The Devotion of Enriquez Page #8

"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

								

added composedly, "You will meet Mees Boston."

I stared, and but for his manner would have thought it part of his
extravagance. For the rodeo--a yearly chase of wild cattle for the
purpose of lassoing and branding them--was a rather brutal affair,
and purely a man's function; it was also a family affair--a property
stock-taking of the great Spanish cattle-owners--and strangers,
particularly Americans, found it difficult to gain access to its
mysteries and the fiesta that followed.

"But how did she get an invitation?" I asked. "You did not dare to
ask--" I began.

"My friend," said Enriquez, with a singular deliberation, "the great and
respectable Boston herself, and her serene, venerable oncle, and other
Boston magnificos, have of a truth done me the inexpressible honor to
solicit of my degraded, papistical oncle that she shall come--that she
shall of her own superior eye behold the barbaric customs of our race."

His tone and manner were so peculiar that I stepped quickly before him,
laid my hands on his shoulders, and looked down into his face. But the
actual devil which I now for the first time saw in his eyes went out
of them suddenly, and he relapsed again in affected languishment in his
chair. "I shall be there, friend Pancho," he said, with a preposterous
gasp. "I shall nerve my arm to lasso the bull, and tumble him before her
at her feet. I shall throw the 'buck-jump' mustang at the same sacred
spot. I shall pluck for her the buried chicken at full speed from the
ground, and present it to her. You shall see it, friend Pancho. I shall
be there."

He was as good as his word. When Don Pedro Amador, his uncle, installed
Miss Mannersley, with Spanish courtesy, on a raised platform in the long
valley where the rodeo took place, the gallant Enriquez selected a bull
from the frightened and galloping herd, and, cleverly isolating him
from the band, lassoed his hind legs, and threw him exactly before the
platform where Miss Mannersley was seated. It was Enriquez who caught
the unbroken mustang, sprang from his own saddle to the bare back of his
captive, and with the lasso for a bridle, halted him on rigid haunches
at Miss Mannersley's feet. It was Enriquez who, in the sports that
followed, leaned from his saddle at full speed, caught up the chicken
buried to its head in the sand, without wringing its neck, and tossed
it unharmed and fluttering toward his mistress. As for her, she wore
the same look of animation that I had seen in her face at our previous
meeting. Although she did not bring her sketchbook with her, as at the
bullfight, she did not shrink from the branding of the cattle, which
took place under her very eyes.

Yet I had never seen her and Enriquez together; they had never, to my
actual knowledge, even exchanged words. And now, although she was the
guest of his uncle, his duties seemed to keep him in the field, and
apart from her. Nor, as far as I could detect, did either apparently
make any effort to have it otherwise. The peculiar circumstance seemed
to attract no attention from anyone else. But for what I alone knew--or
thought I knew--of their actual relations, I should have thought them
strangers.

But I felt certain that the fiesta which took place in the broad patio
of Don Pedro's casa would bring them together. And later in the evening,
as we were all sitting on the veranda watching the dancing of the
Mexican women, whose white-flounced sayas were monotonously rising and
falling to the strains of two melancholy harps, Miss Mannersley rejoined
us from the house. She seemed to be utterly absorbed and abstracted in
the barbaric dances, and scarcely moved as she leaned over the railing
with her cheek resting on her hand. Suddenly she arose with a little
cry.

"What is it?" asked two or three.

"Nothing--only I have lost my fan." She had risen, and was looking
abstractedly on the floor.

Half a dozen men jumped to their feet. "Let me fetch it," they said.

"No, thank you. I think I know where it is, and will go for it myself."
She was moving away.

But Don Pedro interposed with Spanish gravity. Such a thing was not to
be heard of in his casa. If the senorita would not permit HIM--an old
man--to go for it, it must be brought by Enriquez, her cavalier of the
day.

But Enriquez was not to be found. I glanced at Miss Mannersley's
somewhat disturbed face, and begged her to let me fetch it. I thought I
saw a flush of relief come into her pale cheek as she said, in a lower
voice, "On the stone seat in the garden."

I hurried away, leaving Don Pedro still protesting. I knew the gardens,
and the stone seat at an angle of the wall, not a dozen yards from
the casa. The moon shone full upon it. There, indeed, lay the little
gray-feathered fan. But beside it, also, lay the crumpled black
gold-embroidered riding-gauntlet that Enriquez had worn at the rodeo.

I thrust it hurriedly into my pocket, and ran back. As I passed through
the gateway I asked a peon to send Enriquez to me. The man stared. Did I
not know that Don Enriquez had ridden away two minutes ago?

When I reached the veranda, I handed the fan to Miss Mannersley without
a word. "BUENO," said Don Pedro, gravely; "it is as well. There shall be
no bones broken over the getting of it, for Enriquez, I hear, has had to
return to the Encinal this very evening."

Miss Mannersley retired early. I did not inform her of my discovery, nor
did I seek in any way to penetrate her secret. There was no doubt that
she and Enriquez had been together, perhaps not for the first time; but
what was the result of their interview? From the young girl's demeanor
and Enriquez' hurried departure, I could only fear the worst for him.
Had he been tempted into some further extravagance and been angrily
rebuked, or had he avowed a real passion concealed under his exaggerated
mask and been deliberately rejected? I tossed uneasily half the night,
following in my dreams my poor friend's hurrying hoofbeats, and ever
starting from my sleep at what I thought was the sound of galloping
hoofs.

I rose early, and lounged into the patio; but others were there before
me, and a small group of Don Pedro's family were excitedly discussing
something, and I fancied they turned away awkwardly and consciously as
I approached. There was an air of indefinite uneasiness everywhere. A
strange fear came over me with the chill of the early morning air. Had
anything happened to Enriquez? I had always looked upon his extravagance
as part of his playful humor. Could it be possible that under the sting
of rejection he had made his grotesque threat of languishing effacement
real? Surely Miss Mannersley would know or suspect something, if it were
the case.

I approached one of the Mexican women and asked if the senorita had
risen. The woman started, and looked covertly round before she replied.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes