When my uncle was licensed to practice law, he owned some land and a house or two in Pontevedra, which he had inherited from his father. This property would not yield him an income of $1000 annually, at five per cent. How it happened that this meager fortune was more than doubled in bank stocks and four per cent. government bonds a few years later, let any one explain who understands how such miracles are worked; so common nowadays that they no longer surprise anybody. My uncle did not practice his profession; the law was for him, what it usually is for Spaniards in political life—an avocation, a passport. He went into politics cautiously, swimming, but keeping an eye on his clothes. He was elected provincial deputy several times, and picked away at his pleasure in the fig-basket of offices. In order not to waste his money in electoral campaigns, he contented himself with going to the Cortes only once, standing for one of those vacancies which occur on the eve of a general election, and which usually go to the benefit of journalists. My uncle, by the favor of Don Vicente Sotopeña, the all-powerful “boss” of Galicia, carried off the prize without spending a single penny; and took the oath the very day before the House was dissolved, leaving the way open to become a Governor, and later on—who can tell?—a Councilor of State or Minister of Public Instruction. Governor he was very quickly, sometimes as acting head of the province, sometimes as executive in his own right.
From time to time some good thing fell mysteriously into his lap; and they had a great deal to say in Pontevedra about the expropriation of some of my uncle’s property, which the city council bought at a fabulous price. But it is neither pleasant nor profitable to recount these transactions. My uncle was one of the petty third-rate politicians who never dip into the dish without bringing out a fat slice. His method consisted in cutting down expenses and adding up profits, without despising the most insignificant.
They used to say in his praise that he was long-headed. Now such a trait appeared to me only another symptom of Judaism, though, perhaps I was unjust in this, because many bosses in my part of the country, though of the purest Aryan extraction, are not behind Uncle Felipe in that respect.
Sometimes I felt conscience-stricken on account of my dislike toward my nearest relative. I accused myself of being without proper feeling, because I was returning only hatred for favors. If my uncle were mean and stingy, he deserved all the more credit for meeting a good part of the expenses of my education. And I could not deny that my uncle showed a liking for me, in his own fashion. When he was in Madrid, he used to give me an occasional quarter to go to the theater; and two or three times during his stay he would invite me to breakfast or dine with him at Fornos’s; and he was never strict with me. He used to treat me like a pleasure-loving young lad of not much consequence, questioning me about my tricks and frolics, about my fellow-boarders’ pranks, and about the girls over the way, who were amusing.
Sometimes he even dropped into worse talk, boasting that he was an expert in all matters relating to licentious amours. After dinner, when the wine, the coffee and the liquors had flushed his cheeks, he would display his expertness, treating of dubious subjects which sometimes nauseated me. I did not dare to protest, for we men are ashamed to appear innocent; but the truth is, my youthful palate refused that spicy, too-highly-seasoned dish. Sometimes it happened, also, that at night the indecent images called up by his conversation would assault and excite me, until I would freely bathe the back of my head and neck with cold water out of the pitcher. In winter as well as in summer this proceeding would refresh my brain and enable me to forget myself in my books again.
Aversion, or rather antipathy, is as powerful a motive force as love, and I was looking forward to the end of my studies as the close of a patronage which I felt to be unbearable. To be my own master, to earn enough money to live on, to pay back to my uncle what he had given me—that was my dream; and I clung to its wings in order to reach the top of the dry hill of machinery, construction and topography.
Now that I have drawn my Uncle Felipe’s portrait, I will add, that when we found ourselves in the little, dark, low room in Fornos’s, seated at the table where the waiter was placing a dish of radishes, Vienna rolls, butter, and the rest of the lunch; after making several remarks on various unimportant subjects, he said, clapping me on the shoulder, but without looking me in the face, “Guess what I have to tell you.”
“Well, what use is it for you to study so hard, if you cannot?”—said he, making an effort to appear jocose.
I shrugged my shoulders, and my uncle added: