"Believe me, my son, and do not imitate your father in this respect."
The old man had said too much to back out now and he had to go on, letting out the rest of it, bit by bit. Thus Esteban learned that the captain was enamored with a lady in Naples and that he had remained there pretending business matters, but in reality dominated by this woman's influence.
"Is she pretty?" asked the boy eagerly.
"Very pretty," replied Caragol. "And such odors!… And such a swishing of fine clothes!…"
Telemachus thrilled with contradictory sensations of pride and envy. He admired his father once more, but this admiration only lasted a few seconds. A new idea was taking possession of him while the cook continued:
"He will not come now. I know what these elegant females are, reeking with perfume. They are true demons that dig their nails in when they clutch, and it is necessary to cut off their hands in order to loosen them…. And the boat as useless now as though it were aground, while the others are filling themselves with gold!… Believe me, my son, this is the only truth in the world."
And he concluded by gulping in one draft all that was left in the second glass.
Meanwhile the boy was forming in his mind an idea prompted by his pleasant intoxication. What if he should go to Naples in order to bring his father back!…
At this moment everything seemed possible to him. The world was rose-colored as it always was when he looked at it, glass in hand, near to Uncle Caragol. All obstacles would turn out to be trifling: everything would arrange itself with wonderful facility. Men were able to progress by bounds.
But hours afterward when his thoughts were cleared of their beatific visions, he felt a little fearful when recollecting his absent parent. How would he receive him upon his arrival?… What excuses could he give his father for his presence in Naples?… He trembled, recalling the image of his scowling brow and angry eyes.