And perhaps it was sometimes even more in the
future than the past--that glorious future when Calixto, lying far off
in some mountain pass, or on some swampy plain with the trailing
creepers covering his bones, should come back victorious from the wars.
My conversations with Demetria were not frequent, and before long they
ceased altogether; for Don Hilario, who was not in harmony with us,
was always there, polite, subdued, watchful, but not a man that one
could take into his heart. The more I saw of him the less I liked him;
and, though I am not prejudiced about snakes, as the reader already
knows, believing as I do that ancient tradition has made us very unjust
towards these interesting children of our universal mother, I can think
of no epithet except _snaky_ to describe this man. Wherever I
happened to be about the place he had a way of coming upon me, stealing
through the weeds on his belly as it were, then suddenly appearing
unawares before me; while something in his manner suggested a subtle,
cold-blooded, venomous nature. Those swift glances of his, which
perpetually came and went with such bewildering rapidity, reminded me,
not of the immovable, stony gaze of the serpent's lidless eyes, but
of the flickering little forked tongue, that flickers, flickers,
vanishes and flickers again, and is never for one moment at rest. Who
was this man, and what did he there? Why was he, though manifestly not
loved by anyone, absolute master of the _estancia_? He never asked
me a question about myself, for it was not in his nature to ask
questions, but he had evidently formed some disagreeable suspicions
about me that made him look on me as a possible enemy.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298