A Christian Woman

by condesa de Emilia Pardo Bazán

“Are we not going to my boarding-house?” I inquired with surprise.

“You’ll see,” replied the Hebrew, with that hesitation in speaking, and that peculiar contraction of his features, which always accompanied in him a manifestation of avarice. “It is all nonsense that you should stay at a boarding-house, when you have relatives here. I have a spare room in my house, which nobody uses now. We used to keep some old things there. It is a cheerful room, and large enough. You will be better off than in the boarding-house, my boy. And for your studies, as quiet as you could wish.”

I understood his meanness at once. It would cost him more to pay for my board, however cheap it might be, than to lodge me in his own house. But I there! I cannot explain the singular effect the idea produced upon me at first. However, I exclaimed:

“I am quite sure that my aunt will not approve of my taking up my abode at your house.”

“I’ll tell you,” answered the husband. “At first she had an idea that for your purposes the boarding-house would be better. She was quite strenuous about it. But I have convinced her, and now she does not object at all.”

I kept silent. I was feeling the disagreeable impression one experiences on leaving a warm atmosphere for a current of cold air which whips one’s face. My life at Ullosa had been a parenthesis, a pleasant rest, a sort of agreeable sleepiness, and that rude summons to the outside world, to its agitations and changes, just as I was about to take up my studies again, and when I needed all my power of mind and will for my difficult tasks, fairly bewildered me. Nevertheless, youth is so fond of peril, the surf, and the tempest, that I felt a thrill of pleasure when my uncle rang the electric bell, and the door opened behind which was Carmen Aldao.

With what agitation I greeted her! All my blood rushed to my heart, and I perceived the symptoms of “the ancient flame,” as Dante says in speaking of his encounter with Beatrice. My uncle’s wife received me with propriety, displaying neither coldness nor excessive cordiality. Fulfilling her duties as mistress of the house, she led me to my room, found out what I needed, showed me where I could keep my clothing and books, and gave me some practical advice about making the most of the four walls.

“Here you can put your ruffled shirts. You can hang your cloak on this hook. The table you will have here, near the window, where you can study better. Look, here is your wash-stand. Always keep the towels here. I got this lamp with a green shade for you, so that you might not spoil your eyes.”

While she went on explaining all about those details, I looked at her with such eagerness that I fairly drank in her features and fed upon her beloved face. What I was trying to discover, when I scrutinized her, was that revelation which, to a close observer, is stamped on every married woman’s face, and which might be called the running account of happiness. No, no, she was not happy. The dark circles under her eyes did not betray feverish love, but hidden sorrow. Her mouth had a set expression, like that of all who wrestle in secret to mortify the flesh or the mind. Her temples were slightly faded. Her waist was flatter; it had not acquired the graceful and impressive roundness which is perceptible in women after a few months of married life, even if they do not become mothers. No, she was not happy! How my fancy took this supposition for a foundation, and built upon it! It was not long, however, before I became habituated to living at Carmen’s, and my stay there appeared less dangerous to me than at first. Proximity is always an incentive, but dwelling under the same roof does away with all dramatic interest and novelty, with its commonplace meetings, and this perhaps diminishes the danger.

Although the last years of the course in engineering are not nearly so absorbing as the first, and the difficulties lessen as one ascends the steep hill of knowledge, I had to study enough to occupy all my available time. Carmen’s life ran on so far removed from mine that although we were under the same roof we scarcely ever met, except at the customary hours. In the morning we both went out, I to my classes and she to do her marketing and to spend a long time in church. At luncheon I would notice in Carmen a certain animation and strange satisfaction. She had found comfort in the Church; that was evident. My uncle also, contented and talkative, in slippers and without a cravat, would chat with me, would question me, and comment on the events of the night before, his dialogues in the house and in the lobbies with Don Vicente Sotopeña on the political prospect, the insinuations of the newspapers, the last confidential conversation of the Queen Regent with the Austrian Minister, which had been reported in the Casino by a person who knew all about it.