348 THE EYE op ‘rir~ HEART

good-by. Maninha felt dizzy. She thought of the greatworld of the poor, the sick, the deformed, to which herbrother had gone in an ecstasy of love, never to return.The blood-red twilight appeared to concentrate on the Kfigure of the boy, which seemed to grow in majesty ashe went farther and farther away. (Puppy Love)

JOSE MARIA ARGUEDATranslated by William L. Grossman

Moonlit night in Viseca Go e.

Poor little pigeon, whence have you come,searching the sand, dear God, along the ground?

“Justina! Ay, Justinita!”

The seagull sings on the glossy lakefilling my mind with pleasant memories.

“Justinay, you look like the wild pigeons ofSauslyok!”

“Leave me alone, Master, go along to your youngladies!”

“And the Kutu? You love the Kutu, you like histoad face!”

“Leave me alone, Master Emesto! I may be ugly butI can lasso cows, and I make the young bulls tremblewith e’~~ery flick of e whip. That’s why Justina lovesme.”

The cholita laughed, looking at the Kutu; her eyesglittered like two stars.

“Ay, Justinachal”349

350 ThE EYE OF THE HEART WARMA KUYAY 351

“Don’t be silly, Master!” said Gregoria, the cook.Celedonia, Pedrucha, Manuela, Anitacha ... bunt

out laughing; they shrieked with laughter.“Master’s being silly.”They clasped hands and started dancing in a ring ~

the music of Julio’s lute. Every once in a while th~,turned to look at me and laugh. I stayed outside thecircle, ashamed, beaten for good.

I went off toward the old mill. The whitewash o~the wall seemed to move, like the clouds that wanderover Chawala’s slopes. Eucalyptus trees around the or.chard made a long, intense sound, their shado~stretching out to the other side of the river. I reachedthe foot of the mill and climbed up to the highestwall, and from, there I saw the head of Chawala: halfblack, rearing up, the mountain threatened to fall o~the alfalfa fields of the hacienda. It was scary at night.During those hours the Indians would never look at it,and on clear nights always t ed with their backsturned to the mountain.

“If you fell on your face, Father Chawala, we’d allbe dead!”

Right in the middle of the Witron, Justina sanganother song:

May flower, May flower,first flower of the May,couldn’t you tear youself loosefrom that faithless prisoner?

The cholos had stopped in a circle and Justina wassinging in the center. Motionless on the cobbles of thebig yard, the Indians looked like those stakes you hanghides on.

“That little black dot in the middle is Justina. AndI love her, my heart trembles when she laughs, and itcries whenever I see her eyes on the Kutu. So why am Idying for that little black dot?”

The Indians started stomping again, around andaround, in time to the music. The lute player kept circling them, cheering them on, whinnying like n lovesick colt. A paca-paca started whistling from a willow~e that nodded on the riyerbank; the voice of thedamn bird was unnerving. The lute player ran to thefence and threw stones at the willow, all the cholos foltowing him. Soon it flew off and settled in one of thepeach trees in the orchard. The cholos were about togive chase when Don Froylán appeared in the door ofthe Witron.

“Beat it! Get off to sleep!”The cholos troqped1~t9ward the crossbar of the cor

ral. The Kutu remained alone in the yard.“He’s the, one she lpv.es!”Don Eroylá&s Indians ~disappeared through the

gatel of haciepda con~pound,. and Don Froylán followed.. ,

“Master Ernesto!” the Kutu called.I jumped to the grou~nd and ran toward him.“Let’s go, ~1s4aster~”’We ~Went up ~to the;ailey by ~‘ay of the metal-wash

ing trough th~t was falling apart in a corner of theWitron. On top of the trough there was an immenseiron pipe and several rusty wheels that came from themines of Don Froylán’s father.

Kutu said nothing till we reached the house above.The hacienda belonged to Don Froylán and my un

cle; it had two main houses. Kutu and I were alone inthe upper hamlet. My ncle and the other people hadgone to dig potatoes and would sleep on that smallfarm, two leagues from the hacienda.

We went up the steps, without even looking at eachother. We entered the corridor and made up our bedsthere so we would be sleeping in the moonlight. TheKutu lay down without speaking: he was sad and troubled. I sat down beside him.

“Kutu! Has Justina given you the brush-off?”

3~2 THE ~yx op m~ HEART WAR1~tA ICUYAY 353

“Don Froylán has abused her, Master Ernesto!”“That’s a lie, Kutu, a lie!”“He did it just yesterday, at the canal when she

went to bathe with the kids!”“It’s a lie, Kutullay, a lie!”I hugged him around the neck. I was frightened; I

thought my heart would break, it was pounding so. jbegan to cry, as if I were alone, abandoned in thatgreat black ravine.

“Stop it, Master! Look, I’m only an Indian; I can’tstand up to the patron. Some other time, whenyou’re a lawyer, you will fix Don Froylán.”

He picked me up like a yearling and laid me downon my cot.

“Go to sleep, Master! I’m going to talk to Justinanow so she’ll like you. You’ll sleep with her sometime,would you like that, Master? Yes? Justina has somefeeling for you, but you’re still a boy, and she’s afmidbecause you’re the young master.”

I knelt on my bed. I looked at Chawala; it seemeddark and terrible in the stillness of the night.

“Kutu, when I grow up, I’m going to kill DonFroylán!”

“Right you are, Master Ernesto, right you are.Mak’tasul”

In the corridor the cholo’s thick voice sounded likethe snarling of the lion that used to come up to thesettlement hunting for hogs. Kutu stood up. He was ingreat spirits, as if he had just brought down that thiefof a puma.

“The pa On arrives tomorrow. We better go toJustina tonight. Sure thing the patrOn makes yousleep in his room. Let the moon go in so we can start.”

His high spirits made me furious.“And why don’t you kill Don Froylán? Let him

have it with your sling, Kutu, from across the river, asif he were a prowling puma.”

“His little kids, Master! There are nine of them! Butthey’ll be big by the time you’re ~~Iawyer.”

“You’re lying, Kutu, you’re lying! )~ou,’re scared, likea woman!” .•

“You don’t know what you’re tailcing about, Master.You think I haven’t ,~een? You’re sorry for little yearlings, but you don’t care about men.”

“Don Froylan! He’s bad! Ranchers are bad; theymake Indians like you cry, they carry off other people’scows, or else they starve them to death in their corrals.Kutu, Don Froyl~n is worse than a wild bull! So killhim, Kutucha, even if by gushing a rock off the Capitana cliff.”

“Indian can’t, Master! Indian can’t!”He was a coward! He 1~ought’ cjown wild stallions,

he made colts quiver, he• laid open the backs of plowhorses with a whip; when.cver. cows of dther choloswandered into my uncle’s pastures, he shot them withhis sling from a long: way off; ~ut .he was a coward.Hopeless Indiau!~ .

I looked at him closely: his flat nose~ his-alrnQst slanting~ eyes, his, thin lips b1~ckened by ~opoa.. ‘He’s theone she loves! A d ~he was so pretty; her rosy face wasalways well-scrubbed, her black eyes flashed, she wasn’tlike the other cholas, her eyelashes were long, hermouth called for lov~~ and wouldn’t let me sleep. Atfourteen, I loved her. Her small breasts were likeplump , lemons; they drove me wild. But she wasKutu’s, had been for a long time now, this toad-facedcholo. Thinking of this, my suffering was very muchlike dying. And now? Don Froylán had raped her.

“It’s a lie, Kut~! She must have asked for it, shemust have!”

My eyes flooded with tears. My heart was shakingme again, as if it were stronger than my whgle body.

“Kutu! The two of us better kill her—you want to?”The cholo grew frightened. He put his hand to my

forehead it was damp with sweat.

354 THE EYE or’ ‘mx HEART WARMA EUYAY 355

“True! This is how white men love.”“Take me to Justina, Kutu! You’re a woman, you’re

not good enough for her! Leave her alone!”“Sure, Master, I let you have her, she’s all yours.

Look, the moon is going behind Wayrala.”The mountains blackened quickly, and little stars

sprang out all over the sky. The wind whistled in thedarkness, crashing into the peach and eucalyptus treesin the orchard. Farther down, at the bottom of thegorge, the great river sang in its harsh voice.

I despised Kutu. Tiny and cowardly, his yellow eyesmade me tremble with rage.

“Indian, you better dr p dead, or take off for NazcalThe • alaria will finish you off there, they’ll bury youlike a dog!” I used to tell him.

But the herdsman would just lower his head, humbly, and go off to the Witron, to the alfalfa fields, tothe pasture of the yearlings, and take it out on thebodies of Don Froylán’s animals. At first I went alongwith him. At night we would sneak into th corral,hiding as we went. We picked out the slenderest, mostdelicate yearlings; Kutu would spit on his hands, gripthe whip hard, and rip open the backs of the youngbulls. One! Two! Three! ... A hundred lashes. The lit..tie ones writhed on the ground, they rolled over ontheir backs, the3’ cried out; and the Indian kept on,hunched over, vicious. And I? I sat in a corner and enjoyed it. I enjoyed it.

“They’re Don Froylan’s—who cares? He’s my enerny!”

He spoke loudly so as ~to ‘fool me, to cover up thepain that tightened my lips and filled my heart.

But once I was in bed, alone, a dark drñ’ing. anguishswept over my so,ul and I’ cried fOr two or thiee hours.Until one night my. heart. w~s ready to bur~t. Tearsweren’t enough; I was overcome by’ despair and remorse. I jumped out of bed and ran to the door, bare-

foot; I slowly turned the lock and stepped out into thegallery. The moon was already up; its white lightwashed the ravine; stiff, silent, the trees held theirarms up to the sky. I went down the gallery in twoeaps, ran across the cobbled alley, jumped the wall ofth corral and reached the yearlings. There was Zarinacha, that night’s victim, lying on the dry dung, withher muzzle on the ground: she seemed unconscious. Iput my arms around her neck. I kissed her a thousandtimes on the mouth with it’s odor of fresh milk, and onher great black eyes. .

“Forgive me, girl, forgive me!” .

.1 joined my hands, and,’ on my knees, I humbledmyself before her.

“It was that dirty bastird, little sister, it wasn’t me.Kutu, that dirty.Jndian, that dog!”

The salt of my tears kept me feeling bitter .for a longtime.. ~.

Zarinacha looked at me~olëmn1y, with her soft’hum-’bleeyes. ~., .

“I’ care about you, girl, I doV’ . . .‘

And a perfect tenderness, pure and sweet like thelight in that nurturing ravine, lit up my lifd..

Next morning I found the cholo in the CapiI~ana alfalfa field. The sky wa~ clear, and joyous, the fieldsgreen, and still cool. The ICutu was already lea~ving,very early, to look for victim~ in my uncle’s; pastures,to relieve his fury. ‘.

“Kutu, get out of 1~ere,” ,I told him~ “Nd one wantsyou around here any mor~. All the Indians laugh atyou bec~use you’re trash!”’

His gloomy eyes looked at me with some fear.“You’re a murderer too, Kutu. A little calf is like a

baby. There is no place for you in Viseca, you worthless Indian!”

“Only me, eh? You too. But look at FatherChawala: I’m going to leave ten days from now.”

356 THE EYE OF THE HEART

Hurt, more miserable than ever, he galloped off Onmy uncle’s bay.

Two weeks later, Kutu asked for his pay and le~My aunt cried for him, as if she had lost her son.

Kutu had the bloo of a woman: he trembled befo~Don Froylán, he was afraid of almost all the menThey took away his woman and afterwards he went tocommunities of Sondondo, Chacralla. ... he was acoward!

I stayed with Don Froylán, alone, but near Justina,my heartless -Justinacha. And I wasn’t unhappy. Bythat foaming river, listening to the singing of the wildpigeons and the arbor vitae, I lived without hope; butshe was under the same sky as I, in that ravine thatwas my nest. Gazing at hen black eyes, listening to herlaughter, watching her ‘from a distance, I was almosthappy. Because my love for Justina was a warma kuyay,I believed I had no right to her yet; I knew that shewould have to belong to another, to a grown man whocould already handle the long leather thong, whocould curse pungently, could fight with whips at thecarnivals. And since I loved animals and Indian fiestasand harvests and seedtime with music and jarawi, Ilived happily in that ravine, verdant and caressed byth,e, sun’s l~eat. Till one day they. tore me away frommy heaven, to bring me to all. this nc$ise and commo.tion,,to people I don’t care for arid don’t understand.

The Kutu at one end and I at another~ ‘Maybe hehas forgotten. He~sjn lis element; in som~ qqiet littletown, even if he’s trash, he must be the best herdsman, the ‘besf tamer of ~young mares, and’ the community respects him. While P live here, bitter and pale,like an animal fro,m the cold’ plains’, taken to the coast,to bumin~ and alien sands.

how Porthncula thrMniattoGot The ii~psi~ Off..fli~ flack

JWIU~EIAMBOir.

•1 •‘ I

• The gringo who dropped anchor here years agowas a tight-mouthed and fair-skitmed guy. No one hadaver seen anybody’.~w~io liked to drink so much. To say

‘be guz4ed the booze is~’t to’ the point,;because we alldo that, pra~ise the Lord!’d,s~end two days and twonights nursing the bdttles and npt turn a hair. Hediçln’t. start blabbing or picking a fight; he didn’t beginon t~e old-time songs, and he didn’t .spil over withharçblu~k stories from way back.’ Tight-mouthed hewas and tight-inouthed.he reiqained; only his blue eyeskept narrowing, a little at a ti’me, one red-hot coal inevery glance ~uming u the blue.

They told lots of stories about him, and sometricked out so ijeat it was a pleasure listening to them.But :11 hearsay, because frdm the ghngo’s own mouthyou couldn’t learn a thing—that sewn-up mouth thatdidn’t even open on the big fiestas wh -Ei~ your legs feellike .lead ‘with the booze accumulating in your feet.Not even Merced~s—with a .~ieákness .fdr the gringothat was no ~ecret to an~’ of us, ‘and inüisitive as onlyshe coul~d be—cOuld s’queezè ‘out one ~leàr fact aboutthat woman lie killed in his èountry,, or about that guyhe kept hounding year in and year ‘out, through one

357

Translated by Hardie St. Martin