Chapter 15 chapter eight

The Gadfly recovered quickly.One afternoon during the second week, Riccardo found him lying on the sofa in a Turkish dressing gown, chatting with Maldini and Galli.He even said he was going downstairs, but Riccardo just smiled at the suggestion and asked if he wanted to walk across the valley to Fiesole. "You might as well pay a visit to the Grassinis and hang out with them," he added, sarcastically. "I'm sure Ma'am will be delighted to see you, especially now, when you look pale and interesting." The Gadfly clasped his hands in a miserable gesture. "My God! I never thought of that! She's going to treat me like an Italian martyr and talk patriotism to me. I'll have to act like a martyr and tell her I was cut up in an underground dungeon shattered and thrown back together. She'll want to know exactly how I felt in the meantime. Don't you think she'll believe it, Riccardo? I'll bet my Indian dagger on the bottled tapeworms in your study, I dare say she'll take the whole lie I've made up. It's a generous offer, and you'd better take the chance."

"Thank you, I don't like killing tools like you do." "Hey, but a tapeworm can kill like a dagger. It can kill at any time. It's just not as pretty as a dagger." "My dear friend, but it happens that I don't want a dagger, I want tapeworms. Martini, I must go. Will you attend to this wayward invalid?" "Only until three o'clock. Galli and I have to go to San Miniato. Madame Bolla will be here before we get back." "Lady Paula!" repeated the Gadfly despondently. "Mardini, that's not right! Don't disturb a lady because of me and my illness. And where is she sitting? She wouldn't want to come here."

"Since when have you been so polite?" Riccardo asked with a smile. "Man, Mrs. Paula is the matron to all of us. She's been taking care of the sick since she was little, and she's better than any charity nurse I've ever known. Oh, maybe you're thinking of Grassini's wife If she comes, Martini, I will not leave a doctor's order. Why, it is half-past two. I must go." "Now, Rivarez, you'd better take the medicine before she comes," Galli said.He walked up to the sofa with a pill bottle. "To hell with the medicine!" The Gadfly had reached the allergic stage of recovery, and at this time he tended to quarrel with the nurse. "Now that I don't hurt anymore, why do you make me swallow, swallow" these horrible things? "

"Because I don't want it to happen again. You don't want to wait for Mrs. Bolla to collapse while she's here and then have her give you opium." "My good sir, if it's going to flare up, let it flare up. It's not a tooth-toothache, you'll scare it away with all that crap you put on it. They're pretty much like toy water guns to put out a fire. It's no use at all. Then again, I reckon I'll have to do what you want." He held the cup in his left hand, and those horrible scars reminded Gary of the earlier conversation. "By the way," he asked, "how did you get here? Did you leave it at the war?"

"Didn't I just tell you that it was in the secret dungeon—" "Yes, that story was invented for Madame Grassini. Really, I suppose you fell while fighting the Brazilians?" "Yeah, I got a little wounded there, and then I hunted in the backcountry, a little bit here, a bit there." "Oh, yes. During scientific expeditions. You can button your shirt, I've done it all. You seem to be living a thrilling life there." "Of course, living in a wild country, it is inevitable to take risks occasionally." The Gadfly said lightly, "You can't expect to be relaxed and happy every time."

"But I still don't understand how you got this way, unless you encountered wild animals in your adventures-such as those wounds on your left arm." "Oh, that fell on a puma hunt. You know, I shot—" There was a knock on the door. "Mardini, is the house tidy? Is it? Then please open the door. Thank you very much, Madame. I beg your pardon for not getting up." "Of course you shouldn't get up. I'm not calling. Cesare, I came a little early. I thought you were in a hurry to leave." "I can stay another quarter of an hour. Let me put your cloak into the other room. Shall I take the basket too?"

"Be careful, these are freshly laid eggs, which Katie bought this morning in Monte Oliveto. And some Christmas flowers, which are for you, Mr. Rivarez. I know you love flowers .” Sitting at the table, she began to cut off the stems of the flowers and put them in a vase. "Okay, Rivarez," Galli said, "give us the story about the cougar hunt, you just started." "Ah, yes! Gary just asked me about my life in South America, ma'am. I was telling him how I hurt my left arm. It was in Peru. We were wading across a river to hunt a puma ...and when I fired at the beast, the gun didn't go off, the gunpowder was wet with water. Of course the cougar didn't wait for me to put the gun away, and it got these scars."

"That must have been a pleasant experience." "Oh, not too bad! Of course, you have to suffer if you want to have fun. But life is good on the whole. Like catching snakes—" He went on and on, telling anecdote after anecdote.Now it's about the Argentine war, now about the Brazilian expedition, now about hunting wild animals and adventures with the natives.Gary is like a child listening to a fairy tale with relish, asking questions from time to time.He had that impressionable Napoleonic air, with a penchant for all things thrilling.Gemma took her knitting out of the basket, and listened in silence, her head down, busy with her work.Maldini frowned, a little restless.The way the Gadfly related these anecdotes seemed to him exaggerated and artificial.During the past week he had seen the Gadfly endure physical pain with amazing stamina.He was willing to admire such a man, but he still really didn't like the Gadfly, what he did and the way he did it.

"That must be a splendid life!" sighed Gary, with innocent envy. "I wonder how you made up your mind and left Brazil. Compared with Brazil, other countries must look ordinary!" "I think I was happiest when I was in Peru and Ecuador," said the Gadfly. "It's a magical place. It's hot, of course, especially on the coast of Ecuador. It's a bit overwhelming for anyone. It's unimaginable." "I believe," Galli said, "that a life of freedom in a savage country attracts me more than any sight. The human dignity of the individual can never be experienced in a crowded city."

"Yes," replied the Gadfly. "That--" Gemma looked up at him from her knitting.His face flushed suddenly, and he stopped talking.Then there was a brief silence. "Won't it happen again?" Gary asked with concern. "Oh, it's nothing. Thank you for the town, town, sedative, and I cursed, cursed, cursed it. Are you ready to go now, Maldini?" "Yeah. Come on, Gary. We're going to be late." Gemma followed them out of the room, and came back with a glass of milk.An egg was added to the milk. "Drink this, please," she said, with gentle authority.Then she sat down again and went to her knitting.The Gadfly drank it meekly.

For half an hour, neither of them spoke.Then the Gadfly said in a low voice, "Lady Paula!" She looked up.He was tugging at the tassels of the sofa cushion, still bowing his head. "You don't believe I'm telling the truth now," he said. "I have no doubt that you are lying," she replied calmly. "You're quite right. I've been telling lies." "Are you talking about the war?" "Everything. I wasn't in that war at all. As for the expedition, of course I took a few risks, and most of the stories are true, but I wasn't wounded like that. You've discovered a lie, I See, you might as well admit that I've told a lot of lies." "Don't you think it's a waste of energy to make up those lies?" she asked. "I don't think there's any chance of that at all." "What about you? You know you English have a saying: 'Ask nothing and you won't hear a lie.' It's not a pleasure for me to fool people like that, but they ask me how I'm crippled , I have to answer them. I simply made up some beautiful lies. You have seen Galido happy." "Aren't you willing to tell the truth to please Gary?" "True?" He looked away from the tassel in his hand and raised his head. "Do you want me to tell the truth to these people? I'd rather cut out my tongue first!" He was a little embarrassed, and then blurted out, "I have never told anyone, if you want to listen, I will tell you Bar." She silently put down her knitting.She felt something pathetic about this tough, mysterious, unattractive man who suddenly wanted to confide his heart to a woman he didn't know very well and obviously didn't like. There was a long silence, and she looked up.He was resting his left arm on a small table beside him, and covering his eyes with his broken hand.She noticed the nerves in his fingers tense, the scar on his wrist twitching.She walked up to him and called his name softly.He woke up suddenly and raised his head. "I forgot, forgot." He stammered, apologetically. "I was going, going to tell you, tell—" "Talk about—that accident that left you with a limp or something. But if it bothers you—" "Accident? Oh, a beating! Yes, just an accident, with pokers." She stared at him blankly.He raised a slightly trembling hand and brushed his hair back from his head.He looked up at her and smiled. "Aren't you going to sit down? Please move your chair closer. Sorry, I can't move it for you. Really, really, now that I think about it, if Riccardo had treated me then he would have Take my case as a valuable discovery. He has the bone-loving heart of a surgeon, and I believe he has shattered everything in me that could be broken—except my neck." "And your courage," she interjected softly, "but you may count it among the unbreakable." He shook his head. "No," he said, "my courage was barely mended, but then it too was smashed to pieces, like a broken teacup. It was the worst thing. Ah— By the way. Well, I was going to tell you about pokers. "That was -- let me see -- almost thirteen years ago, when I was in Lima. I told you that Peru is a nice place to live, and you're happy to live there. But for people who happen to be in distress, it's not so good there. But that's me. I've been to Argentina, and then to Chile, usually wandering and starving. To get out of Valparaíso, I got on a cattle boat and did a handy job. I couldn't find work in Lima, so I went to the docks—you know, the docks in Callao—and tried my luck. Well, of course those docks are A vile place where seagoers congregate. After a time I worked as a servant in the casino there. I had to cook, keep score on the billiard table, serve wine to the sailors and the women they brought with them, and Work like that. Not a very pleasant job, but I'm glad I got it. At least there's food to eat, and faces to see, and voices to hear--well. You might think it's Nothing. But I've just had yellow fever, and I'm living alone in a crappy shack, and it's kind of scary. Well, one night, a drunk Laskan made trouble, and I was called Go get him off. He's lost all his money since he landed and is throwing a tantrum. Of course I have to obey. If I don't I'll lose my job and starve to death. But that guy's stronger than me Twice as big--I'm not yet twenty-one, and I've recovered as limp as a kitten. Besides, he's got a pair of pokers." He paused, glanced at her secretly, and then continued: "Obviously he wanted to kill me all at once, but for some reason, he still didn't do it--he didn't smash me into pieces, Just so I can live on my last breath." "Well, but what about the others, don't they care? Are they all afraid of a Laska?" He looked up and laughed. "Other people? Those gamblers and casino owners? Oh, you don't understand! I'm their servant--their property. They stand by, watching with interest, of course. It's kind of a thing in that place." Hilarious joke. That's what it is, if you don't happen to be the one to make fun of." She shuddered. "Then what happened next?" "I can't say much about that: after something like this I generally don't remember anything for the next few days. But there was a ship's surgeon nearby, and it seems someone called him after they found out I wasn't dead. He Sew me up carelessly—Riccardo seemed to think it was a bad job, but maybe that was out of jealousy among colleagues. Anyway, after I woke up, an old local lady, in the spirit of Christianity, Mercy took me in—it sounds strange, right? She often huddled in the corner of the shed, smoking a black pipe, spitting on the ground, and muttering alone. But she was kind-hearted , she said to me, I might die peacefully and not allow others to disturb me. But I was very conflicted in my heart, and I still chose to live. It is really hard to live, sometimes I think, it took so much effort Not worth it. Anyway, the old lady was very patient, and she kept me—for how long?—in her shed for nearly four months, babbling like a madman now and then, and the rest of the time And like a ferocious bear, very angry. You know, it hurts like hell. And I've got a bad temper, I got used to it when I was little." "and then?" "Oh, then--I got up anyway, and crawled away. No, don't think I won't accept a handout from a poor old woman--I don't care about such things anymore. It's just that I can't stay in that place any longer. You spoke of courage just now. If you had seen me then, you would not have said so! Every night, around dusk, a severe attack would take place. In the afternoon, I lay alone There, watching the sun go down slowly - oh, you don't understand! I can't bear to see the sunset now!" There was a long silence. "Well, then I just wandered around to see where I could get work—I'd go crazy staying in Lima. I walked all the way to Cusco, and there—really, I don't know why I Telling you these old stories, they're not even funny." She looked up at him, her eyes deep and serious. "Please don't say that." she says. He bit his lip and tore off another fringe from the rug. "Shall I go on?" he asked after a moment. "If—if you like. It would be painful for you to remember." "Do you think I'll forget it if I don't tell it? That would be worse. But don't think it's something I can't forget. What I can't forget is that I lost my self-control." "I'm not clear." "I mean, once I lost my nerve, I found myself a coward." "Man's patience has a limit, of course." "Yes, once a man reaches this limit, he never knows when he will reach it again." "Can you tell me," she asked hesitantly, "how you ended up wandering there alone when you were twenty?" "The reason is simple, I had a good start in life back home in the same country, and then I ran away from home." "why?" He laughed again, quick and piercing. "Why? Because I'm a pompous brat, I suppose. I was born into a family too luxurious, spoiled, and thought the world was made of pink cotton wool and dragees. Then on a sunny day One day, I found out that someone I trusted cheated on me. Hey, how surprised are you? What's going on?" "Nothing. Please go on." "I found out that I had been tricked into believing a lie. Of course, it's a little thing that happens to everyone. But I told you, I was young and smug and thought people who lied deserved hell. So I ran away from home and headed into South America without a penny in my pocket, I couldn't speak a word of Spanish, and I didn't have the skills to make ends meet, only my white hands and the habit of spending money The result is naturally that I fell into the real hell, which made me no longer imagine what the imaginary hell looks like. This fall was too deep-when the Duprez expedition came and pulled me out , Exactly five years have passed." "Five years. Oh, that's terrible! Have you no friends?" "Friends! I—" he said suddenly and venomously at her, "I've never had any friends!" Then he seemed a little embarrassed by his impulsiveness, and quickly went on: "You don't have to take it too seriously, I dare say I painted those things in a dark picture, and the first year and a half were actually not that bad. I I was young and strong, and I was doing pretty well until the Laska man put his mark on me. But after that, I couldn't work. If used properly, the poker is a useful thing. Tools are nice. No one wants to hire a cripple." "what's your job?" "Do whatever you can. For a while I was doing odd jobs for the slaves in the sugar plantations, fetching something, taking something, and things like that. But no, the overseers always put I drove away. I couldn't walk very fast with a limp, and I couldn't lift heavy things. Then my wounds kept getting inflamed, or got weird sicknesses. "After a while I went to the silver mines and tried to find work there. But I couldn't find anything. The mine owners thought it was a joke to keep people like me, and as for the miners, they beat me really hard." "why?" "Oh, I guess it's human nature. They saw that I had only one hand to fight back. I finally couldn't take it anymore, and then I wandered aimlessly. Just walk around and hope for a miracle." "On foot? On the lame foot?" He raised his head and gasped suddenly.It was pitiful. "I—I was hungry," he said. She turned her head slightly, resting her chin on one hand.After a moment of silence, he spoke again.He lowered his voice as he spoke. "Well, I go and go and go until it drives me nuts and there's nothing. I get into Ecuador territory and it's even worse there. Sometimes I mend scrap metal—I'm a pretty good mender Tinker—or run errands, or clean pigpens. Sometimes I—oh, I don't know what to do. Then one day—” The thin, brown hand clenched into a fist suddenly slammed on the table.Gemma looked up at him with concern.His cheek was turned to hers, and she could see a vein in his temple beating like a hammer, rapidly and irregularly.She bent forward and placed her hand lightly on his arm. "Stop talking about it, it's a horrible thing to talk about." He stared at the hand suspiciously, shook his head, then calmly continued, "Then one day, I met a juggling troupe walking around. You remember the juggling troupe you saw that evening. Uh, It's about the same as that, only grosser and meaner. I went up to their tent and begged when the juggler set up their tent by the side of the road. Well, it was hot and I was starving, so-- I passed out at the door of the tent , like a corseted boarding girl. So they got me in and gave me brandy and food and all. Then—the next morning—they proposed to me—” There was another silence. "They're looking for a hunchback, or some monster that the kids can throw orange and banana peels at - something to make them laugh out loud - you saw that clown the other night - well, that I have worked in this line for two years. "Well, I've learned all sorts of tricks. I'm not that deformed, but they have a way, make me a hunchback, and make the most of this foot and this arm -- and the people there aren't picky, they're very Easy to get gratified, as long as they had someone alive to spoil - and that goofy outfit helped a lot, too. "The only trouble was that I was often sick and couldn't perform. Sometimes, if the master lost his temper and my old injuries kicked in, he would insist that I come in and perform. And I believe people love those nights the most.I remember one time, in the middle of a performance, I passed out from pain - and when I woke up, the audience surrounded me - kicked me, called me, hit me -" "Stop it! I can't take it anymore! For God's sake, stop it!" She stood up and covered her ears with her hands.He stopped talking and looked up to see the tears in her eyes. "Damn me, what an idiot I am!" he whispered. She walked across the room and stood there looking out the window for a moment.When she turned round, the Gadfly leaned back on the table and put his hand over his eyes.He had apparently forgotten her existence.She didn't say a word, just sat beside him.After a long silence, she said slowly: "I want to ask you a question." "What's the problem?" The body didn't move. "Why don't you wipe your neck and kill yourself?" He looked up, really surprised. "I didn't expect you to ask me that," he said. "What about my job? Who does it for me?" "Your job—oh, I get it! You were talking about being a coward. Well, if you're going to stick around through that, you're the bravest man I've ever met." He covered his eyes again and squeezed her hand passionately.They seemed to be caught in a boundless silence. Suddenly from the garden below came a crisp soprano singing a poor French ditty: Eh Danseunpeu, monpauvre Jeannot! Vivela dansee et lalegresse! Jouissons de notre bell jeunesse! Simoijepleureoumoijesoupire Simoijefaislatristefigure―― Monsieur Monsieur [French: Hey, Pierrot, dance, Pierrot! Let's dance, my poor Arno! Let's dance and have fun! Let us share the wonderful youth! Don't weep, don't sigh, don't frown— Sir, this is no joke. what!Hahaha!Sir, this is no joke! ] At the sound of the song, the Gadfly withdrew his hand from Gemma's, drew back, and gave a low hum.She grasped his arm with both hands, tightly, as if she were grasping the arm of a patient undergoing surgery.When the singing was over, there was a burst of laughter and applause from the garden.He looked up, eyes like those of a tortured animal. "Yes, Zita," he said slowly, "with her officer friends. She tried to come here that night, before Riccardo came in. If she touched me, I'd go mad!" "But she doesn't know," protested Gemma softly, "she can't guess that she makes you feel bad." There was another burst of laughter from the garden.Gemma got up and opened the window.On Qida's head was a scarf embroidered with gold silk, which was truly coquettish.She stands in the garden with a bouquet of violets held out in her hand, and three young cavalry officers seem to be vying for the flowers. "Miss Lenny!" said Gemma. Qida's face darkened, like a dark cloud. "Ma'am, what's the matter?" she said, turning, raising her eyes challengingly. "Could your friend please speak more quietly? Mr. Rivarez is very ill." The gypsy girl threw away the violets. "Allez—vous—en!" [French: Go away. ] She turned and snapped at the dumbfounded officers. "Vousm'membetez, messieurs" [French: I hate you, gentlemen. ] She walked out of the garden slowly.Gemma closed the window. "They're gone," she said, turning to him. "Thank you. Sorry to trouble you." "No trouble." He could hear some hesitation in her voice immediately. "But why," said he, "madame, you are not finished. You have an unspoken 'but' in your heart." "You don't have to be mad at what's in someone's heart if you read what's in their heart. It's none of my business, of course, but I can't understand—" "My dislike of Miss Lenny? It's just—" "No, you're willing to live with her since you hate her. I think it's an insult to her not to treat her like a woman, to treat her—" "Woman!" He let out a piercing laugh. "You call that a woman? Madame, cen'est que pourrive!" [French: Madame, this is not a joke. ] "It's not fair!" she said, "You have no right to say that about her to anyone—especially in front of another woman!" He turned away and lay there with eyes wide open, looking out the window at the setting sun. She lowered the curtains and closed the blinds so he wouldn't see the sunset.Then she sat down at a table by another window.Picked up her knitting work again. "Would you like to light a lamp?" she asked after a while. He shook his head. When it was too dark to see, Gemma rolled up her knitting and put it in the basket.For a while she sat with her arms folded, looking in silence at the Gadfly's motionless body.The dark night fell on his face, which seemed to soften the stern, mocking, conceited expression, and deepened the tragic line of the mouth.Through some grotesque associations she recalled vividly that her father had erected a stone cross in Arthur's memory, upon which was inscribed this inscription: All the waves and big waves are coming at me. Another hour passed in silence.At last she stood up and walked softly out of the room.She came back with a lamp.She paused for a moment, thinking that the Gadfly had fallen asleep.He turned around as the light hit his face. "I made you a cup of coffee," she said, and put down the lamp. "Let's put it there first, can you come here for a while?" He took her hands. "I've been thinking," he said, "you're quite right, I've got my life involved in this tangle, and it's ugly. But remember, it's not every day a man comes across that he can— —loved woman, and I—I'm in trouble. I'm afraid—" "Fear?" "Afraid of the dark. Sometimes I dare not be alone at night. I must have something alive--something solid by my side. Outer darkness, which is--no, no! Not this, that is only Sixpence hell - it's the inner darkness that I'm afraid of. There's no weeping, no gnashing of teeth. There's just silence - silence -" His eyes widened.She was very quiet, barely panting before he spoke again. "It's unbelievable to you, isn't it? You don't get it - it's a blessing for you. I mean if I tried to live alone, I'd most likely go crazy - try not to think too much of me Bad. You may imagine me as a villain, but I'm not." "I can't judge for you," she replied. "I didn't suffer as much as you did. But -- I've been in trouble too, just in different circumstances. I think -- I believe -- that if you do a really cruel or unfair or mean thing out of fear, then You'll be sorry. As for the rest—if you fail at this, I know I should too—curse God, and die." He still holds her hand. "Tell me!" he said very gently, "have you ever done a truly cruel thing in your life?" She didn't answer, but she looked down, and two big teardrops fell into his hands. "Tell me!" he whispered with burning emotion, and took her hand even tighter. "Tell me! I have told you all about my pain." "Yes—long—long ago. And he's still my favorite person in the world." The hands holding her shook violently, but they didn't let go. "He was a friend of mine," she went on, "and I believed the slander against him--a big lie made up by the police. I thought he was a traitor, so I slapped him. He walked away, and Killed himself by drowning himself. Then, two days later, I found out that he was completely innocent. It may be more painful than you remember. I would kill myself by cutting my wrists if I could undo what I did. " Something swift and dangerous - something she hadn't seen before - flashed into his eyes.He lowered his head, and kissed her hand in a sneaky and sudden move. She was taken aback and quickly withdrew her hand. "Come on!" she cried, with pity in her voice. "Please don't do it again! You'll make me sad." "Do you think you haven't grieved the man you killed?" "The man I--killed--oh, Cesare is outside the door, he's here at last! I--I must go!" When Martini entered the room, he found the Gadfly lying there alone, with an untouched cup of coffee beside him.He cursed under his breath, looking sluggish and listless, as if he wasn't getting enough of it.