VIII
If these people seldom criticize harshly, however, they are very fond of gossip. The women especially have few interests to discuss, and infinite leisure for the discussion.
There were some fifteen señoras and señoritas at my hotel in San Salvador, the wives or daughters of guests, all of them built to resist earthquake, who spent the entire day sitting in a chair upon the patio veranda, without amusement or occupation. Anglo-Saxon girls, with nothing to do except to wait for a husband to come home from work, would have gone insane, but these of Salvador were passively content. None of them ever read anything; in fact only a very few people of either sex ever seem to read anything in these countries; few of them ever sewed or knitted; all of them were quite satisfied with their peaceful existence.
During the absence of their husbands, they were extremely circumspect. When spouses were present, they might greet me with a pleasant, “Good morning.” When alone, they affected not to see me. Since the Latin-American gentleman, unless patently snubbed, fancies always that a lady must be encouraging amorous advances, they had learned to be extremely cautious.
But they all had a great curiosity about the United States—which newspapers had taught them to regard as a country whose population spent most of its time in a divorce court—and they were eager to ask me questions. Wherefore they would gather in a body, and reassured by the security of numbers, would occasionally surround me for purposes of conversation.
Since the feminine mind runs mainly to romance, their questions were rather personal. The women here always wish to know whether the man they meet is married or single, and if single, whether he has a sweetheart. On the theory that the lack of a sweetheart would interest them most, I had always answered questions in the negative, but in San Salvador I discovered that by inventing one I merely interested them the more. The news spread rapidly, and within two minutes every woman in the hotel was present to ask further questions about her.
“Is she beautiful?”
“No, she’s about as ugly as they make them.”
That provoked much discussion. These strange gringos did not care for beauty! Had one not seen many an American bringing with him a wife that no Latin would have wed?
“But what does she look like? Six feet tall! Dios! And wears number ten shoes! Ay, carramba! Do you really love her?”
Night after night they asked questions about her, until I regretted her invention. If friends or relatives came to see my inquisitors, the entire story had to be repeated again. I finally decided to let her marry another. But this merely invited further inquiries.
“Are you not disconsolate? No! Ay, what unfeeling creatures are the Americans! And she married a man of ninety years for his millions! How commercial the gringos!”
Sympathy and comfort were offered in abundance. Each of the ladies seemed to have a friend or relative who was suggested as a substitute. I was forced to decline the suggestions.
“We are merely waiting, my sweetheart and I, until the old millionaire dies. Then we shall inherit his wealth, and live happily ever after.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Some one suggested that I was joking, but was immediately overruled by the others. This, they insisted, was a common practice in the United States. Anything was possible among Americans! And was I not even jealous that I must wait while my beloved lived with another?
“Not at all. I’ve cabled a second girl, and she’ll be my wife until the first one is free. We do that regularly.”
My love affairs became the sensation of the community. And the story did not reach the breaking point until the first girl, in the furor of her love for me, announced in an imaginary cable that she had poisoned her husband, and that the millions were ours. Even then, there were several doubtful inquiries as to whether I really meant it. And when I confessed that the whole story was fictitious, they were vastly disappointed. It was all so in keeping with their visions of the United States that they wished to believe it.