Inocencio Page #2

"Inocencio" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a novel set in the early 20th century that explores themes of love, passion, and the complexities of human relationships. The story follows the life of Inocencio, a character navigating the challenges of his environment, influenced by socio-economic struggles and personal desires. Beach's rich storytelling and vivid characterizations bring to life the struggles and triumphs of individuals caught in the tides of fate, making it a compelling read that reflects on the nature of identity and resilience.

• Short story

								

clearly, but the sound of her voice made him tremble.

To accomplish even this much had taken many trips of the Espirita, had
meant many sleepless nights and some few tense moments when only the
shadows saved him from betrayal. There had been times, for instance,
when the quick simulation of a wild pig's grunt or the purr of el
tigre had served to explain the sound of his retreat; other times when
he had stood motionless in the shadows, the evil rust-red blade of his
machete matching the hue of his half-nude body.

To-night he crouched behind the deck-house and ran his eye over the
schooner in one final glance of caution. It was well that all should be
in readiness, for the moment of his spring might come within the hour,
or, if not to-night, then to-morrow night, or a week, a month, a year
from to-night, and then a tackle fouled or a block jammed might spell
destruction.

He thrust his head through a loop of the leathern scabbard, and swung
the huge knife back until it lay along the crease between his shoulders;
then he seized the port stay and let himself softly downward overside.
The water rose to his chin. Without a ripple, he glided into the
moonlight astern, and a moment later his round, black head was no more
than a piece of bobbing drift borne landward by the current.

Down past the village he swam, noting the rows of dugouts on the beach.
He saw a blot in the big mahogany cayuca, a great canoe hewn from one
priceless trunk, and recognized it for the sentinel. On he floated, then
worked his way ashore behind the little point. Once he felt the hard,
smooth sand beneath his soles, he waited until a cloud obscured the
moon, and when the light broke through again he was dripping underneath
a wide-leaved breadfruit-tree at the jungle's edge. Removing the machete
from his neck, he wrung the water from his cotton trousers. Over his
head a night-bird croaked hoarsely.

The girl was at her father's house, tending a fire on the dirt floor. It
was a large house, for the old man was rich in daughters, and, by the
San Blas rule, their husbands had come to live with him. He had waxed
fat long ago on their labors, and now only this youngest one remained
unmarried. But the ceremony was set. Inocencio had heard the news upon
his arrival three days before, and had grudgingly bought a big store of
tortoise-shell from the groom-to-be, knowing full well that the money
was intended for the wedding celebration. Markeeña was the fellow's
name, a straight, up-standing youth who more than once had excited the
Haytian's admiration for his skill with a canoe. But since that day the
latter had regarded him with smoldering eyes.

The big thatched roof with its bark-floored loft stood on posts
blackened by the smoke of many feasts; there were no walls. The jungle
crept close to it from the rear, and hence the watcher could witness
every movement of the girl as she passed between the hammocks or stooped
to her task. He could see, for instance, the play of her dark round
shoulders above the neck of her shift. He ground his yellow teeth and
gripped the moist earth with the soles of his naked feet, as a tiger
bares its claws before the leap.

It was very hard to wait. For an hour he stood there. Once a dog came to
him and sniffed, then, recognizing a frequent visitor, returned to the
house and resumed its slumber beside the fire. From the houses beyond
came the sound of voices, of a child crying querulously, and of a woman
quieting it. People came and went. An old hag began pounding grain in a
mortar, crooning in a broken voice. The girl's father came rolling into
view, and, after a word to her, struggled heavily up the ladder to his
bed. He was snoring almost before the structure had ceased to creak
beneath him. In the thicket a multitude of nocturnal sounds arose, the
insect chorus of the night.

And then, before Inocencio realized what she was up to, the girl had
stolen swiftly out and past him, so close that he could hear the scuff
of her sandals on the beaten path. The next instant he had glided from
cover and fallen in behind, his pulses leaping, his long, lithe muscles
rippling; but he moved as silently as a shadow.

Had he been a less accomplished bushman he might have lost her, for she
plunged into the jungle unhesitatingly. However, he had long ago learned
these trails by daylight, and knew them better than the lines of his own
palm; hence, every moonlit turn, every flash of her white slip, found
him close upon her track.

It puzzled him at first to discover her reason for this unexpected
sally, but soon he decided she must be bent upon some mission. Then,
when he saw that she purposely avoided the village and was bending
toward the open palm-grove abreast of his anchorage, he knew she must be
going to a tryst. So Markeeña was the sentinel! That fellow in the
mahogany cayuca was her lover! Inocencio, the dissolute, felt a flame
of rage suffuse him. When, at last, his quarry emerged into the
mysterious half-light under the high roof of palms, and paused, he
strode after her. She gave the melancholy call of the night-bird that
had sounded in the breadfruit-tree over his head earlier in the evening;
then, seeing him close beside her, uttered a little cry of pleasure. Not
until he was too near for flight did she discover her mistake, and then
she seemed to freeze. Her utter silence was more menacing than a scream.

It was the instant for which he had schooled himself, so he spoke to her
in her own tongue.

"Make no outcry! I will not harm you."

She drew back, at which he laid his great, bony hand upon her, his eyes
blazing. She was deathly frightened, being little more than a child.

"I have waited for you many nights," he explained. "I feared you
would never come." Then, as she continued to stare up at him
uncomprehendingly, he ran on: "I am Inocencio, the trader. Every night
I have watched you at your work. I want you for my woman."

Her voice had forsaken her utterly, but she struggled weakly, so he
tightened his grip until his fingers sank into her flesh. She began to
gasp as if from a swift run; the open neck of her garment slipped down
over one shoulder; her eyes were distended until he saw them ringed
about with white. The terror of this tall yellow man with the hungry
eyes robbed her of power, and she let him drag her toward the lapping
water as if she were no more than some weak, wild thing that he had
trapped.

Of course she knew him, for, while the San Blas law may banish women, it
cannot blind them, and she, too, had studied him from concealment.
Although his words had made no impression whatever upon her, his grasp
and the direction he was drawing her had at last translated what was in
his mind. Then she burst into life. But she made no outcry, for it takes
strength to scream, and every atom of her force was directed against
his. She began to moan. Her every muscle writhed. With her free hand she
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