“You’re a good boy; that’s the way
I like you: resignation and obedience. For
this time, and in reward for your good sense, we’ll
make just one exception. Let’s not part
thus coldly.... So,—you may kiss me,—as
they do it on the stage—here!”
And she raised her hand up toward his lips. Rafael
seized it hungrily and kissed it over and over again,
until Leonora, tearing it away with a violence that
showed extraordinary strength, reprimanded him sharply.
“You rogue!... Up to mischief so soon!
What an abuse of confidence? Good-bye! Cupido
is calling you.... Good-bye.”
And she pushed him toward the balcony, where the barber
was already holding the boat against the railing.
“Hop in, Rafael,” said Cupido. “Better
lean on me; the water’s going down and the boat’s
very low,” Rafael jumped into his white craft,
which was now dirty and stained from the red water.
The barber took the oars. They began to move
away.
“Good-bye! Good-bye! Many thanks!”
cried dona Pepa. The maid and the whole family
of the gardener had come out on the balcony.
Rafael let go the tiller, and turned toward the house.
He could see nothing, however, but that proud beauty,
who was waving her handkerchief to them. He watched
her for a long time, and when the crests of the submerged
trees hid the balcony from view, he bowed his head,
giving himself up entirely to the silent pleasure
of tasting the sweetness that he could still feel
upon his burning lips.
The elections set the whole District agog. The
crucial moment for the House of Brull had come, and
all its loyal henchmen, as though still uncertain
of the Party’s omnipotence, and fearing the sudden
appearance of hidden enemies, were running this way
and that about the city and the outlying towns, shouting
Rafael’s name as a clarion call to victory.
The inundation was something of the forgotten past.
The beneficent sun had dried the fields. The
orchards fertilized by the silt of the recent flood
looked more beautiful than ever. A magnificent
harvest was forecasted, and, as sole reminders of
the catastrophe, there remained only a shattered enclosure
here, a fallen fence there, or some sunken road with
the banks washed away. Most of the damage had
been repaired in a few days, and people were quite
content, referring to the past danger jokingly.
Until next time!
Besides, plenty of relief money had been given out.
Help had come from Valencia, from Madrid, from every
corner of Spain, thanks to the whimpering publicity
given the inundation in the local press; and since
the pious believer must attribute all his boons to
the protection of some patron saint, the peasants
thanked Rafael and his mother for this alms, resolving
to be more faithful than ever to the powerful family.
So—long live the Father of the Poor!
