“Who’s El Gaucho?” asked Rio.
“She is the biggest woman on the Street, and has four Snakes working for her. When the seaman didn’t pay for one of her girls, we all knew what. Yes, he was fine and bloody when she finished whipping him with her garbage can. Some of the girls, sir mate, call her ‘Mister.’ And that might be truth, for I saw her give money for just a feel to a woman. But sir, we are home.” He took Rio by the hand, pushed aside the curtains and they went into the house.
A girl was sitting in the corner, reading a book by the dim light of a lamp. The boy ran to the table upon which the lamp was burning and turned up the flame, although it was blazing outside beyond the tightly drawn curtains.
The girl closed her book and looked at Rio steadily for a moment; and Rio felt that he had entered a different country. There was a wild perfume, sharp as a chemical. In the angle of light and cut of the draperies the girl’s skin became darker. Rio tried desperately to find her eyes which were vague under the heavy lashes. She was not so beautiful as her little brother; but some mystical quality outlined her charm more severely.
“Hello,” she said.
The boy went to her and caught her about the waist, holding on until the girl bent over and kissed him on the forehead.
“Hello,” said Rio, feeling awkward, and yet wanting savagely to hold them both in his arms. That might be his salvation. He desired them both with such a horrible necessity that for a second he was paralyzed. They moved apart and Rio felt that one moment of fruition had been blasted into Hell. He took off his cap.
“My sister isn’t from here,” said the boy to him jubilantly. “I love her, and I like it here. But I wouldn’t want her from here.” He turned to the girl. “I’m going to make a cool green drink for sir mate, and bring him a cool towel, sister. For he’s had that bad rum at the Americano.”
The girl’s expression did not change when the boy had gone; but she motioned Rio into a chair.