The Go Big Red Fan

 

The Go Big Red Fan was John Wesley Fenrick's, and when
ventilating his System it throbbed and crept along the floor with a
rhythmic chunka-chunka-chunk. Fenrick was a Business major and a
senior. From the talk of my wingmates I gathered that he was smart,
yet crazy, which helped. The description weird was also used, but
admiringly. His roomie, Ephraim Klein of New Jersey, was in
Philosophy. Worse, he was found to be smart and weird and crazy,
intolerably so on all these counts and several others besides.
As for the Fan, it was old and square, with a heavy rounded
design suitable for the Tulsa duplex window that had been its station
before John Wesley Fenrick had brought It out to the Big U with
him. Running up one sky-blue side was a Go Big Red bumper
sticker. When Fenrick ran his System—that is, bludgeoned the rest
of the wing with a record or tape—he used the Fan to blow air over
the back of the component rack to prevent the electronics from
melting down. Fenrick was tall and spindly, with a turkey-like head
and neck, and all of us in the east corridor of the south wing of the
seventh floor of E Tower knew him for three things: his seventies
rock-'n'-roll souvenir collection, his trove of preposterous electrical
appliances, and his laugh—a screaming hysterical cackle that would
ricochet down the long shiny cinderbiock corridor whenever
something grotesque flashed across the 45-Inch screen of his Video
System or he did something especially humiliating to Ephraim Klein.
Klein was a subdued, intellectual type. He reacted to his
victories with a contented smirk, and this quietness gave some
residents of EO7S East the impression that Fenrick, a roomie-buster
with many a notch on his keychain, had already cornered the young
sage. In fact, Klein beat Fenrick at a rate of perhaps sixty percent, or
whenever he could reduce the conflict to a rational discussion. He
felt that he should be capable of better against a power-punker
Business major, but he was not taking into account the animal
shrewdness that enabled Fenrick to land lucrative oil-company
internships to pay for the modernization of his System.
Inveterate and cynical audio nuts, common at the Big U, would
walk into their room and freeze solid, such was Fenrick's System, its
skyscraping rack of obscure black slabs with no lights, knobs or
switches, the 600-watt Black Hole Hyperspace Energy Nexus Field
Amp that sat alone like the Kaaba, the shielded coaxial cables
thrown out across the room to the six speaker stacks that made it
look like an enormous sonic slime mold in spawn. Klein himself
knew a few things about stereos, having a system that could
reproduce Bach about as well as the American Megaversity
Chamber Orchestra, and it galled him.
To begin with there was the music. That was bad enough, but
Klein had associated with musical Mau Maus since junior high, and
could inure himself to it in the same way that he kept himself from
jumping up and shouting back at television commercials. It was the
Go Big Red Fan that really got to him. "Okay, okay, let's just accept
as a given that your music is worth playing. Now, even assuming
that, why spend six thousand dollars on a perfect system with no
extraneous noises in it, and then, then, cool it with a noisy fan that
couldn't fetch six bucks at a fire sale?" Still, Fenrick would ignore
him. "I mean, you amaze me sometimes. You can't think at all, can
you? I mean, you're not even a sentient being, if you look at it
strictly."
When Klein said something like this (I heard the above one
night when going down to the bathroom), Fenrick would look up at
him from his Business textbook, peering over the wall of bright, sto
record-store displays he had erected along the room's centerline;
because his glasses had slipped down his long thin nose, he would
wrinkle it, forcing the lenses toward the desired altitude,
involuntarily baring his canine teeth in the process and causing the
stiff spiky hair atop his head to shift around as though inhabited by a
band of panicked rats.
"You don't understand real meaning," he'd say. "You don't
have a monopsony on meaning. I don't get meaning from books. My
meaning means what it means to me." He would say this, or
something equally twisted, and watch Klein for a reaction. After he
had done it a few times, though, Klein figured out that his roomie
was merely trying to get him all bent out of shape—to freak his
brain, as it were— and so he would drop it, denying Fenrick the
chance to shriek his vicious laugh and tell the wing that he had
scored again.
Klein was also annoyed by the fact that Fenrick, smoking loads
of parsley-spiked dope while playing his bad music, would forget to
keep an eye on the Go Big Red Fan. Klein, sitting with his back to
the stereo, wads of foam packed in his ears, would abruptly feel the
Fan chunk into the back of his chair, and as he spazzed out in
hysterical surprise it would sit there maliciously grinding away and
transmitting chunka-chunka-chunks into his pelvis like muffled
laughs.
If it was not clear which of them had air rights, they would wage
sonic wars.
They both got out of class at 3:30. Each would spend twenty
minutes dashing through the labyrinthine ways of the Monoplex,
pounding fruitlessly on elevator buttons and bounding up steps three
at a time, palpitating at the thought of having to listen to his
roommate's music until at least midnight. Often as not, one would
explode from the elevator on EO7S, veer around to the corridor, and
with disgust feel the other's tunes pulsing victoriously through the
floor. Sometimes, though, they would arrive simultaneously and
power up their Systems together. The first time they tried this, about
halfway through September, the room's circuit breaker shut down.
They sat in darkness and silence for above half an hour, each
knowing that if he left his stereo to turn the power back on, the other
would have his going full blast by the time he returned. This impasse
was concluded by a simultaneous two-tower fire drill that kept both
out of the room for three hours.
Subsequently John Wesley Fenrick ran a fifty-foot tn-lead
extension cord down the hallway and into the Social Lounge, and
plugged his System into that. This meant that he could now shut
down Klein's stereo simply by turning on his burger-maker, donut-
maker, blow-dryer and bun-warmer simultaneously, shutting off the
room's circuit breaker. But Klein was only three feet from the
extension cord and thus could easily shut Fenrick down with a tug.
So these tactics were not resorted to; the duelists preferred, against
all reason, to wait each other out.
Klein used organ music, usually lush garbled Romantic
masterpieces or what he called Atomic Bach. Fenrick had the edge in
system power, but most of that year's music was not as dense as,
say, Heavy Metal had been in its prime, and so this difference was
usually erased by the thinness of his ammunition. This did not mean,
however, that we had any trouble hearing him.
The Systems would trade salvos as the volume controls were
brought up as high as they could go, the screaming-guitars-from-Hell
power chords on one side matched by the subterranean grease-gun
blasts of the 32-foot reed stops on the other. As both recordings piled
into the thick of things, the combatants would turn to their long thin
frequency equalizers and shove all channels up to full blast like Mr.
Spock beaming a live antimatter bomb into Deep Space. Finally the
filters would be thrown off and the loudness switches on, and the
speakers would distort and crackle with strain as huge wattages
pulsed through their magnet coils. Sometimes Klein would use
Bach's "Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor," and at the end of each
phrase the bass line would plunge back down home to that old low
C, and Klein's sub-woofers would pick up the temblor of the 64-foot
pipes and magnify it until he could watch the naked speaker cones
thrash away at in the air. This particular note happened to be the
natural resonating frequency of the main hallways, which were cut
into 64-foot, 3-inch halves by the fire doors (Klein and I measured
one while drunk), and therefore the resonant frequency of every
other hail in every other wing of all the towers of the Plex, and so at
these moments everything in the world would vibrate at sixteen
cycles per second; beds would tremble, large objects would float off
the edges of tables, and tables and chairs themselves would buzz
around the rooms of their own volition. The occasional wandering
bat who might be in the hall would take off in random flight, his
sensors jammed by the noise, beating his wings against the standing
waves in the corridor in an effort to escape.
The Resident Assistant, or RA, was a reclusive Social Work
major who, intuitively knowing she was never going to get a job,
spent her time locked in her little room testing perfumes and
watching MTV under a set of headphones. She could not possibly
help.
That made it my responsibility. I lived on EO7S that year as
faculty-in-residence. I had just obtained my Ph.D. from Ohio State in
an interdisciplinary field called Remote Sensing, and was a brand-
shiny-new associate professor at the Big U.
Now, at the little southern black college where I went to school,
we had no megadorms. We were cool at the right times and
academic at the right times and we had neither Kleins nor Fenricks.
Boston University, where I did my Master's, had pulled through its
crisis when I got there; most students had no time for sonic war, and
the rest vented their humors in the city, not in the dorms. Ohio State
was nicely spread out, and I lived in an apartment complex where
noisy shit-for-brains undergrads were even less welcome than
tweedy black bachelors. I just did not know what to make of Klein
and Fenrick; I did not handle them well at all. As a matter of fact,
most of my time at the Big U was spent observing and talking, and
very little doing, and I may bear some of the blame.
This is a history, in that it intends to describe what happened
and suggest why. It is a work of the imagination in that by writing it
I hope to purge the Big U from my system, and with it all my
bitterness and contempt. I may have fooled around with a few facts.
But I served as witness until as close to the end as anyone could
have, and I knew enough of the major actors to learn about what I
didn't witness, and so there is not so much art in this as to make it
irrelevant. What you are about to read is not an aberration: it can
happen in your local university too. The Big U, simply, was a few
years ahead of the rest.

PRIMER BAILE [Relatos]

 

 

I

La señora Marquesa estaba de un humor insoportable: habíase levantado media hora antes, y envuelta en un rico peinador guarnecido de encajes de Valencianas, tomaba chocolate con bizcochos, que iba cogiendo de una salvilla de plata. En este breve tiempo había reñido a la doncella francesa porque hacía frío, y al valet de chambre porque la chimenea daba calor: había despedido con cajas destempladas a sus cuatro hijos menores, que con el haya inglesa al frente entraban en corporación a darle los buenos días; y había también -y esto era grave- negado una sopita de chocolate a Fly, la galguita inglesa: ofendida ésta de tan desacostumbrado desaire, volvió el rabo a la ilustre dama, y se tendió en su cojín de terciopelo, aplicando al favor de los poderosos, que personificaba en su dueña, aquella sentencia de su paisano Shakespeare: «¡Inconstancia, tu nombre es mujer!».

Indudablemente aquellos primeros truenos anunciaban una tormenta deshecha; y allí a dos pasos, sin ningún paraguas que la resguardase del aguacero, sin ningún pararrayos que la pusiese a cubierto de las chispas eléctricas, se hallaba la pobre Lulú, la hija mayor de la Marquesa, colegiala quince días antes en el Colegio del Sagrado Corazón. La pobre niña, no pudiendo esconderse en ninguna parte, escondía al menos las manos en los bolsillos de su bata, y clavaba los ojos en la alfombra como si estudiase sus dibujos, por no atreverse a fijarlos en el encapotado rostro de su madre.

-Quiero que me digas -decía ésta con ese tono breve y convulsivo, propio de la cólera contenida- por qué no quieres venir al baile de la Embajada.

Y para dar tiempo a la respuesta, la señora Marquesa se tomó una sopa de chocolate. Lulú no contestó: hizo dos o tres pucheritos, y escondió aún más hondamente las manos en los bolsillos de la bata. De buena gana hubiera escondido también la cabeza; pero eran los bolsillos demasiado pequeños.

-¡Contesta y no me desesperes! -exclamó la Marquesa, llegando ya a los límites de la exasperación-. ¿Por qué no quieres venir al baile?

Lulú se echó a llorar.

-¡Dios nos asista! -exclamó la dama-. Baile más llorado y más rabiado jamás se ha visto en la vida…

Contesta, niña, contesta; que es tu madre quien te pregunta.

Lulú levantó al fin aquellos hermosos ojos azules, que respiraban candor y pureza, y dijo con voz ahogada:

-Porque no quiero ponerme escotada…

-¿Acaso temes constiparte? -dijo la Marquesa, que no alcanzaba otra causa de aquella repugnancia.

-No, señora; no es por eso… Es que decía Madre Catalina…

-¡Ah! -exclamó la Marquesa, irguiéndose en su butaca, cual Juno en su carro tirado por pavos reales-. ¡Decía la Madre Catalina! ¿Y qué decía la Madre Catalina…?

-Que ese traje no era…, vamos, que no era decente… y que las señoras que ponen la moda eran las que debían desterrarlo.

La Marquesa se puso pálida de rabia, y si la Madre Catalina llega a caer en aquel instante en sus manos, cierto es que vuelve al convento sin ojos y sin boca.

-¿Con que eso decía la Madre Catalina? -exclamó con cierta calma rabiosa.

-Sí, señora; y el Padre Jacinto me dijo…

-¿También el Padre Jacinto?

-Sí, señora; el Padre Jacinto me dijo que procurase no vestir nunca de ese modo.

-¿Porque sin duda era pecado…?

-No me dijo que fuese pecado… Sólo me aconsejó que no lo usara.

-¿Y qué más te dijo el Padre Jacinto…?

-Que no valsase.

-¿Porque también era pecado…?

-Tampoco me dijo que fuese pecado; pero me aconsejó también que no lo hiciera.

-¿Y qué razón tenía para eso el Padre Jacinto?

-Eso no me lo dijo.

-¿Y la Madre Catalina?

-Tampoco me dijo nada.

La Marquesa estalló al fin: apuró de un sorbo el resto del chocolate, como para tomar fuerzas, y volvió a colocar con tal violencia la jicara en el platillo, que lo rompió en dos pedazos. El agua sufrió los flujos y los reflujos del mar en su copa de cristal de Bohemia; los bizcochos se dispersaron por el suelo; anunciando el final del desayuno; Lulú se encomendó a todos los santos del cielo; la impasibilidad británica de Fly se contentó con levantar la cabeza.

-Pues mira -dijo la Marquesa, dando con el puño cerrado en el brazo de la butaca-. El Padre Jacinto manda en su sotana, y la Madre Catalina en sus enaguas, y yo mando en mi hija, ¿te enteras…?

Lulú no se enteraba: asustada la pobre niña, había cruzado sus manitas, y rezaba mentalmente, sin darse cuenta de ello, aquella oración del Trisagio: «Aplaca, Señor, tu ira, tu justicia y tu rigor: ¡misericordia, Señor!». La Marquesa continuó elevando progresivamente la voz, hasta las últimas notas de un furioso crescendo.

-Vendrás esta noche al baile de la Embajada, por encima del sombrero de teja del Padre, y por encima de la toca de la Madre… ¡Irás con el traje escotado que va a traer la modista…! ¡Bailarás con el duquesito, porque así se lo he prometido yo, y porque es menester que aprendas lo que el Padre Jacinto y la Madre Catalina debieron haberte enseñado…! ¡Es menester que aprendas a obedecer a tu madre!

-Pero, mamá -exclamó Lulú llorando a lágrima viva-; si me dijo el Padre Jacinto…

-¿Qué más dijo el Padre Jacinto?

-Que si usted me lo mandaba y yo no podía convencerla, que en las dos cosas obedeciese.

-¡Pues como no me has convencido, vendrás al baile de pie o de cabeza!

-Sí, señora; iré de pie, y como usted mande.

La Marquesa bajó dos puntos el diapasón de su cólera, y añadió en tono dogmático:

-El tercer mandamiento de la ley de Dios manda honrar padre y madre.

-No es el tercero, mamá; es el cuarto. El tercero es santificar las fiestas.

-¡El tercero o el cuarto, o el veinte milquinientos! -exclamó la Marquesa, que estaba más fuerte en el reparto de la última ópera, que en el orden riguroso de los preceptos del Decálogo-. ¡Lo que importa es que lo tengas presente!

-Sí, señora; haré lo que usted mande.

-¡Pues no faltaba más, sino que pretendiese el Padre Jacinto turbar la paz de mi casa…!

-No, señora, no -le interrumpió Lulú-. El Padre Jacinto es un santo.

-¡Pues que lo pongan en el altar, y le enciendan dos velas! -replicó violentamente la Marquesa-. Pero de ninguna manera tolero que por causa de sus chocheces, me seas desobediente.

-Pero, mamá, si…

-¡Calla…! Y mira que no le vayas a hablar al duquesita del Padre Jacinto, ni de la Madre Catalina, ni de novenas, ni de las bobadas del colegio… Ya ese tiempo pasó, hija mía: ahora es menester que pienses en que eres ya una señorita que va a entrar en el mundo… Por eso quiero presentarte esta noche en la Embajada… El duquesito es un pollo de lo más agradable que darse puede…; te quiere muchísimo. No queda día que no pregunte por la bella Lulú…

-¿Por mí? -dijo Lulú, abriendo los ojos asombrada-. ¡Pues si sólo una vez le he visto en la vida!

-¿Y qué te pareció?

-Me pareció muy tonto.

-¿Tonto…? ¿Tonto el chico más a la moda de Madrid…? ¿Tonto el mejor partido de la Corte?

-¡Pues si no me dijo más que tonterías…!, que si el Real estaba lleno y el Español vacío…, que su caballo «Pitt» había ganado una copa en el hipódromo…, que iba a introducir la moda del frac encarnado… Yo le dije que parecería un cangrejo…

-¿Eso le dijiste? -exclamó otra vez sulfurada la Marquesa.

-Se me escapó sin pensar, y creo que no le gustó, porque se puso muy serio.

-¡Pues claro está…! ¿Cómo había de gustarle…? Vamos, si esta hija mía parece que viene de las Batuecas… ¡Decirle que parecería un cangrejo…! ¿A quién sino a ti se le ocurre semejante sandez…? ¿Sabes lo serio que ha sido el asunto de los fracs colorados? Periódicos muy formales han discutido si debía o no admitirse, y justamente el duquesito era el defensor más acérrimo… ¡Y decirle que parecería un cangrejo…! Vamos, si eso no se le ocurre más que… al Padre Jacinto o a la Madre Catalina…

-¿Pero yo qué entiendo de eso, mamá? -dijo Lulú apurada.

-Pues aprende, o a lo menos calla, que ni siquiera a callar has aprendido en el colegio… Éste es le fruto de la decantada educación de las monjas, que tu abuela me obligó a darte -prosiguió la dama en tono patético-. ¡Para esto me impuso el inmenso sacrificio de tenerte en el colegio, separada de mí, hasta los 17 años…!

La señora Marquesa mentía al decir esto con un descaro digno de su lavandera: la pobre Lulú había permanecido en el colegio hasta los 17 años, porque estorbaba a su madre por la vida, no licenciosa, pero sí frívola y disipada que llevaba: porque la edad de la niña ponía de manifiesto que la de la señora Marquesa había pasado mucho tiempo antes los límites de la juventud: porque le era preciso a su vanidad ocultar todo el tiempo posible aquellos años que todos los ardides de la infeliz no lograban borrar de su inexorable fe de bautismo; aquellos años que sonriendo irónicamente iba contando la muerte: aquellos años en que los pasatiempos y frívolos devaneos de la mujer habían ahogado los sencillos, los puros, los santos goces de la madre… ¡Aquellos años que habían de ser juzgados día por día, hora por hora, momento por momento, en el terrible tribunal en que sentencia Jesucristo las almas de los muertos…!

 

II

Las lamentaciones de la dama fueron interrumpidas por Nanette, la doncella francesa, que anunció la llegada del traje de la señorita.

La Marquesa lanzó una exclamación de alegría y se levantó para recibirlo: Lulú no se movió de su sitio. Un criado entró cargado con una inmensa excusabaraja de finísimos mimbres, y la depositó sobre la alfombra. Nanette levantó la tapa, y apareció el confuso remolino de gasas, crespones, flores y cintas, que constituían el traje de baile. La misma Marquesa, ayudada por Nanette, colocó artísticamente el vestido sobre un diván de raso azul celeste: era de gasas blancas, y no tenía más adornos que algunas guirnaldas de jazmines.

-¡Lindísimo! -exclamó la Marquesa, buscando para contemplarlo el verdadero punto de vista-. ¡Qué sencillez, y al mismo tiempo qué novedad y qué elegancia…! ¡Ah!, si madame Tétevide es la encarnación del gusto parisiense… Mira, Lulú, mira… ¡Vas a tener un succés asombroso…!

La señora Marquesa participaba en alto grado de la elegante manía criticada ya por el Padre Isla en aquella célebre aleluya:

Yo conocí en Madrid una marquesa.

Que aprendió a estornudar a la francesa.

Lulú no se movió de su sitio, y miraba con tristes ojos el lindísimo traje: su primera mirada había sido para el escote, que en honor de la verdad era todo lo alto y decente que esta moda permite a las señoritas jóvenes: a las señoras casadas, sin que nosotros alcancemos el motivo, se les permite en este caprichoso código ofender con toda libertad el pudor y la modestia.

-Pero, hija, ven acá -gritó la Marquesa-; que no parece sino que te llamo para enseñarte la mortaja.

--Así quiero que me hagan la mía -dijo Lulú levantándose-. Blanca como este traje; pero ha de ser cerrada hasta arriba, y en vez de jazmines tendrá azucenas, que significan pureza.

-¡Vamos! -exclamó la Marquesa dispuesta a encolerizarse por tercera vez-. No falta más sino que nos prediques ahora un sermoncito sobre la muerte y las vanidades humanas… ¡Mira, Luisa, no me seas necia! Entra en mi alcoba y ponte el traje al momento…; quiero ver cómo te sienta y quiero enseñarte a llevar la cola. De seguro que no sabes dar un paso con ella.

Lulú apareció al fin vestida de baile; y al ver retratada su imagen en el inmenso espejo que reflejaba al día las tres o cuatro toilettes de su madre, no pudo menos de sonreírse. Se había encontrado tan bonita, que se olvidó por un momento de la mortaja cerrada hasta arriba, y de las azucenas que significaban pureza. La Marquesa se sonrió también: la mujer había comprendido a la mujer y por eso concibió esperanzas de derrotar al Padre Jacinto.

-¡Delicioso! -exclamaba, arreglando los largos pliegues de la cola del traje-. Anda un poquito para allá, Lulú… Baja un poco la segunda falda, Nanette… ¡Mira, mira esc puff sostenido con dos lazos! ¡Es lo más elegante y atrevido que he visto! ¡Ah! ¡Este puff mariposa es un toar de forme admirable…! ¡Madame Televise es un genio…!

Un golpecito sonó en aquel momento en la puerta del tocador, y una voz varonil gritó desde fuera:

-¿Le es permitido a un simple mortal entrar en el santuario de la diosa?

-¡Adelante, adelante! -exclamó alegremente la Marquesa.

Lulú quiso huir, pero la detuvo su madre diciendo:

-¿Pero adonde vas, hija…? Si es el tío Conde.

El tío Conde era un anciano de franca y noble fisonomía, marcial aspecto, cabellos blancos como la nieve, y en cuyo pecho se destacaba la ilustre cruz roja de la Orden de Calatrava.

-¡Magnífico! -exclamó deteniéndose a la puerta-. ¡Qué grupo tan delicioso…! No os mováis, por Dios, que parecéis así unidas la mañana y la tarde de un hermoso día.

-¡Qué galante ha amanecido hoy el señor Conde! -dijo riendo la Marquesa-: apuesto a que para todo esto en pedirme de almorzar…

-¡Hermosa como la luz, discreta como la sombra! -dijo el Conde sentándose en el diván celeste-. Acertaste, sobrina: vengo a que me des de almorzar, y a que me prestes un coche para ir luego a Palacio. El mío me lo tiene embargado hoy un entierro.

-Admito lo de la mañana y la tarde, en pago del almuerzo, y exijo en pago del coche que me diga usted lo que le parece mi Lulú con su traje de baile.

-Trato hecho -contestó el Conde; y arrellanándose en el diván se caló sus quevedos de oro.

-¡Admirable, admirable, admirable! -decía examinando a la niña de pies a cabeza-. De seguro que cuando llegue a hablar de Lulú el cronista del baile, moja la pluma en bandolina en vez de mojarla en tinta… Hebe, sirviendo la copa a los dioses, será menos hermosa… Ofelia, apareciéndose a Hamlet, menos ideal… Psiquis, elevándose al Olimpo, menos vaporosa… Pero ¿quieres que te diga mi opinión, Lulú, hija mía…? Pues oye el consejo de un viejo. Luce ahora el traje delante de tu madre; lúcelo también delante de este viejo que se ofrece a bailar contigo entre estas cuatro paredes, desde un rigodón hasta una polka… Es más; que se ofrece a traerte aquí dos o tres parejas de su confianza, aunque tenga que buscarlas a la luz de una linterna, como Diógenes buscaba un hombre sentado por el foro de Atenas; porque, aunque no abunden, es cierto que se encuentran. Pero, créeme, hija mía: cuando llegue la hora de ir a la Embajada, cena un huevecito pasado por agua, ponte un gorrito de dormir, y vete a la cama después de rezar el rosario…

-Eso decía yo ahora mismo -exclamó vivamente la niña.

-Y hablaste como un libro -añadió su tío.

-¡Vamos! -dijo impaciente la Marquesa-. ¿Si tendremos aquí otro Padre Jacinto sin manteo ni sotana?

-¿Quién es ese Padre Jacinto?

-Un exclaustrado del año 34, que se cree que estamos todavía en los tiempos de las golas de lechuguilla y de los minués cantados.

-¿Dónde vive? -preguntó gravemente el Conde.

-¿Va usted a confesarse? -replicó con ironía la Marquesa.

-No; porque me confesé ayer: voy a consultarle una duda teológica.

-¿Y cuál es ella?

-Que me parece que la mujer no fue formada de la costilla del hombre.

-Pues téngalo usted por cierto -respondió la Marquesa, sin sospechar adonde iba a parar la broma-. No la formaron de la costilla, sino del corazón: por eso la mujer se lo llevó todo, y el hombre se quedó sin ninguno.

-Cuando las veo a la cabecera de sus hijos, enseñándoles a rezar el Bendito, como a mí me lo enseñó mi madre, que era tu abuela, creo lo que dices, sobrina -respondió el Conde con aquel tono serioburlón de que se servía para hacer a la Marquesa los más tremendos cargos-. Pero te confieso que me vuelve a asaltar mi duda cuando, satisfechas con esas baratijas de tocador, las veo dar más importancia a los bullones de un puff que… al gobierno de su casa.

El Conde iba a decir que a la educación de sus hijas, pero la presencia de Lulú lo contuvo.

-Pero ¿cuál es esa duda? -preguntó la Marquesa, sin darse por entendida.

-Pues ya lo he dicho: que la mujer no fue formada de la costilla del hombre.

-¿Pues de qué lo fue entonces?

-Del rabo de una mona [1] -dijo gravemente el Conde.

Lulú se echó a reír a carcajadas. La Marquesa se mordió los labios: acostumbrada, sin embargo, a las indirectas del Conde, que había sido para ella su segundo padre y cuya rica herencia esperaba, contestó chanceándose:

-¡Vaya con el señor Conde! En cuanto vio seguro el almuerzo ha dado ya al traste con todas sus galanterías.

-Y no creas que esto me lo ha dicho la falsa ciencia de algún darwinista -prosiguió el anciano-. Me lo dijo el buen sentido de un pobre patán que conocí en mis posesiones de Andalucía.

-¡Bien decía yo que la tal sentencia me olía a ajos!

-La verdad nunca huele a ámbar en las narices que escuece, sobrina… Explícame, si no de otro modo, estos dos hechos en que mi filósofo de los campos fundaba su sistema. Primero, que las monas no tengan rabo; segundo, que tengáis alguna de vosotras esas tendencias darwinísticas…

-Ya no me extraña que si tal concepto le merecían las mujeres, jamás haya usted querido volverse a casar después de viudo.

-No, hija mía; porque habrás notado que no he dicho todas, sino algunas… Si todas fueran así, no me hubiera casado nunca.

-¿Sabe usted lo que estoy pensando, tío? -dijo la Marquesa, picada hasta lo sumo-: que podría usted irse con mi hija a dar por ahí una misión contra los bailes y las modas. Lulú personificaría la inocencia; usted, tío -añadió recalcando la frase-, podría personificar el arrepentimiento.

-Con lo cual nadie podría argüirme de que hablaba de lo que no entendía.

-Pero sí de que el diablo, harto de comer carne, se había metido a fraile.

-¿Y crees tú que si ese señor Mefistófeles pusiera al servicio de Dios su experiencia de diablo y su ciencia de ángel, no haría mucho fruto?… Si Lulú quiere, esta misma noche empezaremos la misión a la puerta de la Embajada.

-Sí, tiíto -respondió Lulú alegremente-: más fácil me será aprender el sermón que bailar con esta cola.

-Pues queda convenido -asintió el Conde-. Predicaré por una ventanilla del coche y diré a las madres de familia: «Ciegas fuisteis para vosotras: ciegas sois para vuestras hijas… Vuestra ceguedad os disculpa… en parte. Cuidad de que no sea también vuestra ceguedad la que os condene…». Y asomándome por la otra ventanilla, porque dividiré el auditorio por sexos, como hacen en las sinagogas, diré a los padres de familia: «¡Perdisteis la memoria, señores míos…! ¡Acordados de que ya no sois vosotros los galanes…! ¡Acordaos de que las damas son ahora vuestras hijas…!».

-Pues si todos entienden el sermón como yo -dijo Lulú moviendo la cabeza-, no serán muchos los convertidos.

-No importa que tú no lo entiendas… Mira cómo tu madre me entiende.

-Entiendo, tío mío, que me está usted haciendo una mala obra -dijo sentida la Marquesa.

-La del padre que corrige -replicó el Conde, inclinándose a su oído-, la del amigo que salva…

-¿Pero acaso soy yo una samaritana?

-¡No por cierto…! Eres una mariposa y tu hija necesita un ángel de la guarda.

La Marquesa se echó a llorar. Lulú, que nada había advertido, dijo muy seria:

-Pues si usted predica desde la ventanilla, yo predicaré desde el pescante y diré a todo el auditorio: «Señores: las doce han dado ya: tengo mucho sueño, y no puedo dar un paso sin tropezar con esta cola… ¡Con que, muy buenas noches, que me voy a cenar con mi tío un huevo pasado por agua, y a acostarme después de rezar el rosario…!».

Y haciendo una graciosa cortesía, echó a correr hacia la alcoba de su madre para despojarse de su traje de baile. Detuviese, sin embargo, en la puerta, y preguntó sonriendo:

-Mamá…: ¿le encargo al tío que prepare el huevo pasado por agua?

La Marquesa estuvo a punto de decir que sí: el Conde la interrogaba con la vista.

-¡Imposible! -dijo al fin, contestando a éste-: he dado mi palabra al Duque.

-¿Y qué importa? -insistió el anciano en voz baja.

-Se disgustaría, y no quiero que por mí pierda Lulú la mejor boda de la Corte.

 

III

A las tres de la madrugada arrancaba de la Embajada el magnífico landó de la Marquesa, conduciendo a ésta y a su hija de vuelta del baile.

Envuelta Lulú en su albornoz forrado de pieles, se había recostado en un rincón del coche sin decir palabra: hallábase cansada, nerviosa, y sentía un fuerte dolor de cabeza.

-¿Tienes sueño, Lulú? -le preguntó su madre.

-Mucho -contestó la pobre niña-. ¡Si viera usted cómo me duele la cabeza!

-Eso es la falta de costumbre: mañana podrás desquitar el sueño.

Lulú no contestó, y la Marquesa calló también, preocupada, no con la insignificante dolencia de su hija, sino con aquellas últimas palabras del Conde, que acudían en aquel momento a su memoria con esa pertinacia, con esa fuerza convincente, con esa claridad avasalladora con que el remordimiento presenta al hombre después de cometida la falta, aquellas mismas razones que antes de cometerla encontraba la pasión tan débiles e ilusorias. Las conveniencias sociales, el porvenir de su hija, la boda del duquesito, pretextos todos con que había querido engañar a este necio que se llama uno mismo, tan fácil de persuadir cuando se halaga su deseo, desaparecieron en aquel momento cual desaparecen en la oscuridad los falsos colores de un prisma, para hacerle ver en toda su desnudez aquella amarga verdad que, entre bromas y veras, le había dicho el anciano: «Tu frivolidad, tu loco afán de gozar y divertirte, es lo que disfrazas con las exigencias de tu rango y del porvenir de tu hija».

«¡Es cierto! ¡Es cierto!, dijo amargamente la Marquesa. ¡Lulú necesita un ángel que guarde y no que exponga su inocencia…! Yo no soy una samaritana, ¡es verdad…!, ¡pero soy una mariposa, frívola madre de… orugas!».

Una tos seca y nerviosa se escapó en aquel momento del pecho de Lulú, y un ¡ay! doloroso acudió a sus labios.

-¿Qué es eso, hija mía? -exclamó asustada la Marquesa.

-No sé, mamá -respondió Lulú-: me duele aquí en el costado derecho… Será el corsé, que me aprieta un poco.

Lulú despidió a su doncella después de vestirse una bata de noche: dejóse caer entonces en una pequeña butaca forrada de raso color de rosa, y permaneció largo rato inmóvil, mirando sin ver, con los ojos fijos en el suelo. Quería darse cuenta de sus impresiones; pero las ideas se agolpaban con tal rapidez a su mente, que la aturdían, sin que pudiese analizarlas y ni aun siquiera definirlas. Sentíase por otra parte sumamente fatigada: agudas punzadas taladraban sus sienes, y aquel dolor del costado derecho la hacía toser de cuando en cuando seca y dolorosamente. La pobre niña se levantó para acostarse: un pensamiento la detuvo, sin embargo. Grave como un aviso del cielo, distinto como una luz de Dios, había acudido a su memoria el último consejo del Padre Jacinto, la súplica diaria de la Madre Catalina: «No te acuestes un solo día sin hacer antes examen de conciencia».

Lulú se dirigió a un precioso reclinatorio gótico, colocado a la cabecera de su cama. Había en él una pequeña estatua del Sagrado Corazón, que había traído del colegio, igual en todo a la grande que tenían en el altar mayor de la capilla. Lulú se arrodilló ante aquel antiguo amigo, que desde su infancia le había mostrado el corazón abierto, y apoyando la frente en ambas manos, comenzó a abrirle de par en par el suyo. Así pasó un cuarto de hora: levantó al fin la cabeza, y sus ojos fueron a encontrarse con los ojos de la imagen: los de Cristo reflejaban amor inmenso; los de Lulú, inocencia perfecta.

Rezó entonces el acto de contrición, y dio al Señor humildes gracias por haberla preservado de toda culpa. El mal espíritu tocó entonces con su inmundo dedo aquella pura frente para despertar en ella este pensamiento:

«¿Ves cómo tu madre tenía razón…? El Padre Jacinto exageraba… ¡En nada has ofendido al Sagrado Corazón de Cristo!»

A poco dormía Lulú fatigosamente, y parecíale hallarse en los salones de la Embajada valsando con el duquesito. La orquesta tocaba un vals de Strauss, y Lulú se divertía mucho atravesando a la carrera, como en otros tiempos, el patio del colegio, aquel salón inmenso que crecía, crecía siempre, como si la pared del fondo huyese ante Lulú para dejarle más ancho campo. Los caballeros le decían al pasar que era bonita; pero Lulú no hacía caso, porque una calavera se asomó por el marco de un espejo y le dijo con la misma voz del Padre Jacinto: «¡Lo que tú eres fui; lo que yo soy serás!».

El duquesito valsaba muy bien: llevaba el frac colorado, y Lulú se reía porque le parecía un cangrejo que valsaba tan de prisa, tan de prisa, que la niña sintió al fin un vahido y quiso detener a su pareja; pero el Duque soltó una carcajada, y siguió valsando al compás de la orquesta, tan rápido ya, que era vertiginoso. Lulú se echó a llorar, porque el Duque la agarraba con dos manos fuertes como tenazas de hierro, que le hacían un mal horrible en el costado derecho. Llamó a gritos a su madre, pero su madre la miraba riéndose, y se echaba fresco con el abanico. Llamó entonces al tío Conde: pero el tío Conde no estaba allí; por eso no contestaba, y la pobre Lulú seguía valsando, valsando al compás de aquella música más rápida que la bajada del infierno.

De repente le faltó la luz y le faltó el suelo, y los zapatitos de raso de Lulú se hundían en una tierra húmeda y pegajosa que le daba escalofríos; pero seguía valsando al compás de la orquesta, que ya no era de violines y flautas, sino chirimías y gritos de buhos, porque el duquesito le clavaba cual una garra la mano derecha en el costado, causándole aquel dolor atroz que la hacía toser cruelmente. Vio entonces en la oscuridad que la linda persona del Duque despedía un fulgor asqueroso que a ella no le tocaba, pero que sin saber cómo, ella misma encendía: vio que clavaba los ojos cual dos saetas envenenadas en su rostro y en su cuello desnudo, arrojando unas llamas impuras que aterraron a la pobre Lulú, porque amenazaban manchar la blancura de su alma, como mancha la baba de un caracol los pétalos de una rosa… ¡Y a pesar de todo, Lulú seguía valsando, porque su madre se lo mandaba…!; ¡porque ningún auxilio humano la socorría…!

De repente vio a lo lejos, sin saber cómo, un grupo de árboles, y un hombre postrado en tierra, como pintan a Jesús en el huerto de los olivos. Lulú gritó «¡Jesús mío!», y Jesús se puso en pie a aquel grito, hermoso, fuerte, imponente, con el Corazón llagado en las manos como le había visto tantas veces en el altar del colegio; como le acababa de ver en la imagen del reclinatorio; pero el Duque seguía valsando sin soltar su presa, y lanzaba a veces feroces rugidos. Jesús levantó la mano con imperio y le mandó detenerse; pero el Duque levantó la suya sin soltar a Lulú, y descargó un bofetón en la mejilla de Cristo.

«¡Perdón, Jesús mío, que yo soy la causa!», gritó Lulú retorciéndose las manos.

Jesús retrocedió dos pasos y arrojó al suelo para detener al Duque un puñado de su propia sangre; pero el Duque no soltó a Lulú, y siguió valsando sobre la sangre de Cristo.

«¡Perdón, Jesús mío, que yo tengo la culpa!», gimió Lulú mesándose el cabello.

Y Jesús, para salvar a la niña, arrojó al suelo, a los pies del Duque, su Corazón henchido de angustia.

Pero el Duque siguió valsando sin soltar a Lulú, y levantó el pie para pisar el Corazón Sagrado de Cristo.

Lulú dio un grito espantoso, y se encontró al despertar sentada en su lecho. Allí estaba sobre un sillón el blanco traje de baile; allí estaba en el reclinatorio la imagen de Cristo: en el costado derecho sintió la pobre niña el horrible dolor que le causaba en sueños la férrea mano del Duque. La luz del sol traspasaba ya las cortinas de color de rosa, prestando a toda la alcoba un tinte risueño…

Al grito de Lulú acudió desalada su doncella; detrás llegó la Marquesa anhelante. Lulú, pálida, desencajada, con los ojos fuera de las órbitas, tosiendo de un modo que helaba la sangre, tendió los brazos a su madre: ésta se arrojó en ellos llorando:

-¡Mamá!, ¡mamá! -decía Lulú en voz tan profunda y queda, que aterraba el oírla-. ¡Allí! ¡Allí…!, en el baile…, en el huerto, el Duque pisaba la sangre… ¡Yo, no…!, ¡yo no pequé…!, ¡no, no, Dios mío…!, pero por mi culpa…, ¡por mi culpa pisaba aquel hombre la sangre de Cristo!

Y una convulsión terrible retorció el cuerpo de la infeliz niña, como los anillos de una culebra.

-¡Lulú!, ¡hija mía! ¡Luisa…!, ¡hija de mi alma! -exclamó la Marquesa-. ¡Serénate, por Dios…! ¡Eso es una pesadilla…!

-¡No!, ¡no!, ¡no! -gritó Lulú con una energía horrible-. ¡En el baile fue donde soñé…! ¡En el sueño fue donde estuve despierta…!

Aterrada la Marquesa envió a buscar al médico y éste declaró sumamente grave el estado de la niña. Tenía, a su juicio, una pulmonía fulminante, cogida sin duda al salir de la Embajada, y aumentaba el peligro una horrible excitación nerviosa, cuya causa no comprendía.

 

IV

Tres días después el gran salón de la Marquesa se hallaba de arriba abajo colgado de raso blanco: en medio se levantaba un catafalco de terciopelo también blanco. Sobre él yacía el cadáver de Lulú: su mortaja era blanca como su traje de baile; pero estaba cerrada hasta arriba, y en vez de jazmines tenía azucenas, símbolo de la pureza…

Las manos de la niña sostenían la pequeña imagen del Sagrado Corazón que había traído del colegio.

Ella misma lo había así dispuesto.

 

FIN

 

VARIACIONES DE UN PAISAJE EN LLAMAS

 

 

A duras penas llegué a casa, si así podía llamársele. Se había reducido a dos largos pasillos, separados tan sólo por una frágil pared que quería a gritos desmoronarse. La oscuridad disimulaba muy bien el desorden y la suciedad del lugar. Sabía que seguramente no había nadie allí, en lo que solía ser mi casa, pero aún así necesitaba rodearme de algo familiar, objetos, entornos. Me dirigí al otro pasillo, el más largo y devastado. En esa inmensa soledad, sentí miedo. Advertí que alguien pasó suavemente a mi lado. Debió haber sido mi imaginación, o acaso algún perro vago.

¿Cuánto tiempo ha pasado ya? ¿Semanas, meses? No lo sé. No se sabe nada del exterior ni de ninguna parte. Como podría esperarse en estos casos, no hay energía eléctrica ¿Habrá sido un desastre natural? ¿Una bomba? ¿Misiles que algún maldito país lanzó? Si sólo tuviera alguna información… ¿Sería diferente? No lo creo, de cualquier manera, estamos condenados.

***

Desde ayer no he visto a mi hermana. Mi perro también desapareció. Sospecho que se lo comieron. Yo no me atrevo a matar para sobrevivir. Si sigo así, moriré de hambre.

***

“¡Qué vergüenza admitirlo! Es increíble cómo algo que antes me provocaba repulsión, ahora me haga salivar ante su sola presencia”, pensé mientras masticaba la mitad del cuerpo de la cucaracha. Era como comer mantequilla de maní con un toque de chocolate. Lo más cercano a una golosina que podría hallar en esta ruina en la que se había convertido el mundo. Las patitas me hacían cosquillas en el paladar. Al principio me ponía muy nerviosa, sentía que iba a vomitar; sin embargo, con el tiempo una se acostumbra a todo.

***

La gente no se oculta, ¿para qué? Lo más probable es que ya esté todo contaminado. Últimamente se me ha estado cayendo el pelo a mechones. Los sobrevivientes tienen pústulas en la cara y en otras partes del cuerpo. No hay espejo donde me pueda mirar. Cuando me toco las mejillas o la frente, percibo deformidades; mis dedos quedan húmedos y cubiertos de una sustancia pastosa.

Hace un rato, entre un grupo de andrajosos, me pareció ver a mi hermana. Cuando me acerqué, salió huyendo junto con los otros. No me reconoció. ¿Por qué no lo hizo? Creo que era ella, o quizá murió. En realidad, ya no tengo las cosas muy claras.

***

No sé cuánto tiempo ha pasado. Yo sigo volviendo a casa, o a lo que queda de ella.

En el fondo del pasillo, en lo que alguna vez fue mi habitación, entre escombros encuentro una radio. Debe haber sido mía, aunque no la recuerdo. “¡Tiene que funcionar, tiene que funcionar!”, trato de convencerme. Reviso el compartimento de las pilas para ver si las tiene. Sí, allí están. ¿Podría sintonizar algo? Sé que no hay energía eléctrica, de todas formas para algo podría servir.

***

Ayer, cuando buscaba insectos para comer, encontré un CD enterrado. Mejor dicho, encontré una caja mediana con varios CDs, quebrados todos ellos a excepción de uno: un disco de Vivaldi. La caja del CD estaba un poco trizada. Cuando lo metí en la radio se saltó casi todas las pistas, menos la número 7: Trío Sonata en Re menor, “La Follia”. Escucharla es lo único que me consuela por las noches, sobre todo ahora que ni siquiera las estrellas se pueden observar. Y pensar que llegará el día en que las pilas se hayan gastado y ya no podré escucharla más. Entonces seguiré reproduciéndola en la memoria hasta el día en que muera.

***

El color del cielo ha ido mutando con el paso de los días. Antes era blanquecino, poblado de una neblina espesa que nunca se iba. Ahora cada vez que miro al cielo -ojalá fuera sólo el cielo- veo partículas fosforescentes flotando en el aire. Debe haber algún elemento químico en la atmósfera.

***

Un hedor espantoso inunda el ambiente. Imagino que son los cadáveres putrefactos de las primeras víctimas, o de los que poco a poco se han ido rindiendo. Tal vez aún siguen con vida, ¿pero en qué condiciones? No deseo averiguarlo. Sé que tendré el mismo fin.

***

 

Mientras escucho “La Follia”, súbitamente la radio deja de funcionar. La noche queda sumida en un silencio sepulcral, sólo roto por los quejidos de un moribundo que se escuchan en la lejanía. Unos metros más allá, el paisaje está plagado de árboles quemados, estatuas carbonizadas de apariencia fantasmal, mi única compañía en esta noche.

Una lágrima rueda por mi mejilla, un mudo lamento por aquellos que perdí, un duelo por mí misma. Trato de reproducir mentalmente la sonata para así no olvidarla, sin embargo la angustia no me deja continuar.

Mi cabello se ha caído completamente, ya no tengo uñas y me quedan apenas unos cuantos dientes. La fetidez que me acompaña a todos lados sólo puede significar una cosa: me estoy pudriendo en vida. Sólo ruego a quien sea -algún ser supremo, si existe- que todo acabe pronto, o que al menos pierda la consciencia de una vez para no tener que seguir soportando esta horrible y lenta muerte. Con todo eso en mi cabeza, me recuesto en el colchón mugriento, cierro los ojos y ruego no despertar nunca más.

 

FIN

 

Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp

 

There once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called Aladdin,

a careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play all day long in

the streets with little idle boys like himself.  This so grieved the

father that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers,

Aladdin did not mend his ways.  One day, when he was playing in the

streets as usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he was not

the son of Mustapha the tailor.  "I am, sir," replied Aladdin;

"but he died a long while ago."  On this the stranger, who was

a famous African magician, fell on his neck and kissed him saying:

"I am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother.

Go to your mother and tell her I am coming."  Aladdin ran home

and told his mother of his newly found uncle.  "Indeed, child," she

said, "your father had a brother, but I always thought he was dead."

However, she prepared supper, and bade Aladdin seek his uncle,

who came laden with wine and fruit.  He fell down and kissed the

place where Mustapha used to sit, bidding Aladdin's mother not to

be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty

years out of the country.  He then turned to Aladdin, and asked

him his trade, at which the boy hung his head, while his mother

burst into tears.  On learning that Aladdin was idle and would

learn no trade, he offered to take a shop for him and stock it with

merchandise.  Next day he bought Aladdin a fine suit of clothes and

took him all over the city, showing him the sights, and brought him home

at nightfall to his mother, who was overjoyed to see her son so fine.

 

Next day the magician led Aladdin into some beautiful gardens a

long way outside the city gates.  They sat down by a fountain and

the magician pulled a cake from his girdle, which he divided

between them.  Then they journeyed onwards till they almost reached

the mountains.  Aladdin was so tired that he begged to go back,

but the magician beguiled him with pleasant stories and lead him

on in spite of himself.  At last they came to two mountains

divided by a narrow valley.  "We will go no farther," said

his uncle.  "I will show you something wonderful; only do you

gather up sticks while I kindle a fire."  When it was lit the

magician threw on it a powder he had about him, at the same time

saying some magical words.  The earth trembled a little in front

of them, disclosing a square flat stone with a brass ring in the

middle to raise it by.  Aladdin tried to run away, but the

magician caught him and gave him a blow that knocked him down.

"What have I done, uncle?" he said piteously; whereupon the

magician said more kindly:  "Fear nothing, but obey me.  Beneath

this stone lies a treasure which is to be yours, and no one else

may touch it, so you must to exactly as I tell you."  At the word

treasure Aladdin forgot his fears, and grasped the ring as he was

told, saying the names of his father and grandfather.  The stone

came up quite easily, and some steps appeared.  "Go down," said

the magician; "at the foot of those steps you will find an open

door leading into three large halls.  Tuck up your gown and go

through them without touching anything, or you will die instantly.

These halls lead into a garden of fine fruit trees.  Walk on till

you come to niche in a terrace where stands a lighted lamp.  Pour

out the oil it contains, and bring it me."  He drew a ring from

his finger and gave it to Aladdin, bidding him prosper.

 

Aladdin found everything as the magician had said, gathered some

fruit off the trees, and, having got the lamp, arrived at the

mouth of the cave.  The magician cried out in a great hurry:

"Make haste and give me the lamp."  This Aladdin refused to do until

he was out of the cave.  The magician flew into a terrible passion,

and throwing some more powder on to the fire, he said something,

and the stone rolled back into its place.

 

The man left the country, which plainly showed that he was no

uncle of Aladdin's but a cunning magician, who had read in his

magic books of a wonderful lamp, which would make him the most

powerful man in the world.  Though he alone knew where to find it,

he could only receive it from the hand of another.  He had picked

out the foolish Aladdin for this purpose, intending to get the

lamp and kill him afterwards.

 

For two days Aladdin remained in the dark, crying and lamenting.

At last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed

the ring, which the magician had forgotten to take from him.

Immediately an enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth,

saying:  "What wouldst thou with me?  I am the Slave of the Ring,

and will obey thee in all things."  Aladdin fearlessly replied,

"Deliver me from this place!" whereupon the earth opened, and he

found himself outside.  As soon as his eyes could bear the light

he went home, but fainted on the threshold.  When he came to

himself he told his mother what had passed, and showed her the

lamp and the fruits he had gathered in the garden, which were in

reality precious stones.  He then asked for some food.  "Alas!

child," she said, "I have nothing in the house, but I have spun a

little cotton and will go sell it."  Aladdin bade her keep her

cotton, for he would sell the lamp instead.  As it was very dirty,

she began to rub it, that it might fetch a higher price.

Instantly a hideous genie appeared, and asked what she would have.

She fainted away, but Aladdin, snatching the lamp, said boldly:

"Fetch me something to eat!"  The genie returned with a silver

bowl, twelve silver plates containing rich meats, two silver cups,

and two bottles of wine.  Aladdin's mother, when she came to herself,

said:  "Whence comes this splendid feast?"  "Ask not, but eat,"

replied Aladdin.  So they sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time,

and Aladdin told his mother about the lamp.  She begged him to sell it,

and have nothing to do with devils.  "No," said Aladdin, "since chance

hath made us aware of its virtues, we will use it, and the ring likewise,

which I shall always wear on my finger."  When they had eaten all the

genie had brought, Aladdin sold one of the silver plates, and so on

until none were left.  He then had recourse to the genie, who gave him

another set of plates, and thus they lived many years.

 

One day Aladdin heard an order from the Sultan proclaimed that

everyone was to stay at home and close his shutters while the

Princess his daughter went to and from the bath.  Aladdin was

seized by a desire to see her face, which was very difficult,

as she always went veiled.  He hid himself behind the door of

the bath, and peeped through a chink.  The Princess lifted her veil

as she went in, and looked so beautiful that Aladdin fell in love

with her at first sight.  He went home so changed that his mother

was frightened.  He told her he loved the Princess so deeply he

could not live without her, and meant to ask her in marriage of

her father.  His mother, on hearing this, burst out laughing, but

Aladdin at last prevailed upon her to go before the Sultan and

carry his request.  She fetched a napkin and laid in it the magic

fruits from the enchanted garden, which sparkled and shone like

the most beautiful jewels.  She took these with her to please the

Sultan, and set out, trusting in the lamp.  The Grand Vizier and

the lords of council had just gone in as she entered the hall and

placed herself in front of the Sultan.  He, however, took no

notice of her.  She went every day for a week, and stood in the

same place.  When the council broke up on the sixth day the Sultan

said to his Vizier:  "I see a certain woman in the audience-chamber

every day carrying something in a napkin.  Call her next time,

that I may find out what she wants."  Next day, at a sign from

the vizier, she went up to the foot of the throne and remained

kneeling until the Sultan said to her:  "Rise, good woman, and

tell me what you want."  She hesitated, so the Sultan sent away

all but the Vizier, and bade her speak freely, promising to

forgive her beforehand for anything she might say.  She then told

him of her son's violent love for the Princess.  "I prayed him to

forget her," she said, "but in vain; he threatened to do some

desperate deed if I refused to go and ask your Majesty for the

hand of the Princess.  Now I pray you to forgive not me alone,

but my son Aladdin."  The Sultan asked her kindly what she had in

the napkin, whereupon she unfolded the jewels and presented them.

He was thunderstruck, and turning to the vizier, said:  "What

sayest thou?  Ought I not to bestow the Princess on one who

values her at such a price?"  The Vizier, who wanted her for his

own son, begged the Sultan to withhold her for three months, in

the course of which he hoped his son could contrive to make him a

richer present.  The Sultan granted this, and told Aladdin's

mother that, though he consented to the marriage, she must not

appear before him again for three months.

 

Aladdin waited patiently for nearly three months, but after two

had elapsed, his mother, going into the city to buy oil, found

everyone rejoicing, and asked what was going on.  "Do you not

know," was the answer, "that the son of the Grand Vizier is to

marry the Sultan's daughter tonight?"  Breathless she ran and told

Aladdin, who was overwhelmed at first, but presently bethought

him of the lamp.  He rubbed it and the genie appeared, saying:

"What is thy will?"  Aladdin replied:  "The Sultan, as thou knowest,

has broken his promise to me, and the vizier's son is to have

the Princess.  My command is that to-night you bring hither

the bride and bridegroom."  "Master, I obey," said the genie.

Aladdin then went to his chamber, where, sure enough, at

midnight the genie transported the bed containing the vizier's

son and the Princess.  "Take this new-married man," he said, "and

put him outside in the cold, and return at daybreak."  Whereupon

the genie took the vizier's son out of bed, leaving Aladdin with

the Princess.  "Fear nothing," Aladdin said to her; "you are my

wife, promised to me by your unjust father, and no harm will come

to you."  The Princess was too frightened to speak, and passed

the most miserable night of her life, while Aladdin lay down

beside her and slept soundly.  At the appointed hour the genie

fetched in the shivering bridegroom, laid him in his place,

and transported the bed back to the palace.

 

Presently the Sultan came to wish his daughter good-morning.

The unhappy Vizier's son jumped up and hid himself, while the

Princess would not say a word and was very sorrowful.  The Sultan

sent her mother to her, who said:  "How comes it, child, that you

will not speak to your father?  What has happened?"  The Princess

sighed deeply, and at last told her mother how, during the night,

the bed had been carried into some strange house, and what had

passed there. Her mother did not believe her in the least,

but bade her rise and consider it an idle dream.

 

The following night exactly the same thing happened, and next

morning, on the Princess's refusing to speak, the Sultan

threatened to cut off her head.  She then confessed all, bidding

him ask the Vizier's son if it were not so.  The Sultan told the

Vizier to ask his son, who owned the truth, adding that, dearly

as he loved the Princess, he had rather die than go through

another such fearful night, and wished to be separated from her.

His wish was granted, and there was an end of feasting and rejoicing.

 

When the three months were over, Aladdin sent his mother to

remind the Sultan of his promise.  She stood in the same place as

before, and the Sultan, who had forgotten Aladdin, at once

remembered him, and sent for her.  On seeing her poverty the

Sultan felt less inclined than ever to keep his word, and asked

his Vizier's advice, who counselled him to set so high a value on

the Princess that no man living would come up to it.  The Sultan

than turned to Aladdin's mother, saying:  "Good woman, a sultan

must remember his promises, and I will remember mine, but your

son must first send me forty basins of gold brimful of jewels,

carried by forty black slaves, led by as many white ones,

splendidly dressed.  Tell him that I await his answer."  The

mother of Aladdin bowed low and went home, thinking all was lost.

She gave Aladdin the message adding, "He may wait long enough for

your answer!"  "Not so long, mother, as you think," her son replied.

"I would do a great deal more than that for the Princess."

He summoned the genie, and in a few moments the eighty slaves arrived,

and filled up the small house and garden.  Aladdin made them to set

out to the palace, two by two, followed by his mother.  They were so

richly dressed, with such splendid jewels, that everyone crowded

to see them and the basins of gold they carried on their heads.

They entered the palace, and, after kneeling before the Sultan,

stood in a half-circle round the throne with their arms crossed,

while Aladdin's mother presented them to the Sultan.  He hesitated

no longer, but said:  "Good woman, return and tell your son that I

wait for him with open arms."  She lost no time in telling Aladdin,

bidding him make haste.  But Aladdin first called the genie.

"I want a scented bath," he said, "a richly embroidered habit,

a horse surpassing the Sultan's, and twenty slaves to attend me.

Besides this, six slaves, beautifully dressed, to wait on my mother;

and lastly, ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses."  No sooner said

then done.  Aladdin mounted his horse and passed through the streets,

the slaves strewing gold as they went.  Those who had played with

him in his childhood knew him not, he had grown so handsome.

When the sultan saw him he came down from his throne, embraced him,

and led him into a hall where a feast was spread, intending

to marry him to the Princess that very day.  But Aladdin refused,

saying, "I must build a palace fit for her," and took his leave.

Once home, he said to the genie:  "Build me a palace of the finest

marble, set with jasper, agate, and other precious stones.  In the

middle you shall build me a large hall with a dome, its four walls

of massy gold and silver, each side having six windows, whose lattices,

all except one which is to be left unfinished, must be set with diamonds

and rubies.  There must be stables and horses and grooms and slaves;

go and see about it!"

 

The palace was finished the next day, and the genie carried him

there and showed him all his orders faithfully carried out, even

to the laying of a velvet carpet from Aladdin's palace to the Sultan's.

Aladdin's mother then dressed herself carefully, and walked to the

palace with her slaves, while he followed her on horseback.

The Sultan sent musicians with trumpets and cymbals to

meet them, so that the air resounded with music and cheers.

She was taken to the Princess, who saluted her and treated her with

great honour.  At night the princess said good-bye to her father,

and set out on the carpet for Aladdin's palace, with his mother

at her side, and followed by the hundred slaves.  She was charmed

at the sight of Aladdin, who ran to receive her.  "Princess," he

said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if I have displeased you."

She told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed

her father in this matter.  After the wedding had taken place,

Aladdin led her into the hall, where a feast was spread, and she

supped with him, after which they danced till midnight.

 

Next day Aladdin invited the Sultan to see the palace.  On

entering the hall with the four-and-twenty windows with their

rubies, diamonds and emeralds, he cried, "It is a world's wonder!

There is only one thing that surprises me.  Was it by accident

that one window was left unfinished?"  "No, sir, by design,"

returned Aladdin.  "I wished your Majesty to have the glory of

finishing this palace."  The Sultan was pleased, and sent for the

best jewelers in the city.  He showed them the unfinished window,

and bade them fit it up like the others.  "Sir," replied their

spokesman, "we cannot find jewels enough."  The Sultan had his own

fetched, which they soon used, but to no purpose, for in a month's

time the work was not half done.  Aladdin knowing that their task

was vain, bade them undo their work and carry the jewels back, and

the genie finished the window at his command.  The Sultan was

surprised to receive his jewels again, and visited Aladdin, who

showed him the window finished.  The Sultan embraced him, the

envious vizier meanwhile hinting that it was the work of enchantment.

 

Aladdin had won the hearts of the people by his gentle bearing.

He was made captain of the Sultan's armies, and won several

battles for him, but remained as courteous as before, and lived

thus in peace and content for several years.

 

But far away in Africa the magician remembered Aladdin, and by

his magic arts discovered that Aladdin, instead of perishing

miserably in the cave, had escaped, and had married a princess,

with whom he was living in great honour and wealth.  He knew that

the poor tailor's son could only have accomplished this by means

of the lamp, and travelled night and day till he reached the

capital of China, bent on Aladdin's ruin.  As he passed through

the town he heard people talking everywhere about a marvelous

palace.  "Forgive my ignorance," he asked, "what is the palace you

speak of?"  Have you not heard of Prince Aladdin's palace," was

the reply, "the greatest wonder in the world?  I will direct you

if you have a mind to see it."  The magician thanked him who spoke,

and having seen the palace knew that it had been raised by the Genie

of the Lamp, and became half mad with rage.  He determined to get

hold of the lamp, and again plunge Aladdin into the deepest poverty.

 

Unluckily, Aladdin had gone a-hunting for eight days, which gave

the magician plenty of time.  He bought a dozen lamps, put them

into a basket, and went to the palace, crying:  "New lamps for old!"

followed by a jeering crowd.  The Princess, sitting in the hall of

four-and-twenty windows, sent a slave to find out what the noise

was about, who came back laughing, so that the Princess scolded her.

"Madam," replied the slave, "who can help laughing to see an old fool

offering to exchange fine new lamps for old ones?"  Another slave,

hearing this, said, "There is an old one on the cornice there which

he can have."  Now this was the magic lamp, which Aladdin had left there,

as he could not take it out hunting with him.  The Princess, not knowing

its value, laughingly bade the slave take it and make the exchange.

She went and said to the magician:  "Give me a new lamp for this."

He snatched it and bade the slave take her choice, amid the jeers

of the crowd.  Little he cared, but left off crying his lamps,

and went out of the city gates to a lonely place, where he remained till

nightfall, when he pulled out the lamp and rubbed it.  The genie

appeared, and at the magician's command carried him, together with

the palace and the Princess in it, to a lonely place in Africa.

 

Next morning the Sultan looked out of the window towards Aladdin's

palace and rubbed his eyes, for it was gone.  He sent for the

Vizier and asked what had become of the palace.  The Vizier looked

out too, and was lost in astonishment.  He again put it down to

enchantment, and this time the Sultan believed him, and sent

thirty men on horseback to fetch Aladdin back in chains.  They met

him riding home, bound him, and forced him to go with them on foot.

The people, however, who loved him, followed, armed, to see

that he came to no harm.  He was carried before the Sultan, who

ordered the executioner to cut off his head.  The executioner made

Aladdin kneel down, bandaged his eyes, and raised his scimitar to

strike.  At that instant the Vizier, who saw that the crowd had

forced their way into the courtyard and were scaling the walls

to rescue Aladdin, called to the executioner to stay his hand.

The people, indeed, looked so threatening that the Sultan gave

way and ordered Aladdin to be unbound, and pardoned him in the

sight of the crowd.  Aladdin now begged to know what he had done.

"False wretch!" said the Sultan, "come hither," and showed him from

the window the place where his palace had stood.  Aladdin was so

amazed he could not say a word.  "Where is your palace and my

daughter?" demanded the Sultan.  "For the first I am not so deeply

concerned, but my daughter I must have, and you must find her or

lose your head."  Aladdin begged for forty days in which to find

her, promising if he failed to return at suffer death at the

Sultan's pleasure.  His prayer was granted, and he went forth

sadly from the Sultan's presence.

 

For three days he wandered about like a madman, asking everyone

what had become of his palace, but they only laughed and pitied him.

He came to the banks of a river, and knelt down to say his prayers

before throwing himself in.  In doing so he rubbed the ring he

still wore.  The genie he had seen in the cave appeared, and

asked his will.  "Save my life, genie," said Aladdin, "and bring

my palace back."  That is not in my power," said the genie;

"I am only the Slave of the Ring; you must ask him of the lamp."

"Even so," said Aladdin, "but thou canst take me to the palace,

and set me down under my dear wife's window."  He at once found

himself in Africa, under the window of the Princess, and fell

asleep out of sheer weariness.

 

He was awakened by the singing of the birds, and his heart was lighter.

He saw plainly that all his misfortunes were owning to the loss of the lamp,

and vainly wondered who had robbed him of it.

 

That morning the Princess rose earlier than she had done since

she had been carried into Africa by the magician, whose company

she was forced to endure once a day.  She, however, treated him

so harshly that he dared not live there altogether.  As she

was dressing, one of her women looked out and saw Aladdin.

The Princess ran and opened the window, and at the noise she made,

Aladdin looked up.  She called to him to come to her, and great

was the joy of these lovers at seeing each other again.  After he

had kissed her Aladdin said:  "I beg of you, Princess, in God's

name, before we speak of anything else, for your own sake and

mine, tell me what has become of an old lamp I left on the cornice

in the hall of four-and-twenty windows when I went a-hunting."

"Alas," she said, "I am the innocent cause of our sorrows," and

told him of the exchange of the lamp.  "Now I know," cried

Aladdin, "that we have to thank the African magician for this!

Where is the lamp?"  "He carries it about with him," said the

Princess.  "I know, for he pulled it out of his breast to show me.

He wishes me to break my faith with you and marry him, saying that

you were beheaded by my father's command.  He is forever speaking

ill of you, but I only reply by my tears.  If I persist, I doubt

not but he will use violence."  Aladdin comforted her, and left

her for a while.  He changed clothes with the first person he met

in the town, and having bought a certain powder returned to the

Princess, who let him in by a little side door.  "Put on your

most beautiful dress," he said to her, "and receive the magician

with smiles, leading him to believe that you have forgotten me.

Invite him to sup with you, and say you wish to taste the wine of

his country.  He will go for some, and while he is gone I will tell

you what to do."  She listened carefully to Aladdin and when he

left her, arrayed herself gaily for the first time since she left

China.  She put on a girdle and head-dress of diamonds and seeing

in a glass that she was more beautiful than ever, received the

magician, saying, to his great amazement:  "I have made up my mind

that Aladdin is dead, and that all my tears will not bring him

back to me, so I am resolved to mourn no more, and have therefore

invited you to sup with me; but I am tired of the wines of China,

and would fain taste those of Africa."  The magician flew to his

cellar, and the Princess put the powder Aladdin had given her in

her cup.  When he returned she asked him to drink her health in

the wine of Africa, handing him her cup in exchange for his, as a

sign she was reconciled to him.  Before drinking the magician made

her a speech in praise of her beauty, but the Princess cut him

short, saying:  "Let us drink first, and you shall say what you

will afterwards."  She set her cup to her lips and kept it there,

while the magician drained his to the dregs and fell back lifeless.

The Princess then opened the door to Aladdin, and flung her arms

around his neck; but Aladdin went to the dead magician, took the

lamp out of his vest, and bade the genie carry the palace and all

in it back to China.  This was done, and the Princess in her chamber

felt only two little shocks, and little thought she was home again.

 

The Sultan, who was sitting in his closet, mourning for his lost

daughter, happened too look up, and rubbed his eyes, for there

stood the palace as before!  He hastened thither, and Aladdin

received him in the hall of the four-and-twenty windows, with the

Princess at his side.  Aladdin told him what had happened, and

showed him the dead body of the magician, that he might believe.

A ten days' feast was proclaimed, and it seemed as if Aladdin might

now live the rest of his life in peace; but it was not meant to be.

 

The African magician had a younger brother, who was, if possible,

more wicked and more cunning than himself.  He travelled to China

to avenge his brother's death, and went to visit a pious woman

called Fatima, thinking she might be of use to him.  He entered

her cell and clapped a dagger to her breast, telling her to rise

and do his bidding on pain of death.  He changed clothes with her,

coloured his face like hers, put on her veil, and murdered her,

that she might tell no tales.  Then he went towards the palace of

Aladdin, and all the people, thinking he was the holy woman,

gathered round him, kissing his hands and begging his blessing.

When he got to the palace there was such a noise going on round

him that the Princess bade her slave look out the window and ask

what was the matter.  The slave said it was the holy woman, curing

people by her touch of their ailments, whereupon the Princess,

who had long desired to see Fatima, sent for her.  On coming to

the Princess the magician offered up a prayer for her health and

prosperity.  When he had done the Princess made him sit by her,

and begged him to stay with her always.  The false Fatima, who

wished for nothing better, consented, but kept his veil down for

fear of discovery.  The princess showed him the hall, and asked

him what he thought of it.  "It is truly beautiful," said the

false Fatima.  "In my mind it wants but one thing."  And what is

that?" said the Princess.  "If only a roc's egg," replied he,

"were hung up from the middle of this dome, it would be the

wonder of the world."

 

After this the Princess could think of nothing but the roc's egg,

and when Aladdin returned from hunting he found her in a very ill

humour.  He begged to know what was amiss, and she told him that

all her pleasure in the hall was spoilt or want of a roc's egg

hanging from the dome.  "If that is all," replied Aladdin, "you

shall soon be happy."  He left her and rubbed the lamp, and when

the genie appeared commanded him to bring a roc's egg.  The genie

gave such a loud and terrible shriek that the hall shook.

 

"Wretch!" he cried, "is it not enough that I have done everything

for you, but you must command me to bring my master and hang him

up in the midst of this dome?  You and your wife and your palace

deserve to be burnt to ashes, but that this request does not come

from you, but from the brother of the African magician, whom you

destroyed.  He is now in your palace disguised as the holy woman,

whom he murdered.  He it was who put that wish into your wife's head.

Take care of yourself, for he means to kill you."  So saying, the

genie disappeared.

 

Aladdin went back to the Princess, saying his head ached,

and requesting that the holy Fatima should be fetched to

lay her hands on it.  But when the magician came near,

Aladdin, seizing his dagger, pierced him to the heart.

"What have you done?" cried the Princess.  "You have

killed the holy woman!"  "Not so," replied Aladdin,

"but a wicked magician," and told her of how she had

been deceived.

 

After this Aladdin and his wife lived in peace.

He succeeded the Sultan when he died, and reigned

for many years, leaving behind him a long line of kings.

 

END.