"By the blood of your namesake!" he shouted. "How can a man stay always in one place? This daily drudgery will kill me! I will throw the job in the patron's face, and get my wages this very minute, amaguito, and we will go to Madrid together. Jesús Maria! Who knows but we can hide ourselves on another freight train!"--and crying over his shoulder some rendezvous, he disappeared within the establishment.
We sauntered on to the central plaza. It was utterly treeless and paved with cobble-stones; nor could we find a patch of grass or a shaded bench in all the neighborhood.
"Look here, señor!" cried Jesús, suddenly rushing toward a policeman who was loitering in the shade of a bodega. "Don't you have any parks or Alamedas in this val de penas of yours? You call this a city!"
"Señor," replied the officer in the most apologetic of voices, "we are not a rich city, and the rain so seldom falls in La Mancha. I am very sorry," and touching a finger respectfully to his cap, he strolled slowly on.
Though the sun was low it was still wiltingly hot in the stony streets. Jesús, as I knew, was penniless. I suggested therefore that I would willingly pay the score of two for the privilege of retreating to the coolness of a wineshop.
"Bueno!" cried the Sevillian. "The wine of Valdepeñas is without equal, and of the cheapest--if you know where to buy. Vámonos, hombre!"
He led the way down the street and by some Castilian instinct into a tiny underground shop that was ostensibly given over to the sale of charcoal. The smudged old keeper motioned us to the short rickety bench on which he had been dreaming away the afternoon and, descending still lower by a dark hole in the floor, soon set before us a brown glazed pitcher holding a quarto--about a quart--of wine, for which I paid him approximately three and a half cents.
In all western Europe I have drunk the common table wine in whatever quantity it has pleased me, and suffered from it always the same effect as from so much clear water. It may be that the long tramp under a scorching sun and the distance from my last meal-place altered conditions. Certainly there was no need of the seller's assurance that this was genuine "valdepeñas" and that what had been sold us elsewhere as such was atrociously adulterated. Before the pitcher was half empty, I noted with wonder that I was taking an extraordinary interest in the old man's phillipic against the government and its exorbitant tax on wine. Jesús, too, grew in animation, and when the subterranean Demosthenes ended with a thundering, "Sí, señores! If it wasn't for the cursed government you and I could drink just such wine as this pure valdepenas anywhere as if it was water!" I was startled to hear us both applaud loud and long. A scant four-cents' worth had seemed so parsimonious a treat for two full-thirsted men that I had intended to order in due time a second pitcherful. But this strange mirth seemed worthy of investigation. I sipped the last of my portion and made no movement to suggest a replenishing. A few minutes later the old man had bade us go with the Almighty, and we were strolling away arm in arm.
The sun was setting when we reached the plaza. We sat down on the cathedral steps. The Sevillian had suddenly an unaccountable desire to sing. He struck up one of the Moorish-descended ballads of his native city. To my increasing astonishment I found myself joining in. Not only that, but for the first and last time of my existence I caught the real Andalusian rhythm. An appreciative audience of urchins gathered. Then the sacristan stepped out and politely invited us to choose some other stage.
Across the square was a casa de comidas. We entered and ordered dinner. The señora served us about one-third of what the bill-of-fare promised, and demanded full price--something that had never before happened in all my Spanish experience. I protested vociferously--another wholly unprecedented proceeding. The policeman who had apologized for the absence of parks sauntered in, and I laid the case before him. The señora restated it still more noisily. I declared I would not pay more than one peseta. The lady took oath that I would pay two. The policeman requested me to comply with her demand. I refused to the extent of commanding him to take his hand off the hilt of his sword. He apologized and suggested that we split the difference. This seemed reasonable. I paid it, and we left. Dark night had settled down. We marched aimlessly away into it. Somewhere Gásparo fell in with us. Somewhere else, on the edge of the city, we came upon a heap of bright clean straw on a threshing floor, and fell asleep.