And then they all heard a loud laugh. It was Lolita looking at her brother, lifting her hands and then bringing them down on her knees:
“Oh, you look so funny, Enrique! You ought to see your mouth when you talk.”
Enrique looked at her with murderous eyes and said nothing.
She was little, excellently well-shaped, perhaps too much so for her age. Her complexion was as swarthy as that of a Gypsy, her hair furiously black, her eyes quite large and heavily lashed. She was a happy little being. Most of the time she was gay.
Jorge looked at her intently, an almost boobish expression on his face, oblivious of his surroundings, and he lost all interest in food.
Fernando was still angry about the scene with Rojelia. The exuberant laughter of his daughter irritated him. He felt that she was attractive with that selfish and cruel attractiveness of youth and that made him more indignant:
“Young lady! Your uncalled-for mirth is entirely out of place. If your brother is like that, it is because he tried to defend the honor of the family which apparently the women do not guard. You should feel sorry for him and not take his misfortune so lightly, and besides, to laugh so frantically at a man’s troubles, even if he is your brother, is, to say the least, somewhat—” He was going to say “whorish” but he said “indecent” and then walked out.
Enrique had finished. He stood up looking hideously at his young sister. He said: “I am going back to Madrid.” He turned to the servant who was waiting on Jorge: “Order my car, will you?”
Trini approached him: “You should stay here today and rest. I hope that you are not going to look for that criminal. He does not deserve it.”
“I look for him? He is probably in the hospital. I finished him well. I am only going to Madrid because I am bored.”
“Can’t you let a day go by without amusement? You are in no condition to run around. I bet it is that — woman again.”
“Oh hell! Are you going to begin with that again?” He walked out, followed by Trini. They quarreled loudly all the way to the hall. Then the door was slammed and he was heard outside calling for the car.
Lolita and Jorge remained alone. She had not eaten yet and reached for her brother’s dish coquettishly: “Let me taste it. How is it?”
“I haven’t touched it. Why don’t you take it?” He helped himself to some coffee. “I am not hungry this morning.”
She ate two mouthfuls and then pushed the dish away: “Neither am I. Pour me some coffee.”
While she drank it he placed an arm about her waist: “I am sorry you got that scolding from father, but you shouldn’t have laughed so at Enrique.”
“He looked so funny, didn’t he?”
“Yes — but. ” His hold tightened.
“You are going to make me spill this,” she whispered, and then she laughed again loudly.
Jorge forced a laugh, loosening his hold. She finished her coffee in silence, almost seriously, looking over the cup at the trees beyond the terrace.
“Shall we go out in the garden?”
They went out and spoke of the night before in the fashionable manner of their set which consists of using the opposite word to that which expresses a thing correctly and also using vulgarisms.
Then a town car coming along the driveway stopped before them. Their father and mother were in it. Fernando sat without looking at them. Trini spoke: “We are going to Madrid and I won’t be back until this evening. If you want to come you had better get in now.”
“If I want to come I’ll use the motorcycle.”
“But what about you, Lolita?”
“I can ride back of him.”
“No you won’t. If you want to come, get ready now or you will have to wait until tomorrow.”
Fernando impatiently struck the floor of the car with his stick.
“I was only joking, mother. I don’t want to go today.”
The car moved slowly and Trini called back: “Tell your sister that if that man appears, I have told the servants to throw him out.”
Lolita and Jorge followed the car a few steps: “But I overheard Enrique say that he was in the hospital.”
“Never mind that. Tell her what I said.”
“All right, mother. I’ll help with a kick also.”
They remained there watching the car drive away. Inside the car Fernando turned to his wife: “We shouldn’t have let them stay in that house alone.”
“The servants are there and Rojelia too.”
“The servants are all idiotic and Rojelia will be locked up in her room all day long. I know her.”
“But they are not so young anymore.”
“Precisely.”
Here followed a scene between brother and sister over which I pass hastily. Their strange relationship had been hinted at clearly enough without having to throw the details in the reader’s teeth. It ended somewhat lamely with what Garcia must have thought the palliative of an artistic tableau:
“I am going to pick some of those cherries.” She ran toward a group of cherry trees with Jorge in pursuit. She stopped under the cooling shade: “They are higher than I thought — the ones I like.”
“I will lift you.” Jorge bent down and, embracing her knees, lifted her up until her dark plump hands touched the coveted fruit. Then she looked down and began to laugh again, her black mane covering her face like a dark wave. They formed a beautiful group.
Upstairs, in her room, Rojelia lay asleep and held a poem in her hand entitled “La del cabello rojo,” and she was dreaming of who knows what.
In the garden, under the cherry trees, Jorge held Lolita in his arms and she picked cherries and ate them and put some in his mouth and she was laughing, laughing—
Enrique went straight to his girl’s room, a sordid room unworthy of a detailed description. She was still in bed when he arrived. She was half sitting, half reclining, covered with a torn nightgown. On a table near her there was a tin of biscuits, a dish with mojama and a bottle of aguardiente. When Enrique entered she looked him over in surprise: “Where have you been? You must have found someone more accomplished than I am. How much did you pay for that?”
“If that is what you think, you are wrong. It was a man this time and I sent him to the infirmary. I did not kill him because his friends interfered.”
“Sit down and tell me all about it.”
Enrique dropped into an upholstered chair, raising a cloud of dust: “There is nothing to say about it. A poor fellow who wanted a passport to the other world and nearly got it.”
“You might have let me know that you were handing out passports last night. I waited for you and lost a good engagement.”
“What do you mean, engagement? I am buying all your time, do you hear?”
“Buying all my time! With what? For what you have given me, you couldn’t find anybody else to do half the crazy things I am doing. Did you bring me that money today?”
“And did you take a bath?”
“Wait a moment, wait a moment. Do you think I am going to sit here in this filth and not wash myseIf because of your queer ideas when I don’t even know if you are coming? I am fed up with this. Do you hear? Fed up! With all this dirt, having to wear dirty, torn clothes to please you. You can go and give your perros chicos to some cheap puta. I am too good for you and I know someone who will pay what I am worth and let me live in a clean, decent place and bathe all I want and be glad to get me.”
Enrique had stood up in a mixture of fury and excitement. He came close to her and tried to embrace her: “When you talk of other men and treat me like that, I don’t know what happens to me.”
“I know.” She repulsed him.
“Yes you know, you know!” He was like a cat with valerian. “And I need you and you know that too. You are the only one who understands me.”