“I will work hard, sir. I will slave for you. And I won’t read another book. Why should I read about things if I am going to see them?”
“That’s right, my boy, and remember that when you work for me, you are working for yourself.”
Ledesma was to remember this many times in his life, but he did not know it then and his answer was candid: “I know that, sir, and thank you.”
“Tonight you obtain your father’s permission and we will be leaving as soon as I can get this off my hands.”
When young Ledesma asked his father that night, his father was classic: “Go, go in peace. Señor Sandoval will take better care of you than I can. I won’t be long here now. He is very kind to take you to Madrid. Thank him for me and go with my blessing.”
After this speech, old man Ledesma should have died with his hand raised in the act of blessing to round up the scene, but he waited a few months instead.
Having resolved to move to Madrid, Sandoval could scarcely wait to sell the business and be on his way. He became irascible and hated the shop and all its contents. He was in a hurry to sell out, he could not even stand the town any longer. The obsession of a jewelry shop in Madrid pursued him day and night.
“You must not want things in such a hurry,” said his wife Rosario one day. “It makes you suffer.”
“Well, that is my temperament I suppose I inherit it. Probably the children will inherit it too. One should get things when one wants them, provided one wants them enough; otherwise, by the time one gets them, one does not want them any longer.”
Fortunately Don Mariano did not have to wait long. A man offered to buy his business.
Sandoval was so impatient that he did not even want to make an inventory of the shop. He simply took the man around and told him to look the store over, get an idea of its value and make a flat offer.
The man did so and his offer was entirely too flat and sounded ridiculous. Madame Sandoval was indignant, especially when she saw her husband ready to accept.
“This is literally throwing things away, Mariano. It is a crime. After all, this is worth something. We have lived on it.”
“Yes, and how we have lived! If you call that living. That is why I hate it so.”
“You are insane with impatience now and behaving like a fool. You don’t care what happens as long as you go to Madrid.”
Señor Sandoval became suddenly aware of the presence of the man who had made the offer and this angered him. He saw it only as one more unpleasant experience he owed to the hateful shop and wanted more than ever to rid himself of it.
“You keep out of this. It is my business and I need no advice.”
“It is your business because my father left it to you. If you had built it up yourself you wouldn’t treat it this way.”
“And who do you think I am doing this for? Is it not for you and the children? Am I not taking you to Madrid to see if I can give you and them the things this will never give you?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with not getting what you are entitled to.”
“And what has that to do with our going to Madrid?” He had already reached the point of irrationality.
“It has a great deal to do with it. We will have more money to take us there.”
“Well, don’t you mind about that. We’ll get there all right. I am not going to waste any more time bargaining for a few dirty centimes. I am not that poor yet.”
And the deal was closed and later Sandoval told his wife confidentially that she had nearly spoiled a good deal with her talk, that the man had given more than the shop was worth and that the poor fellow did not know what he was in for. His object attained, Don Mariano was in excellent humor.
The trip of the Sandovals to Madrid was fundamentally like the trip is today, except a little slower, a little less comfortable.
Garcia looked up from his papers: “What do you think of it so far?”
Although his question did not startle me, I had been listening in a desultory manner, allowing other thoughts to wander in and out, as well as the music from the radio and other noises and disconnected phrases from the café, and I had formed no particular thought. The waiter had already brought the two fresh bottles ordered by Garcia and I had taken some swallows out of mine thinking of the pleasant alternation of wine and cigarette tastes and, as I say, I was not prepared for him, but feeling contented and as yet uninvolved, I waved expansively: “Go ahead.”
In Madrid Sandoval left his Casa de Huespedes every morning accompanied by Ledesma and toured the city and looked around. They both kept this up for about a month. They visited every jewelry shop and, although there was much for them to admire, they never made an utterance of surprise. Sandoval took notes and passed them to Ledesma who looked them over like a very serious man and pocketed them in his bulging coat
Every evening upon their return, they were eagerly questioned by his wife and Julieta, but Sandoval always answered laconically: “Everything is going fine. Don’t worry.”
“But our money is also going!”
“Everything is going fine.”
And one morning Sandoval and Ledesma left the house as usual and went straight to a store that was for rent on the corner of the Street of Arenal and the Puerta del Sol.
Sandoval asked of the owner the price and without further hesitation, having learned it, took out the money and began to count it.
The owner was not in the habit of closing a deal in such an easy manner. He felt that at least a bit of bargaining was a requisite of every transaction and consequently became several things in succession: first, perplexed, then embarrassed, after that suspicious and at last almost indignant.
Was this man trying to boast of his wealth? Or had he made a mistake when naming the price?
He assumed an insulted air and repeated the price to make sure.
“Yes, I heard you,” said Sandoval, “and here is the money.”
This was too much. Why should this man be in such a hurry to close the deal? People were never in a hurry, especially in such circumstances. Undoubtedly this man had discovered some hidden value in the little store.
“But, do you mean that the price suits you, like that?”
“Naturally! Otherwise I wouldn’t rent the store.”
“But just like that? Without any talk?”
“Why not? I see no reason for any more talk. You name a price, it suits me and I pay it. Is there anything unusual in that?”
“Of course — I mean — I could let you have it cheaper if you insist.”
“But I haven’t insisted on anything. Did you not give me the right price?” Sandoval was now pressing the man. He had a haughty disposition that showed itself in matters of money. The poor man was plainly embarrassed. The situation had caught him unawares and his mind was in a turmoil
“Well, sir; you know how it is. I like you people and would be pleased to have you for tenants — that is, it would be an honor to me, and since you are doing me this honor, I might as well let you have it cheaper.”
Don Mariano was beginning to enjoy the situation: “But this is not a question of honor, my dear man. It is purely a business matter.”
“Then, sir, if you insist on paying the price. ”
“Certainly. I never bargain, do you understand? Never! I always pay the price.”
“But in this hurry.,” he murmured, already a broken man without spirit, “there is plenty of time.”
“No. You are mistaken, there is very little time.”
Sandoval rented the store which was small but very well appointed and he also rented the floor above for his family.
In the short time Sandoval had been in Madrid, he had taken the measure of the capital and had discovered that general quality which some people call metropolitan good taste. The opening of his shop was therefore a subdued affair, partly for the above reason and partly because he could not afford much advertising.