Spaniard has for his food and his wine, and El Telescopio made good on both scores.
It had a large dining room that developed into an ample bar with two billiard tables and on the other side spread onto a yard with an awning for summer dining. But what made El Telescopio authentic is that it was not decorated in the so-called Spanish style. True, there were posters, some imported, advertising bullfights in Madrid or Sevilla that couldn’t do one any good here, and others domestic, advertising some Spanish film or play in some theater usually in Harlem — I mean, the one in Manhattan. It was in the yard that Garcia and I were sitting.
Through the open windows and door came the sound of voices in the bar punctuated by the knocking of the billiard balls, and there was also a radio turned to a Spanish program whose announcer for once did not have that punctiliously exasperating and forced intonation which is as tedious as an American putting on a British accent.
Oh yes, everything was quite Spanish; the setting just right to make one forget that one was in New York, and Garcia had that look in his eye and those papers in his hand. He regarded his semi-empty bottle, called for two more and then emptied what was left at one draft.
The thing was upon me:
A summer in the early 1870s, Mariano Sandoval came from Jauja to Madrid. He was accompanied by his wife Rosario and their two children, Fernando about ten and Julieta about five. They brought with them a lanky young man of eighteen or nineteen years of age, with faded clothes and complexion: Ledesma.
Señor Sandoval came to Madrid with as much resolution as transportation permitted in those days. That trip meant to him a great deal and Madrid should be, at least for that reason, the place to describe here. However, as the average reader may be considered somewhat acquainted with that capital, a word or two about Jauja will be more adequate at this point, so that the reader will form an idea of the place these people he has just met came from.
Jauja. Houses built on sloping grounds. There is a persistent recollection of buildings some three or four stories high in front, their sides invariably slashed diagonally by a hilly street and, in the back, roofs fading into the stormy ground.
Roofs projecting from the ground; treacherous roofs of Jauja. A man is likely to walk unnoticingly onto one of these roofs and then fall down and break his neck. Animals walk on them. One can often see the head of a burro looming about four stories above the street. In Jauja streets run above and below. Topography and dirt have done for Jauja what engineering and steel are trying to do for modern cities. Why should one worry and not be lazy in Jauja when things can be achieved without toil?
Walking onto those roofs of Jauja, one experiences the feeling of attaining height without the effort of rising, as if the world sank to look up at one, or walked resigned, indifferent, below.
Most disconcerting, almost demoralizing roofs. Such is one’s memory of Jauja; a somber town and broken houses seeking their level on the slanting ground.
And it was from this city that Sandoval and his family came to Madrid so many years ago.
The purpose of Señor Sandoval’s trip was to establish himself as a jeweler. He was not coming to Madrid in full ignorance as other people who come there from second-rate towns. He had weighed this step at length and had even discussed it with his wife.
Sandoval was well provided for Madrid. He had a nice frock coat, it was not the latest fashion, but it was immaculate and it became him. He had a good top hat and underneath that a great deal of cunning and common sense; this, overshadowed by much ambition.
In Jauja he had owned a small silversmith and junk shop where he developed a vague idea of what the jewelry business might be, a business which had always lured his commercially romantic mind with the glamour one naturally associates with it.
For that reason and dreaming of jewelry shops in large cities, Sandoval had never learned to respect his own little business and regarded it with contempt.
He was loath to waste time on it by bargaining over petty transactions, but as Spaniards are fond of bargaining even in Jauja, Sandoval would invariably say to a customer: “This merchandise is worth fifty centimes, you can have it for ten.” And he insisted that in this way he had saved himself four long grueling arguments and made a five centimes clear profit.
Nevertheless the business had lost a great deal. Everything in the shop was in tumultuous disorder. It was almost impossible to find an object there.
People walked into the stores and asked for something and Sandoval after several vain attempts to locate the object told them to come around the next week, that he knew it was somewhere in there but that he could not find it.
The customer went away and never returned, and Don Mariano Sandoval filed another grudge against Jauja.
It was obvious that Don Mariano had no interest in the little shop, that he resented its pettiness and filth and that he considered himself and his family entitled to something better.
One day Sandoval was in his shop alone with young Ledesma, the boy who helped him and who was supposed to run errands, although he had not been given an opportunity to display his zeal.
Not one single sale had taken place that week and people had only come into the shop to talk, kill time and spit on the floor. This particular day it was raining and no one had come.
Young Ledesma was sitting by the window reading and Señor Sandoval walked up and down looking at the shelves with scorn and shaking his head before them in silent reproach.
He stopped before Ledesma: “Listen.”
Ledesma closed the book and stood up.
“I don’t mind your reading all you want as long as this lasts. Since there is nothing else to do, you may as well broaden your culture.”
“Well, sir?”
“I don’t feel like working here myself. Who the devil is going to undertake putting all this junk in order? The whole thing does not deserve it.”
“You must have ambition; you read a great deal and people who read a great deal sometimes have much ambition. Undoubtedly you want to get somewhere in life, but this place does not give you an opportunity. No one can get anywhere sitting on this junk pile. Have you thought of that?”
Young Ledesma had not thought of that but now he did. He looked at his master and waited a few moments to make his answer true: “Yes sir, I have.”
“Naturally! And I think that a young serious man like you would have a much better opportunity in a larger city, like for instance, Madrid.”
Young Ledesma was following his master’s thoughts closely. He knew now what the latter was driving at. The question came and it did not surprise him.
“Would you like to go to Madrid?” And Ledesma answered without hesitation: “Caramba, sir! I’d love it.”
“Well then; I have decided to move to Madrid. I am going to sell all this out and establish myself in the capital in a real jewelry business and I thought that if you wanted and your father consents, I will take you along to help me run the business before taking some unknown person whom I might not trust with what I don’t have.”
“Sir, I’ll work like a slave for you. I want to thank you. I will work for you like a burro, or like something that works very much, sir.”
“You better had. I don’t mind your reading here, as I said. The place does not deserve attention, but there you will have to work real hard and forget about books — these books anyway. After all, reading is not a very good occupation. It is well to read when one has nothing better to do, but life is not that bad.”