Inocencio Page #5

"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

								


Once fairly out of the pest-hole, he threaded his way through the swamp
toward the other shore of the island. Blue land-crabs scuttled among the
mangrove roots at his approach; the place was noisy with the hum of
insects; on every hand the heated mud gave forth a sound like the smack
of huge moist lips. But on the other side he came into a different
domain. Here the sea-breeze banished the hovering miasma, the shore was
of powdered coral sand, a litter of huts drowsed beneath a grove of
cocoa palms, while a fleet of cayucas lay moored to stakes inside the
breakers or bleaching in the sun.

Captain Inocencio was a person of some importance here, for, besides his
occupation as a trader, he exacted toll from a score or more of lazy
blacks. They were a lawless crew, gathered from the remotest corners of
the Indies, composed of Jamaicans, 'Bajans, and Saint Lucians, all
reared to easy life and ripe for such an occasional crafty pilgrimage as
Inocencio might devise. They had gathered around him naturally, paying
him scant revenue, to be sure, yet offering a certain loyalty that had
its uses. Although the village was but a mile from the town itself,
Inocencio's word was law; when the Colombian soldiers were called upon
to visit the spot, they came in numbers, never singly.

The girl was seated on the rickety porch of his cabin, her feet drawn
under her, her chin upon her knees. The other women were gossiping
loudly, staring at her from a distance, but her black eyes only
smoldered sullenly. He swore at the curious negro wenches and sent the
girl about her household duties, then stretched himself in the shade and
eyed her complacently until he fell asleep.

It was a week later that one of his men came to him breathlessly to
announce that the San Blas Indians were in the town.

"How many?" queried Inocencio.

"Four boat-loads."

"Did they come to trade?"

"Oh yes, boss."

This was no unusual thing, for they often displayed their little cargoes
of nuts and fruits and vegetables upon the water-front. Inocencio rose
lazily and stretched, then, calling the woman, explained the tidings to
her.

"I will go see them," he announced, finally.

"Oh, boss," cried the black man, "they will kill you!"

He shrugged his brawny shoulders and, thrusting the machete beneath his
arm, took the trail out through the mangrove swamp.

Straight to the Colon water-front he went, and there flaunted himself
before the men from down the coast. Here and there he strolled, casting
back their looks of hatred with a bravado that attracted all the idlers
in the neighborhood. Wenches nudged one another and tittered nervously,
pointing him out and telling anew the story of his daring. Men watched
him with wondering admiration, and he heard them murmuring:

"Ah, that Inocencio!"

"El diabolo!"

"And so brave! He would fight an army."

"See the great arms of him, and the eye like a tiger."

It was the keenest pleasure he had ever tasted.

As for his enemies, they kept their silence. They bartered their stock
and, having made their purchases, raised sail and scudded away down the
coast whence they had come.

Inocencio got drunk that night--for who could withstand the lavish
flattery that poured from every cantina up and down the length of
Bottle Alley? Who could resist the smiles of the chalk-faced females of
Cash Street, all eager to laud his bravery. Some time before morning he
reeled into his shack beneath the palms, to find the woman waiting
fearfully. He cursed at her for staring at him so, and fell upon his
bed.

In the months that followed he seldom lost an opportunity of showing
himself to the San Blas men when they came to town, but in time this
pleasure palled as all others had, for the woman's kindred seemed
incapable of resentment. Gradually, also, he became accustomed to her
presence, and spent much of his time among the women of Cash Street. On
one occasion he returned from an orgy of this sort to find her talking
to one of his men, a young Barbadian with a giant's frame. It was only
by accident, due to the liquor in him, that his hand went wild and he
missed killing the fellow; then he beat the woman unmercifully.

Chancing to meet the Señor Williams on the street some time later, he
said: "Buenas dias, señor! You see, Captain Inocencio is still alive
and the woman has not run away."

His former employer grunted, as if neither phenomenon were worthy of
comment.

"I've heard how you rub it into those San Blas fellows," Williams
remarked. "I can't understand why they never avenged Markeeña."

"Bah! They have heard of me," said the Haytian, boastfully; then, with a
grin, "You remember our bet, señor?"

"I never made you a bet," the American denied, hotly. "But I've a mind
to. I've been here ten years, and I think I know those people."

"Two hundred pesos!"

"You'll never have a child by her. They won't allow it. They'll get her
and you, too, in ample time. I tell you, their blood is clean."

"Two hundred pesos that she brings me a San Blas half-breed within two
months," smiled the mulatto, insolently.

And Williams exclaimed: "I'll do it. It's worth two hundred 'silver' to
see a miracle."

"Bueno! I'll bring him to you when he comes."

Thereafter Inocencio gave over beating the woman.

Back at the little settlement beyond the swamp the coming event did not
pass without comment, and although the black women were kind to their
straight-haired neighbor, she never made friends with them, nor did she
ever accompany Inocencio to town. On the contrary, she seemed obsessed
by an ever-present dread, and whenever she heard that her own people
were near she concealed herself and did not appear again until they were
gone. Bred into her deepest conscience was the certainty that her tribe
would make desperate attempt to preserve its most sacred tradition, and
hence, as the days dragged on and her condition became more pronounced
her fears increased likewise. She began to look forward to the birth of
the child as the crisis upon which her own life hinged. Inocencio did
his best to dissipate her fears, explaining boastfully that the mere
mention of his name was ample protection for her, and, did he wish it,
not even the army of the Republic could take her from him. But still she
would not be convinced.

And then, in the dark of the December moon, the expected came. It was
that season when the rains were at their heaviest, when rust and rot
might be felt by the fingers. A gray mold had crept over all things
indoors; a myriad of insect pests burdened the air.

In the rare intervals between showers every faintest draught deluged the
huts from the dripping palm leaves overhead. From the swamp arose a
noxious vapor whenever the sun exposed itself; tree-toads shrilled
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