Maria (GB English)
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As soon as I got home, I went to my mother's sewing room: Maria was with her; my sisters had gone to the bathroom. After answering my greeting, Maria lowered her eyes to her sewing. My mother expressed her delight at my return; they had been startled at home by the delay, and had sent for me at that moment. I talked to her, pondering over Joseph's progress, and Mayo tongued my dresses to get rid of the hips that had got caught in the weeds.
Mary raised her eyes again, and fixed them on the bunch of lilies which I held in my left hand, while I leaned with my right on the shotgun: I thought I understood that she wanted them, but an indefinable fear, a certain respect for my mother and my intentions for the evening, prevented me from offering them to her. But I delighted in imagining how beautiful one of my little lilies would look on her lustrous brown hair. They must have been for her, for she would have gathered orange blossoms and violets in the morning for the vase on my table. When I went into my room I did not see a flower there. If I had found a viper rolled up on the table, I would not have felt the same emotion as the absence of the flowers: its fragrance had become something of Mary's spirit that wandered around me in the hours of study, that swayed in the curtains of my bed during the night.... Ah, so it was true that she did not love me, so my visionary imagination had been able to deceive me so much! And what could I do with the bouquet I had brought for her? If another woman, beautiful and seductive, had been there at that moment, at that moment of resentment against my pride, of resentment against Mary, I would have given it to her on condition that she would show it to all and beautify herself with it. I lifted it to my lips as if to bid farewell for the last time to a cherished illusion, and threw it out of the window.
Chapter XI
I made efforts to be jovial for the rest of the day. At the table I spoke enthusiastically about the beautiful women of Bogota, and intentionally praised P***'s graces and wit. My father was pleased to hear me: Eloisa would have wanted the after-dinner conversation to last into the night. Maria was silent; but it seemed to me that her cheeks sometimes grew pale, and that their primitive colour had not returned to them, like that of the roses which during the night have adorned a feast.
Towards the latter part of the conversation, Mary had pretended to play with the hair of John, my three-year-old brother whom she spoiled. She put up with it to the end; but as soon as I got to my feet, she went with the child into the garden.
All the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening it was necessary to help my father with his desk work.
At eight o'clock, after the women had said their usual prayers, we were called into the dining room. As we sat down to table, I was surprised to see one of the lilies on Mary's head. There was such an air of noble, innocent, sweet resignation in her beautiful face that, as if magnetised by something unknown to me in her until then, I could not help looking at her.
Loving, laughing girl, as pure and seductive a woman as those I had dreamed of, so I knew her; but resigned to my disdain, she was new to me. Divinised by resignation, I felt unworthy to fix a glance on her brow.
I answered wrongly to some questions that were put to me about Joseph and his family. My father could not conceal my embarrassment; and turning to Mary, he said with a smile:
–Beautiful lily in your hair: I have not seen such in the garden.
Maria, trying to conceal her bewilderment, replied in an almost imperceptible voice:
–There are only lilies of this kind in the mountains.
I caught at that moment a kindly smile on Emma's lips.
–And who sent them?
– asked my father.
Mary's confusion was already noticeable. I looked at her; and she must have found something new and encouraging in my eyes, for she answered with a firmer accent:
–Ephraim threw some into the garden; and it seemed to us that, being so rare, it was a pity they should be lost: this is one of them.
–Mary," said I, "if I had known that these flowers were so dear, I should have kept them for you; but I have found them less beautiful than those which are daily placed in the vase on my table.
She understood the cause of my resentment, and a glance of hers told me so plainly, that I feared the palpitations of my heart might be heard.
That evening, just as the family was leaving the salon, Maria happened to be sitting near me. After hesitating for a long time, I finally said to her in a voice that betrayed my emotion: "Maria, they were for you, but I couldn't find yours".
She stammered some apology when, tripping over my hand on the sofa, I held hers by a movement beyond my control. She stopped talking. Her eyes looked at me in astonishment and fled from mine. He ran his free hand anxiously across his forehead, and leaned his head on it, sinking his bare arm into the immediate cushion. At last, making an effort to undo that double bond of matter and soul which at such a moment united us, she rose to her feet; and as if concluding a commenced reflection, she said to me so quietly that I could scarcely hear her, "Then … I will pick the prettiest flowers every day," and disappeared.
Souls like Mary's are ignorant of the worldly language of love; but they shudder at the first caress of the one they love, like the poppy of the woods under the wing of the winds.
I had just confessed my love to Mary; she had encouraged me to confess it to her, humbling herself like a slave to pick those flowers. I repeated her last words to myself with delight; her voice still whispered in my ear: "Then I will pick the most beautiful flowers every day".
Chapter XII
The moon, which had just risen full and large under a deep sky over the towering crests of the mountains, illuminated the jungle slopes, whitened in places by the tops of the yarumos, silvering the foams of the torrents and spreading its melancholy clarity to the bottom of the valley. The plants exhaled their softest and most mysterious aromas. That silence, interrupted only by the murmur of the river, was more pleasing than ever to my soul.
Leaning on my elbows on my window frame, I imagined seeing her in the midst of the rose bushes among which I had surprised her on that first morning: she was there gathering the bouquet of lilies, sacrificing her pride to her love. It was I who would henceforth disturb the childish sleep of her heart: I could already speak to her of my love, make her the object of my life. Tomorrow! magical word, the night when we are told that we are loved! Her gaze, meeting mine, would have nothing more to hide from me; she would be beautified for my happiness and pride.
Never were the July dawns in the Cauca as beautiful as Maria when she presented herself to me the next day, moments after coming out of the bath, her tortoiseshell hair shaded loose and half curled, her cheeks a softly faded rose-colour, but at times fanned by blushing; and playing on her affectionate lips that most chaste smile which reveals in women like Maria a happiness which it is not possible for them to conceal. Her looks, now more sweet than bright, showed that her sleep was not so peaceful as it had been. As I approached her, I noticed on her forehead a graceful and barely perceptible contraction, a sort of feigned severity that she often used with me when, after dazzling me with all the light of her beauty, she would impose silence on my lips, about to repeat what she knew so well.
It was already a necessity for me to have her constantly by my side; not to lose a single instant of her existence abandoned to my love; and happy with what I possessed, and still eager for happiness, I tried to make a paradise of the paternal house. I spoke to Maria and my sister of the desire they had expressed to do some elementary studies under my direction: they were again enthusiastic about the project, and it was decided that from that very day it would begin.
They turned one of the corners of the living room into a study cabinet; they unpinned some maps from my room; they dusted off the geographic globe that had hitherto been ignored on my father's desk; two consoles were cleared of ornaments and made into study tables. My mother smiled as she witnessed all the disarray that our project entailed.