"Recristo!"
The Rector raised his eyes to heaven, as he muttered the oath, in protest, it seemed, against the powers above who allow such things to happen to an honest man. But he was a stubborn fellow at bottom. His trustful, inoffensive, disposition made it hard for him to believe things like that were possible. Inwardly convinced, he nevertheless came back with a menacing rejoinder:
"You are lying, Rosario! You know that you are lying!"
But the challenge put Rosario on her mettle! "So I'm lying! Oh say, Pascualo, what's the use of talking with a man like you. You're so blind you can't see the nose on your face. What are you yelling about? What have I done to you? You're as blind as a bat, yes, sir, blind as a bat. A man with a spoonful of brains inside his skull would have seen through the situation from the first. But you ... you don't notice anything. You never noticed whether your boy looks like you or like him!"
And that was a nasty thrust! Though the Rector's face was as brown as shoe-leather from years in the sun and the salt-air, it turned a bluish ashen pale. His knees seemed to sag as if he were going to fall, and the shock made his words come out faint, husky and stammering.
"My boy! My Pascualet! Well, whom does he look like? Spit it out, damn you! Pascualet ... is my boy, my boy. And he looks like me ... like me ... he does!"
But the laugh with which Rosario answered was the hollow, sarcastic, mocking laugh of a she-devil! Pascualo did not quite understand. What was there to laugh about in his saying that his boy was his boy? In terror he waited for her explanation. "Why, stupid! If Pascualet is your boy, he ought to look like you, oughtn't he, just as you look the way your father, old Pascualo, looked. Well, he doesn't, that's all! He looks like Tonet—eyes shape, build, and complexion! Poor dunce of a Rector! They call you lanudo! But the wool on your eyes is thicker than they ever guessed! Heavens, man, take a peep at the boy! He's the living picture of Tonet, as Tonet used to be in the days when he was a boy with you, down at the tavern, and was running around like a little devil on the beach!"
The Rector did not need convincing further. He was ready to believe that now. A cataract had been removed from before his eyes, and he saw things clearly, though the world had a strange unfamiliar aspect for him, as it does to a blind man led forth for a first glimpse of it. Gospel truth! Pascualet was Tonet over again! How many times, on looking at the boy, he had had, on his own account, a feeling that he was really looking at some one else—though just whom, he could not quite say!
Pascualo pressed a pair of clenched fists to his chest as though his heart were burning inside him and he were trying to tear it out; then he brought them down with a noisy thud upon his temples. "Recontracordons! God of God of God of Gods!" he groaned in a voice of agony that terrified Rosario. "Holy Christ of the Grao!" He staggered a few steps across the room, like a drunken man, and threw himself flat on the floor with a crash that shook the rickety building. He rolled over, and his legs seemed to bound from the violence of the fall.
When the Rector came to his senses again, he found himself lying on his back, and something warm and tickling was running over his cheeks, like a soft wriggling snake. He wiped his face where it hurt, with his hand, and the hand came back, as he saw in the murky candle light, all covered with blood. His nose felt hot and swollen. He understood what had happened. In going to the floor he had struck hard on his face. His nose had been bleeding in streams. Rosario was just kneeling beside him to wash the blood away with a damp cloth. The girl's look of terror brought him back to all he had been hearing, and he repelled her with a gesture of hatred.