Isaura, the SlavePart 7
Página 1 de 9
Part 7
--But does she consent?... asked Isaura, pointing to Leoncio.
--The business is not with him, it is with his father, to whom he is now writing.
--In that case I have some hope; but if my fate depends only on that man, I will be a slave forever.
--Ugh! with a thousand devils!... Leoncio muttered to himself, rising and striking the table a furious blow with his clenched fist.--I don't know what turn to take to undo this inexplicable madness of my father!
--Have you written, Leoncio?--asked Malvina, turning back inside.
Before Leoncio could answer this question, a page, entering the room quickly, handed him a letter edged in black.
--Mourning!... my God!... what can it be!--exclaimed Leoncio, pale and trembling, opening the letter, and after running his eyes over it quickly, he threw himself onto a chair, sobbing and bringing his handkerchief to his eyes.
--Leoncio! Leoncio!... what is it?... exclaimed Malvina, pale with fright; and taking the letter that Leoncio had thrown on the table, she began to read in a broken voice:
"Leoncio, I have to give you painful news, for which your heart could not have been prepared. It is a blow, through which all of us must inevitably pass, and which you must bear with resignation. Your father no longer exists; he succumbed the day before yesterday suddenly, the victim of a cerebral congestion..."
Malvina could not continue; and at that moment, forgetting the insults and everything that had happened to her on that fateful day, she threw herself upon her husband, and embracing him tightly, mingled her tears with his.
--Ah! my father! my father!... all is lost!--exclaimed Isaura, bowing her lovely and pure brow upon Miguel's breast.--No hope remains for us now!...
--Who knows, my daughter!--replied the father gravely.--Let us not lose heart; great is the power of God!...
Chapter VII.
On Leoncio's plantation there was a large hall, roughly built, without ceiling or floor, destined for the work of the slave women, who occupied themselves with spinning and weaving wool and cotton.
The furniture of this place consisted of trestles, stools, benches, spinning wheels, reels, and a large loom placed in a corner.
Along the hall, opposite wide windows fitted with balusters, which looked out onto a vast inner courtyard, a row of spinners could be seen stationed. There were twenty to thirty black women, creoles and mulattoes, with their tender infants at the breast or on the ground playing around them. Some conversed, others hummed to shorten the long hours of their tedious work. One saw there faces of all ages, colors and shapes, from the old African woman, thick-lipped and gaunt, to the plump and glossy creole, from the black woman polished like jet to the almost white mulatto.
Among these last was distinguished a young girl more pert and graceful than one could imagine in that genre. Slender and flexible of body, she had a dainty little face, lips somewhat thick, but well modeled, voluptuous, moist, and red as pinks that have just bloomed on an April morning. Her black eyes were not very large, but they had a charming liveliness and mischievousness. Her black and curly hair could have sat well on the head of the whitest noblewoman from overseas. She, however, wore it short and very well curled in the manner of men. This, far from taking away her grace, gave her mocking and lively physiognomy an original and charming wit. If it were not for the little gold earrings that trembled on her small and well-framed ears, and the turgid and panting breasts that like two frisky little kids leaped beneath her transparent chemise, you would take her for a roguish and petulant young boy. We shall soon see from what rabble this child came, who had the pretty name of Rosa.
In the midst of the whisper of the wheels that turned, the monotonous songs of the spinners, the rhythmic clatter of the loom that worked incessantly, the shrieks and clamor of the children, whoever lent an attentive ear would hear the following conversation, taken up timidly and in half-voice in a group of spinners, among whom was Rosa.
--My comrades,--an elderly creole woman was saying to her neighbors, sly and knowing in all the mysteries of the house since the times of the old masters,--now that the old master has died, and that mistress Malvina has gone away to her father's house, it is now that we will see what the rigor of captivity is.
--How so, aunt Joaquina!?...
--How so!... you will see. You well know that the old master was not to be trifled with; but yes; there goes the saying = after me will come one who will do me good =. This young master Leoncio ... hum!... God grant that I am mistaken ... it seems to me that he will make us miss the time of the old master...
--Cross! hail Mary!... don't talk like that, aunt Joaquina!... then it is better to kill a person once...
--This one does not want to know about spinning or weaving, no; and before long we will all go to the fields to pull a hoe from sun to sun, or to the coffee grove to pick coffee, and the overseer's whip right there behind us. You will see. What he wants is coffee, and more coffee, which is what brings in money.
--Also, to tell the truth, I don't know what would be better,--observed another slave,--whether to be in the fields working with a hoe, or here nailed to the wheel, from dawn until nine, ten o'clock at night. It seems to me that there at least a person is more at ease.
--More at ease?!... what hope!--exclaimed a third--Better here a thousand times! here at least a person is always free from the cursed overseer.
--Nonsense, my people!--pondered the old creole,--everything is captivity. Whoever had the misfortune to be born captive to a bad master, turn this way, turn that way, must always suffer. Captivity is a bad fate; it was not God who put such a thing in the world, no; it was the devil's invention. Don't you see what happened with poor Juliana, Isaura's mother?...
--Speaking of that,--interrupted one of the spinners,--what is Isaura doing now?... while mistress Malvina was there, she went about like a great lady in the parlor, now...
--Now she is taking mistress Malvina's place,--piped up Rosa with her malicious and mocking smile.
--Shut your mouth, girl!--shouted the old creole in a severe voice.--Leave off such talk. Poor Isaura! God keep you from being in that poor little one's skin! if you knew how much her poor mother suffered! ah! that old master was a real Jewish man, God forgive you. Now with Isaura and master Leoncio the thing is taking the same course. Juliana was a pretty and lively mulatto; she was the color of this Rosa, but even prettier and better made....
Rosa gave a pout, and made a disdainful grimace.
--But that very thing was her perdition, poor thing!--continued the old creole.--The point was that the old master took a liking to her ... I have already told you what happened. Juliana was a girl of spirit, and for that she had to suffer, until she died. At that time the overseer was that Mr. Miguel, who goes about there, and who is Isaura's father. That was a good overseer!... everyone wished him well, and everything went right. But that Mr. Francisco, who goes about there now, a cross on him!... he is the worst plague that has ever set foot in this house. But, as I was saying, Mr. Miguel was very fond of Juliana, and worked, worked until he gathered money to free her. But the young master would not have it, became very angry, and drove the overseer out.
Also Juliana did not last long; perahy and service carried her to the grave in a short time. There remained the poor little girl still nursing, and if it were not for the old mistress, who was a saintly woman, God knows what would have become of her!... also, poor thing!... rather God had taken her!...
--Why, aunt Joaquina?...
--Because it seems to me that she will have the same fate as her mother...
--And what more does that impostor deserve?--murmured the envious and malevolent Rosa.--She thinks that because she serves in the parlor she is better than the others, and pays no attention to anyone. Now she has taken to courting the white young men, and since her father says he will free her, she thinks she is a great lady. Poor Mr. Miguel!... he has nowhere to fall dead, and he must have money to free his daughter!
--What a wicked tongue this Rosa is!--murmured the old creole, annoyed, casting a look of reproach on the mulatto.--What harm did poor Isaura do to you, that dove without gall, who, being what she is, pretty and civilized like any white girl, is incapable of slighting anyone?... If you found yourself in her place, stuck-up and insolent as you are, you would be a thousand times worse.
Rosa bit her lips with spite, and was about to answer with all the insolence and looseness that was proper to her, when a harsh and thundering voice, coming from the door of the hall, resounded through the whole of it, and put an end to the conversation of the spinners.
--Silence!--that voice shouted.--Ugh! what chatter!... it seems that here one only works with the tongue!...
A broad-shouldered and square man, with a thick black beard, of hard and repulsive physiognomy, appeared at the door of the hall, and came entering. It was the overseer. Accompanying him was a mulatto still young, slender and spruce, dressed in a handsome page's livery, and carrying a spinning wheel. Right after them entered Isaura.
The slaves all rose and asked the overseer for his blessing. He ordered the wheel placed in an unoccupied space, which unfortunately for Isaura was next to Rosa.
--Come here, girl;--said the overseer, turning to Isaura.--From today on this is your place; this wheel belongs to you, and your partners will give you a task for today. I see well that the change will not please you much; but what turn can be given to it?... your master wills it so. Come on; look, this is not a piano, no; it is to finish the task quickly so as to take up another. Little talk and much work...
Without showing herself upset or humiliated by the new occupation that they gave her, Isaura went to sit next to the spinning wheel, and began to prepare it to start the work. Although raised in the parlor, and employed almost always in delicate tasks, she was nonetheless skilled in every kind of domestic service: she knew how to spin, weave, wash, iron, and cook as well as or better than any other. She therefore placed herself with complete satisfaction and ease among her companions; only in the smile that fluttered on her lips was noticeable a certain expression of melancholy resignation; but that was the reflection of the worries and anguish that oppressed her heart, not displeasure at seeing herself degraded from the position she had occupied all her life beside her mistresses. Conscious of her condition, Isaura sought to be humble like any other slave, because despite her rare beauty and the gifts of her spirit, the fumes of vanity did not swell her heart, nor cloud the light of her natural good sense. Nevertheless, despite all that modesty and humility, there shone through in her, even against her will, in her gaze, her language, and her manners, a certain dignity and native pride, stemming perhaps from the awareness of her superiority, and she, without wanting to, stood out among the others, beautiful and graceful, for the correctness and nobility of her facial features and for a certain distinction in her gestures and bearing. No one would say she was a slave, working among her companions, and would take her rather for a young lady who, for amusement, was spinning among the slaves. She seemed the royal heron, raising its graceful and haughty neck, among a flock of vulgar birds.
Comentários (0)