Blood and Sand

by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez

As if he were endeavouring to make himself agreeable to Doña Sol, he broke out into praises of her family. The Marquis de Moraima was one of the most honourable men in the world.

"If only all rich men were like him. My father worked for him and often spoke of his kindness. I spent one hot weather in the hut of one of his shepherds. He knew it and never said a word. He has given orders on all his farms to give me what I want and to leave me in peace.... These things are never forgotten. There are so many rich rascals in the world!... Very often I have met him alone, riding his horse like a young man, as if years had stood still for him. 'Go with God, Seño Marque.' 'Your health, my lad.' He did not know me; and could not guess who I was because my companion (touching his carbine) was hidden under my blanket. And I should have wished to stop him to take his hand, not to shake it—that no—how could so good a man shake hands with me, who have so many deaths and mutilations on my soul, but to kiss it as if he were my father, and to thank him for what he has done for me."

The vehemence with which he spoke of his gratitude did not move Doña Sol. And so that was the famous Plumitas!... A poor sort of man, a good country rabbit whom every one looked on as a wolf, deceived by his fame.

"There are very bad rich men," went on the bandit. "What some of them make the poor suffer!... Near my village lives one who lends money on usury and who is more perverse than Judas. I sent him a notice that he should not cause trouble to the people, and he, the thief, gave information to the civil guards to search for me. Result, that I burnt his hay-rick, and did a few other little things, and he was more than a year without ever daring to go into Seville for fear of meeting Plumitas. Another man was going to evict a poor old woman from the house in which her parents had lived, because she had not paid any rent for a year. I went to see the gentleman one evening, when he was sitting at table with his family. 'My master, I am El Plumitas, and I want a hundred duros.' He gave them to me, and I took them to the old woman. 'Here, granny, take these—pay that Jew what you owe him, and keep the rest for yourself, and may they bring you luck.'"

Doña Sol looked at the bandit with more interest.

"And dead men?" she enquired. "How many have you killed?"

"Lady, we will not speak of that," said the bandit gravely. "You would take a dislike to me, and after all I am only an unhappy man, whom they are trying to trap, and who defends himself as best he can."

There was a long silence.

"You cannot imagine how I live, Señora Marquesa," he went on. "The wild beasts are better off than I am. I sleep where I can, or not at all. I rise on one side of the province and lie down to rest on the other. I have to keep my eyes well open and a heavy hand, so that they may respect me and not sell me. The poor are good, but poverty is a thing that turns the best bad. If they had not been afraid of me they would have betrayed me to the civil guards again and again. I have no true friends but my mare and this (touching his carbine). Now and then I feel the longing to see my wife and little ones, and I go by night into my village. All the neighbours who see me shut their eyes. But some day this will end badly.... There are times when I am weary of solitude and feel I must see people. I have thought for a long time of coming to La Rincona. 'Why should I not pay a visit to Seño Juan Gallardo, I who admire him and who have so often clapped him?' But I have always seen you with so many friends, or your wife and your mother and the children who have been at the farm. I know what that means. They would have died of fright at the very sight of Plumitas. But now it is different. When I saw you come with the Señora Marquesa, I said to myself: 'Let us go and salute these Señores and have a chat with them.'"