The Devotion of Enriquez Page #3

"The Devotion of Enriquez" is a short story by Bret Harte, set in the rugged landscapes of California's Gold Rush era. The narrative centers on the character Enriquez, a loyal and devoted Mexican servant who navigates themes of love, sacrifice, and cultural tensions. Through his unwavering dedication to a wealthy American family, the story explores the complexities of loyalty across social and racial divides, ultimately revealing profound insights into human relationships and the moral dilemmas faced by individuals in a rapidly changing society. Harte's vivid storytelling and rich characterizations offer a poignant reflection on honor and devotion in an era marked by both opportunity and conflict.

• Short story

								

twirling his thin little mustache meditatively.

"No; she will not," I returned sharply; "and you ought to understand
that she is on a different level from your Manuelas and Carmens."

"Pardon, my friend," he said gravely; "thees women are ever the same.
There is a proverb in my language. Listen: 'Whether the sharp blade of
the Toledo pierce the satin or the goatskin, it shall find behind it
ever the same heart to wound.' I am that Toledo blade--possibly it is
you, my friend. Wherefore, let us together pursue this girl of Boston on
the instant."

But I kept my grasp on Enriquez' arm, and succeeded in restraining his
mercurial impulses for the moment. He halted, and puffed vigorously at
his cigarette; but the next instant he started forward again. "Let us,
however, follow with discretion in the rear; we shall pass her house; we
shall gaze at it; it shall touch her heart."

Ridiculous as was this following of the young girl we had only just
parted from, I nevertheless knew that Enriquez was quite capable of
attempting it alone, and I thought it better to humor him by consenting
to walk with him in that direction; but I felt it necessary to say:

"I ought to warn you that Miss Mannersley already looks upon your
performances at the sala as something outre and peculiar, and if I were
you I shouldn't do anything to deepen that impression."

"You are saying she ees shock?" said Enriquez, gravely.

I felt I could not conscientiously say that she was shocked, and he saw
my hesitation. "Then she have jealousy of the senoritas," he observed,
with insufferable complacency. "You observe! I have already said. It is
ever so."

I could stand it no longer. "Look here, Harry," I said, "if you must
know it, she looks upon you as an acrobat--a paid performer."

"Ah!"--his black eyes sparkled--"the torero, the man who fights the
bull, he is also an acrobat."

"Yes; but she thinks you a clown!--a GRACIOSO DE TEATRO--there!"

"Then I have make her laugh?" he said coolly.

I don't think he had; but I shrugged my shoulders.

"BUENO!" he said cheerfully. "Lofe, he begin with a laugh, he make
feenish with a sigh."

I turned to look at him in the moonlight. His face presented its
habitual Spanish gravity--a gravity that was almost ironical. His
small black eyes had their characteristic irresponsible audacity--the
irresponsibility of the vivacious young animal. It could not be
possible that he was really touched with the placid frigidities of
Miss Mannersley. I remembered his equally elastic gallantries with Miss
Pinkey Smith, a blonde Western belle, from which both had harmlessly
rebounded. As we walked on slowly I continued more persuasively: "Of
course this is only your nonsense; but don't you see, Miss Mannersley
thinks it all in earnest and really your nature?" I hesitated, for
it suddenly struck me that it WAS really his nature. "And--hang it
all!--you don't want her to believe you a common buffoon., or some
intoxicated muchacho."

"Intoxicated?" repeated Enriquez, with exasperating languishment. "Yes;
that is the word that shall express itself. My friend, you have made
a shot in the center--you have ring the bell every time! It is
intoxication--but not of aguardiente. Look! I have long time an ancestor
of whom is a pretty story. One day in church he have seen a young
girl--a mere peasant girl--pass to the confessional. He look her in
her eye, he stagger"--here Enriquez wobbled pantomimically into the
road--"he fall!"--he would have suited the action to the word if I had
not firmly held him up. "They have taken him home, where he have remain
without his clothes, and have dance and sing. But it was the drunkenness
of lofe. And, look you, thees village girl was a nothing, not even
pretty. The name of my ancestor was--"

"Don Quixote de La Mancha," I suggested maliciously. "I suspected as
much. Come along. That will do."

"My ancestor's name," continued Enriquez, gravely, "was Antonio
Hermenegildo de Salvatierra, which is not the same. Thees Don Quixote of
whom you speak exist not at all."

"Never mind. Only, for heaven's sake, as we are nearing the house, don't
make a fool of yourself again."

It was a wonderful moonlight night. The deep redwood porch of the
Mannersley parsonage, under the shadow of a great oak--the largest in
the Encinal--was diapered in black and silver. As the women stepped
upon the porch their shadows were silhouetted against the door. Miss
Mannersley paused for an instant, and turned to give a last look at the
beauty of the night as Jocasta entered. Her glance fell upon us as
we passed. She nodded carelessly and unaffectedly to me, but as she
recognized Enriquez she looked a little longer at him with her previous
cold and invincible curiosity. To my horror Enriquez began instantly to
affect a slight tremulousness of gait and a difficulty of breathing; but
I gripped his arm savagely, and managed to get him past the house as the
door closed finally on the young lady.

"You do not comprehend, friend Pancho," he said gravely, "but those eyes
in their glass are as the ESPEJO USTORIO, the burning mirror. They burn,
they consume me here like paper. Let us affix to ourselves thees tree.
She will, without doubt, appear at her window. We shall salute her for
good night."

"We will do nothing of the kind," I said sharply. Finding that I was
determined, he permitted me to lead him away. I was delighted to
notice, however, that he had indicated the window which I knew was
the minister's study, and that as the bedrooms were in the rear of the
house, this later incident was probably not overseen by the young lady
or the servant. But I did not part from Enriquez until I saw him
safely back to the sala, where I left him sipping chocolate, his
arm alternating around the waists of his two previous partners in a
delightful Arcadian and childlike simplicity, and an apparent utter
forgetfulness of Miss Mannersley.

The fandangos were usually held on Saturday night, and the next day,
being Sunday, I missed Enriquez; but as he was a devout Catholic I
remembered that he was at mass in the morning, and possibly at the
bullfight at San Antonio in the afternoon. But I was somewhat surprised
on the Monday morning following, as I was crossing the plaza, to have
my arm taken by the Rev. Mr. Mannersley in the nearest approach to
familiarity that was consistent with the reserve of this eminent divine.
I looked at him inquiringly. Although scrupulously correct in attire,
his features always had a singular resemblance to the national
caricature known as "Uncle Sam," but with the humorous expression
left out. Softly stroking his goatee with three fingers, he began
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