“That is a proof,” responded Señor de Febrero, “that we are an intelligent race; you will not deny that?”
Señor de Candás, removing the silver tube from his ear so as not to find himself in the necessity of replying to this observation, and, in order to finish his argument to his own satisfaction, continued:
“And there are simpletons, who call the Galicians clever! I call them crafty. If they were clever, they would not be always sunk in poverty, eaten up with envy, without ever making an effort to be anything better than beggars and grumblers. They are more given to complaining than any people I know. They are always crying and groaning about something.”
The ivory skin of Señor de Febrero flushed a little, for he found it impossible to accustom himself to the malignant rudeness of Lain Calvo.
“You are a little severe, Señor Don Nicanor,” he said, “remember that we Galicians are in the majority here. How would you like it if I were to repeat to you now the vulgar saying, ‘Asturian, vain, bad Christian, insane’?”
“There are plenty of fools,” continued the imperturbable Crown Solicitor, “who make a great show of surprise when they hear these things, but every one knows them so well that no one thinks it necessary to repeat them. The Galician, it is true, possesses some shrewdness, especially when the question is how to cheat his neighbor, but for all that he can neither cultivate any industry nor better his miserable condition. There he is, contented with his crust of corn bread, a poor creature, without clothes to his back, who never eats meat and who does not drink a glass of wine even once in the year. With all his reputation for smartness, he sometimes seems more stupid than the Aragonese themselves. He is stingy and he would save an ochavitu even if he had to scrape it from his skin with a file; but you need not fear that he will ever think of investing this ochavo, or that he will have the energy to work in earnest in the hope of saving a dollar. Nothing of the kind. All he asks is to be let go on undisturbed in his lazy ways. See, for instance, the network of railroads they have, and what use do they make of them? They would not move a finger to attract summer visitors. None of that desire to please, that neatness of the people of our country.”
“One must either choke this Don Nicanor or take no notice of what he says,” exclaimed Nuño Rasura, furious, “for he won’t listen to argument. Where is that network of railroads he talks about? A pretty network! Full of holes. He wants everything to be done in a day; no one but God can work miracles! Everything needs time and patience. Let Don Nicanor take note of the growing importance of beautiful Vigo. Its cool climate, its coasts and rivers are the admiration of the newspapers. And the women—always excepting those present, but then my good friend is from there, too. And the fish, the like of which is to be found nowhere else, what do you say of that? My dear Doña Aurora, I have eaten neither sardines nor soles since I left there. Just before the downfall of O’Donnell, I remember we were taking baths in Marin, and they brought a turbot to the door that——”
Here the old man went on spinning the thread of memory, and Rogelio, leaning with his elbow on the sofa, his cheek in the palm of his hand, listened absorbed. It seemed to him as if he
“Rogelio ... his cheek in the palm of his hand, listened absorbed.”