Marianela 16

Marianela 16

Three cups of milk were now brought in, white, warm, fragrant, and

frothy to the very rim. Penáguilas handed a cup first to Sofía, and the

two gentlemen took the others; but Teodoro Golfin offered his to Nela,

who was overwhelmed with bashfulness and refused to touch it.

 

"Come, little woman," said Sofía, "do not be so rude; take what is

given you."

 

"Another cup of milk for Don Teodoro," said Don Francisco to the

servant. And then they heard the milk as it flowed into the pails from

the full udders of the cows.

 

"He will appreciate the true relative value of things," said Don

Francisco, repeating the doctor's last words, which had made a deep

impression on his mind. "That is an admirable observation, Don Teodoro.

And with regard to the subject under discussion, I must explain to you

the doubts I have felt for some days past. But I may as well sit down."

And Don Francisco seated himself on a stool he had in his hand. The

others had already been accommodated with chairs brought out of the

house, and Nela was still perched on the stone bench. The milk she had

drunk as she was bidden had left a thin white moustache on her upper

lip.

 

"I must tell you Don Teodoro that for some days I have been very uneasy

at the excited state in which my son has been; I attribute it to the

hope that has been held out to him--but still, there is something

else--something more than that. You know that I am in the habit of

reading to him out of various books. I believe that this reading has

done much to fire his imagination and instruct his mind, and that many

ideas have been developed in his brain, which are, as it were, above

the comprehension of a blind man. I do not know whether I am making

myself clear."

 

"Perfectly."

 

"There is no end to his discussions and arguments; I am astounded

by the depth and acuteness of his remarks, though I feel that his

knowledge is mixed up with a thousand misconceptions, from want of

method and from his ignorance of the visible world."

 

"It could not be otherwise."

 

"But the strangest thing is that, carried away by his

imagination--which is like a young Hercules fettered with chains within

a dungeon, and struggling to burst its bonds and break down walls...."

 

"Good, very good, well said."

 

"His imagination, I was saying, cannot rest in the darkness of his

sense, and strives to reach our world of daylight, making up for his

want of sight by the boldness of its assumptions. Pablo has a wonderful

spirit of enquiry, but it is like a noble bird whose wings are clipped.

For some few days he has been almost delirious; he does not sleep and

his passion for information has been almost madness. At all hours of

the day he asks for some new book, and at every pause he makes the

keenest observations, but with such a mixture of simple innocence,

that he makes me laugh. He asserts and maintains the absurdest things,

and if I contradict him--I am really afraid of his going out of his

mind--of his brain softening. If you could only see how melancholy and

how disputatious he sometimes is. He takes up an idea and, come what

may, it is impossible to get it out of his head. Now, for some days, he

has had a fixed idea, which is as touching as it is preposterous. He

will have it that Nela is pretty."

 

They all laughed, and Nela turned scarlet.

 

"That Nela is pretty!" exclaimed Teodoro kindly. "Well, and so she is."

 

"Oh! sweetly pretty, particularly with that moustache!" said Sofía.

 

"She has a dear little face of her own," repeated Teodoro, putting his

hand under her chin; "Sofía, lend me your handkerchief. Come, we will

get rid of the moustache."

 

Teodoro returned the handkerchief to Sofía after wiping Nela's face.

Don Francisco told the girl to go and join the blind boy, and she

hobbled away.

 

"And if I contradict him," he then went on, "my son tells me that,

perhaps the gift of sight has weakened my perception of the true aspect

of things--a quaint paradox!"

 

"Do not contradict him at all, and for the present discontinue

your readings. For a few days we must adopt a regimen of absolute

tranquillity. The brain must be treated with the utmost consideration

before attempting any operation of this kind."

 

"If it is indeed God's will that my son should receive his sight,"

said Penáguilas devoutly, "I shall regard you as the greatest and most

beneficent of men. The darkness of his eyes is the darkness of my life;

that black shadow has saddened all my days, and clouds all the wealth

and ease of which I am master. For I am rich--but of what use are

riches? How can I care for the things he cannot see. Only a month ago I

fell heir to a fine fortune--you know, Don Cárlos, my cousin Faustino

died at Matamoros. He had no children, so my brother Manuel and I

are his heirs. It is throwing pearls before swine--not as regards my

brother, who has a daughter, a sweet girl, old enough to marry--but so

far as I am concerned, a wretched man who can never see his son enjoy

the best pleasures of a respectable and easy position."

 

A long silence followed, interrupted only by the gentle lowing of the

cows in the adjoining stable.

 

"And then," added the worthy father in melancholy tones, "he knows

nothing of the pleasures of work, the greatest pleasure of all.

Ignorant, as he is, of the beauties of Nature, what can he know of

the delights of the country or the charms of agriculture? I cannot

imagine how God can bear to deprive a human creature of the pleasure

of admiring a fat beast, a tree loaded with pears, or a green pasture;

of seeing the fruits of the earth in their abundance; of sending out

the laborers to their day's toil, and reading the signs of the weather

in the sky. For him life is simply a fevered dream--it is lonely too;

solitary, for he can never have the comfort of a family round him. When

I die what family will the poor blind boy have? He will not want to

marry, nor will he find a woman of good family who would engage herself

to him, in spite of his wealth; nor, indeed, could I advise him to

marry. So that when Don Teodoro gave me a hope, I felt as if heaven was

opened to me; I had visions of a young and happy and sensible marriage;

cherubs--my grandchildren--fluttered round me; I saw my tombstone

graced and fragrant with the blossoms of a future generation, and the

loving care which even after death should follow me to the grave.--You

cannot enter into all this; you cannot know how my brother, who is as

good as gold, God bless him!--as soon as he heard of my hopes, began

to plot and plan and dream.--Here, this is what he says"--and he took

out a parcel of letters which he turned over for a few minutes without

finding the one he wanted.--"Well, to make a long story short, he

was beside himself with delight and he said to me: 'I will marry my

Florentina to your Pablo, and so we shall get compound interest on

the half million of _pesos_ left by cousin Faustino.'--I can see him,

poor old Manuel, rubbing his hands and strutting about as his way is

when he has hit on a good idea. I am expecting him and his daughter

to arrive at any hour; they are coming to stay with me for the 4th of

October, and to see what comes of this attempt to bless my son with the

light of day."

 

By this time it was growing dark and the party of four became aware of

a most appetizing vapor issuing from the house, and announcing a savory

farm-supper. The village patriarch, who seemed the very incarnation of

the spirit of the place--a tranquil melancholy--spoke again presently:

"My brother's happiness and my own depends on my having a son, whom I

may propose as a husband for his daughter, who is as sweet and fair as

the Holy Virgin, as we see her represented when the angel of the Lord

comes to say: 'The Lord is with thee.' My blind boy is not the man--but

my Pablo, with his eyesight, would realize my fondest dreams and bring

the blessing of God into my house."

 

They were all silent, deeply impressed by the worthy father's simple

and pathetic utterances, and he himself raised his rough, brown hand,

hardened by labor, to wipe away a tear.

 

"What have you to say to all this?" Cárlos asked his brother.

 

"I can say no more than that I have conscientiously examined the

case, and can find no sufficient reason for saying it is hopeless,

as the other distinguished operators have said whom our good friend

has consulted. I cannot pledge myself to succeed, nor can I think it

impossible. The examination I made yesterday revealed no defect or

injury in the retina, and no disease in the optic nerve. If the retina

is perfect, all that is needed is the removal of some impediment in

front of it. The crystalline lens often becomes opaque--sometimes hard

and stony--and this is what does the mischief. If all the other parts

of the organ are healthy and work--but, in the commonwealth of the eye,

many individual portions are only too ready to become atrophied by

idleness."

 

"So that, in short, it amounts simply to congenital cataract," said

Penáguilas eagerly.

 

"Oh no, Señor; if it were no more than that, it would be a happy thing

for us! All that would be needed would be to get rid of the part that

does its duty so badly. It ought to let the light in and instead of

that, it is congested, degenerate, stony, and as opaque as a wall.

No--there is something more than that, Don Francisco. The iris is

defective, the pupil must be taken in hand.--Still, I can laugh all

these details to scorn if, when I enter into possession, as it were, of

this dormant organ, I only find the choroid and the retina uninjured.

If, on the other hand, when I have removed the opaque lens and let the

light in, I find complete amaurosis--if it were only partial, that

would be something--but if it is total.... When the nerve of sight is

dead we can do nothing. The deep mysteries of life are closed against

us. There is nothing for it but patience. This case is to me a most

interesting one; there are symptoms which lead me to believe that the

internal function is unimpaired. The retina, as Sovereign lord, seems

quite disposed to receive the light I shall introduce to it, and that

high functionary, the vitreous humor, will probably find it no novelty.

If from long want of exercise it has sunk into a state of incipient

glaucoma--a kind of melancholy--we will treat it for that. All will

then be well in that darkened chamber. But there is another thing to

be considered. A fissured iris, and an ordinary cataract usually admit

some gleam of light, and our patient sees not a glimmer. This made

me hesitate. In fact, the sclerotic too is very much thickened; the

impediments to the admission of light are many and serious.... However,

we shall see, Don Francisco. Have you courage for anything?"

 

"Courage! What should I have courage for?" asked Don Francisco.

 

"Sir, you will want all your courage if...."

 

"Well, if...?"

 

"If, after undergoing a painful operation, your son is still as blind

as before. I said to you, plainly: The case is not desperate; shall I

operate?"