Subject: Book 3 Chapter 11 Part 2
Author: María Elvira (205.188.200.33)
Date: 11-24-1999 16:26
Corazón del Diablo
Book 3 –Juan del Diablo Chapter XI –2nd part
--Por qué no te has ido, Mónica?
Juan asks from the hard, narrow, uncomfortable bed, where he is
lying…He is looking at her, Mónica feels her legs trembling…Juan is
pale, looking gaunt, cold, the dressings covering his chest and
shoulder are soaked in blood, but his voice is firm and calm as he
tells her how critical their situation is and that she should have
left. Surprised at his remarks, she asked if Colibrí told him about
their conversation…
Juan tells her that Colibrí is always on her side, another victim of
her charms …”La mayor parte de la gente que te conoce, se dejarían
matar por tí…
Juan had heard Colibrí calling her…and with great effort went to the
window and watched Mónica going to Renato. He tells her that he did
not expect to see her back…Mónica asked Juan if he would have
preferred to have her…
--Me molestaría la idea de que te fueras con él, pero por una vez el
caballero D’Autremont se portó como un caballero, negándose a
abandonarte en este lugar…Si hubiera entendido lo que él me gritaba,
cuando me acerqué al poste…te hubiera dejado ir…
Mónica had come closer, sitting at the edge of the narrow bed,
forcing him to lay down, putting his head on the pillow, looking at
him very closely, with an ardent, inquiring look, trying to find the
feelings he is hiding…
--¿De veras ni entendistes lo que él quería?
--Tal vez sí, pero en aquel momento me cegó la ira…Hubiera preferido
matarlo y matarte antes de consentir…
--¿Hasta ese extremo, Juan? –asks Mónica feeling somewhat flattered.
--¡Sí! Qué tontería, ¿verdad? Al fin y al cabo soy tan estupidamente
soberbio como si fuera un D’Autremont legítimo.
Mónica leans over him, taking one of his strong, firm, tanned
hands…She feels overwhelmed with compassion and tenderness, but she
is trying very hard not to let it show, holding back, afraid to
surrender herself to him, meanwhile, afraid that his eyes will show
his emotions, Juan entorna su párpados sobre sus negros ojos
italianos…
--Would you really want me to go? Asks Mónica, trembling, waiting
for his answer. She can feel how his pulse had accelerated under her
fingers, but the ever distrusting and resentful person that lives
inside him, makes him answer with another question:
--¿Y por qué no habías de irte? What reason, what motive do you have
to stay here?
Mónica answers with a smile – I like to pay my debts…I don’t forget,
I do remember a bed like this one…I remember being sick, lying down,
despaired, hoping to die, and the man that I thought was my worst
enemy, sitting by my side, fighting for my life…Now the situation is
reversed, and even though the situation is different, it is
similar…You are injured and trapped, like I was sick and despairing.
And Juan, like you then, I will not abandon you, I will no let you
die!
Mónica had been talking with a smile, disguising the warm feeling
that invades her heart, partially giving in, with almost no strength
left, to that feeling that overflows her heart, her soul; while Juan
is savoring every word like a “codiciada y amarga golosina”…Juan del
Diablo, unhappy about his life and destiny, the ever distrusting and
resentful against the whole world, does not know how to stretch out
his hands and take his happiness…And while he has his eyes
half-closed, Mónica strokes his forehead very lightly…If only he
would open his eyes, and show her all the love that is in his heart
…but the man that did not quiver in the middle of the storms, is
trembling now, in front of these blue eyes, afraid to find them cold
and mocking...he speaks without looking at her, like a stubborn
child:
--I think that you are exaggerating things…it is not the same…I was
not in danger for taking care of you a little bit.
--I was contagious...and you knew it…anyone on your situation would
have dumped me in the first port…
--With your Dr. Faber, right? That was what you wanted, no? –says
Juan reproachfully
--Maybe you wanted to get rid of me, too? –Mónica is asking
trembling, anxiously waiting for his answer, but Juan is looking for
a way out without confessing…
--I am not talking about me…I was only thinking of the danger for
you
--Juan, you never speak for yourself?
--Sometimes, but not with you…stumbles Juan. Don’t you think that
these are too many questions for a sick man?
--Maybe…But you do not look like you are feeling so sick…I was wrong
before, I thought that you were unconscious and you were listening
to everything…I thought you did not have any strength and you went
to the window…I thought that you needed my care, and probably you
detest my being here…
--No, I don’t, says Juan…
--Entonces, ¿qué te pasa? Dilo…!
--Sencillamente, que me abrumas, Mónica. Siempre tomas el camino más
duro y cuando uno piensa que tuvistes alguna razón personal para
hacerlo, resulta que solo lo hacías conforme a tu conciencia…No
wonder you want to hide in a convent, you are too perfect for this
ordinary and mundane life…
--Why are you talking this way? Your praises sound sarcastic, Juan
del Diablo!
--Juan del Diablo! You said my name in a way that hurts!
--If I had said Juan de Dios, you would have said the same…I can’t
ever win with you…You always protest, one way or the other…
--Why do you have to call me “de Dios o del Diablo? Just call me
Juan, it’s easier.
-I think you are right…No eres de Dios ni del Diablo…Eres de tí
mismo…tan duro, cerrado y egoísta como esas rocas que no se
conmueven con las olas golpeándolas por mil años…Well, what can we
do? Maybe it is better this way..
--Where are you going, Mónica?
--To ask Segundo to take care of you…What do you want?
--Don’t go like that!…Come closer, there is something I want to tell
you, but I don’t have that much strength…
--I suppose that you are pretending to be weak…in spite of her
words, she goes to him, touching his forehead, taking his pulse;
anxiously looking at the blood that is soaking his bandages and
says:
--We have to change those bandages, you are bleeding again; of
course, you don’t sit still… you did not have to go walking around
to the window… You are worst than a child, a hundred times worst
than a child…
--It is OK, don’t you worry...I want you to stay here, don’t say
anything to what I am going to tell you…
--Don’t talk!…I really think you are weak…turning, she goes to the
door and calls -Colibrí! Go and get Segundo, ask him to bring
boiling water and dressings…Go, run…She closes the door and comes
back to the bed.
--Drink some of this wine, is the only thing we have…She puts his
dark head on her knees, trying to make him drink the wine slowly, as
some of the color returns to his face…She softly caresses his
forehead, brushing back his wet hair, wiping away his sweat with her
own handkerchief, while a wonderful unknown feeling makes her almost
faint…
--Mónica, yo tengo algo que decirte, pero no me respondas…Mónica,
estás llorando?
--Llorando yo? –intenta negar Mónica, disimulando su dulce
emoción…Porqué había de llorar?
--No sé…A veces no sé nada..Peco de torpe o me paso de listo.
Mónica tells him to rest, to close his eyes. She jokes, asking if he
wants to tell her about a sunken treasure.
Juan insists, he wants to tell her that sometimes he acts like a
savage…
--Oyeme solamente, te agradezco de modo infinito que no te hayas
ido… No digas nada…quiero imaginarme yo mismo lo que querría que me
respondieras…
Mónica sin poder dominar su emoción, le pregunta que es lo que
quiere que le conteste.
At that moment Segundo arrives with the bandages and the water, and,
looking at Mónica’s eyes full of tears and Juan’s pale, worn-out
face, and the bloody shirt, exclaims in alarm:
--The wound is open again…we have to change his bandages…and like an
expert, he starts changing them. Mónica goes to the window,
breathing the fresh air…
--Segundo, donde está Mónica, pregunta Juan con voz débil.
She is by the window, looking at the sea, responds Segundo. –Do you
want me to call her?
--No, let her be…Segundo, if you love a woman more than your life,
and you think that she loves someone else, would you force her to
stay with you? Would you keep her with you to share your fate as
long as you could keep her with you, to have her, to touch her,
maybe to dream that some day she might love you…
Segundo does not understand clearly, but tells him: -Why would you
want a woman that doesn’t love you? I don’t know if this is an
answer, but…
Dismayed, Juan closes his eyes, overwhelmed with fatigue…Yes, it is
an answer…Segundo finishes with the bandages and tells Mónica that
Juan has a fever and needs rest. Mónica tells him to go and that she
will take care of him.
Mónica waits until Juan’s breathing tells her that he has fallen
sleep. Slowly she walks towards him, now she can surround him with
her love; she imagines him, being a child in this desolate cabin,
without love, without smiles, maybe even sick…How much she would
like to cover with kisses his forehead, his face, his lips, to sooth
him like a child…She wants to be with him, breathing the same
air…she kneels down next to him, on the hard floor, whispering:
--Juan…Si tú me amarás…
Mónica gets up from the hard floor where she had fallen sleep and
goes to the window. A small shadow moves around the rocks. It is
Colibrí, keeping watch. He is looking at the dark sky, full of
reddish clouds. She is looking towards the roads, realizing that
Renato’s carriage is gone. Colibrí tells her that the fishermen are
planning to go out to the sea and to put a cask with gun-powder near
the soldiers on the other side, in order to blow them up. Mónica
tells him that Juan will never allow that to happen, that they will
kill a lot of people. Colibrí replies that they are very upset
because the soldiers had shot Juan and few others. He notices
Mónica’s eyes full of tears, and thinks it is because Juan is really
sick. She responds that no, she is sad because she sees all this
hate between brothers…Mónica, trembling, looks back towards the
cabin, searching for Juan, and between the shadows, she believes
seeing a vague form taking over Juan, making her to step back,
separating her from her husband whom she loves, while tears run down
her face, in silent, bitter resignation…