The brothers had always entertained a great respect for Captain Alvarado. They had worked for him a short time and the silence of the three of them had made a little kernel of sense in a world of boasting, self-excuse and rhetoric. So now when the great traveller came into the dark kitchen where Esteban was eating, the boy drew his chair farther into the shadow, but at a distance he was glad. The Captain gave no sign of recognizing or even of seeing him until he had finished his meal. Esteban had finished long before, but not wishing to be spoken to, waited until the Captain should have left the cave. At last the Captain walked over to him and said:
“You are Esteban or Manuel. You helped me once with some unloading. I am Captain Alvarado.”
“Yes,” said Esteban.
“How are you?”
Esteban muttered something.
“I am looking for some strong fellows to go on my next trip with me.” Pause. “Would you like to come?” Longer pause. “England. And Russia. … Hard work. Good wages. … A long way from Peru. Well?”
Apparently Esteban had not been listening. He sat with his eyes on the table. At last the Captain raised his voice, as to a deaf person:
“I said: Do you want to go on my next trip with me? …”
“Yes, I’ll go,” answered Esteban suddenly.
“Fine. That’s fine. I want your brother, too, of course.”
“No.”
“What’s the matter? Wouldn’t he want to come?”
Esteban mumbled something, looking away. Then half rising, he said: “I got to go now, I’ve got to see somebody about something.”
“Let me see your brother myself. Where is he?”
“Dead,” said Esteban.
“Oh, I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” said Esteban. “I got to go.”
“H’m. Which are you? What’s your name?”
“Esteban.”
“When did Manuel die?”
“Oh, just a … just a few weeks. He hit his knee against something and … just a few weeks ago.”
They both kept their eyes on the floor.
“How old are you, Esteban?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Well, that’s settled then, you’re coming with me?”
“Yes.”
“You may not be used to the cold.”
“Yes, I’m used to it.—I’ve got to go now. I got to go in the city and see somebody about something.”
“Well, Esteban. Come back here for supper and we’ll talk about the trip. Come back and have some wine with me, see. Will you?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Go with God.”
“Go with God.”
They had supper together and it was arranged that they were to start for Lima the next morning. The Captain got him very drunk. At first they poured and drank and poured and drank in silence. Then the Captain began to talk about ships and their courses. He asked Esteban questions about tackle and about the guide-stars. Then Esteban began to talk about other things, and to talk very loudly:
“On the ship you must give me something to do all the time. I’ll do anything, anything. I’ll climb up high and fix ropes; and I’ll watch all night—because, you know, I don’t sleep well anyway. And, Captain Alvarado, on the ship you must pretend that you don’t know me. Pretend that you hate me the most, so that you’ll always give me things to do. I can’t sit still and write at a table any more. And don’t tell the other men about me … that is, about …”
“I hear you went into a burning house, Esteban, and pulled someone out.”
“Yes. I didn’t get burned or anything. You know,” cried Esteban, leaning across the table, “you’re not allowed to kill yourself; you know you’re not allowed. Everybody knows that. But if you jump into a burning house to save somebody, that wouldn’t be killing yourself. And if you became a matador and the bull caught you, that wouldn’t be killing yourself. Only you mustn’t put yourself in the bull’s way on purpose. Did you ever notice that animals never kill themselves, even when they’re sure to lose? They never jump into a river or anything, even when they’re sure to lose. Some people say that horses run into bonfires. Is that true?”
“No, I don’t think that’s true.”
“I don’t think it’s true. We had a dog once. Well, I mustn’t think of that. Captain Alvarado, do you know Madre María del Pilar?”
“Yes.”
“I want to give her a present before I go away. Captain Alvarado, I want you to give me all my wages before I start—I won’t need any money anywhere—and I want to buy her a present now. The present isn’t from me only. She was … was …” Here Esteban wished to say his brother’s name, but was unable to. Instead he continued in a lower voice: “She had a kind of a … she had a serious loss, once. She said so. I don’t know who it was, and I want to give her a present. Women can’t bear that kind of a thing like we can.”
The Captain promised him that they would choose something in the morning. Esteban talked about it at great length. At last the Captain saw him slip under the table, and himself, rising up, went out into the square before the inn. He looked at the line of the Andes and at the streams of stars crowding forever across the sky. And there was that wraith hanging in midair and smiling at him, the wraith with the silvery voice that said for the thousandth time: “Don’t be gone long. But I’ll be a big girl when you get back.” Then he went within and carried Esteban to his room and sat looking at him for a long while.
The next morning he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Esteban appeared:
“We’re starting when you’re ready,” said the Captain.
The strange glitter had returned to the boy’s eyes. He
