Dressing;_ on the side walls of the main entrance there hung several announcements unworthy of occupying the attention of the aforementioned historian, in which were offered low-priced rooms with or without bed, amanuenses and seamstresses. A single card, upon which were pasted horizontally, vertically and obliquely a number of cut-out figures, deserved to go down in history for its laconicism. It read:
_Parisian Styles. Escorihuela, Tailor._
Manuel, who had not taken the trouble to read all these signs, went into the building by a little door at the side of the livery-stable entrance, and walked through the corridor to a very filthy courtyard.
When he returned to the street the cobbler's shop had already been opened. Petra and her boy entered.
”Isn't Senor Ignacio in?” she asked.
”He'll be here in a second,” answered a youngster who was piling up old shoes in the middle of the shop.
”Tell him that his cousin is here,--Petra.”
Senor Ignacio appeared. He was a man of between forty and fifty, thin and wizened. Petra and he got into conversation, while the boy and a little urchin continued to heap up the old shoes. Manuel was looking on, when the boy said to him:
”Come on, you. Lend a hand!”
Manuel pitched in, and when the three had ended their labours, they waited for Petra and Senor Ignacio to finish chatting. Petra was recounting Manuel's latest exploits to her cousin and the cobbler listened smilingly. The man bore no signs of gruffness; he was blond and beardless; upon his upper lip sprouted a few saffron-hued hairs.
His complexion was leathery, wrinkled; the deep furrows of his face, and his wearied mien, gave him the appearance of a weakling. He spoke with a certain ironic vagueness.
”You're going to stay here,” said Petra to Manuel.
”All right.”
”He's an amiable rogue,” exclaimed Senor Ignacio, laughing. ”He agrees right away.”
”Yes; he takes everything calmly. But, look--” she added, turning to her son, ”if ever I find out that you carry on as you did yesterday, you'll hear from me!”
Manuel said good-bye to his mother.