The Passing of Enriquez Page #10

"The Passing of Enriquez" by Bret Harte is a poignant short story that explores themes of identity, nostalgia, and cultural transition in the American West. Set in a mining town during the gold rush era, the narrative revolves around the character of Enriquez, a once-prominent figure who embodies the spirit and struggles of the Hispanic community. As his life unfolds, the story reflects on the impact of societal changes, personal loss, and the bittersweet nature of progress. Harte's lyrical prose captures the complexities of human emotion and the inevitable passage of time, making it a compelling exploration of the American experience.

• Short story

								

that his dancing eyes were moist and shining. But almost instantly he
jumped up, and declared that I had not seen the garden and the corral,
and, linking his arm in mine, swept me like a whirlwind into the patio.
For an hour or two he was in his old invincible spirits. I was glad
I had said nothing of my visit to Carquinez Springs and of seeing his
wife; I determined to avoid it as long as possible; and as he did not
again refer to her, except in the past, it was not difficult. At last
he infected me with his extravagance, and for a while I forgot even the
strangeness of his conduct and his confidences. We walked and talked
together as of old. I understood and enjoyed him perfectly, and it
was not strange that in the end I began to believe that this strange
revelation was a bit of his extravagant acting, got up to amuse me. The
coincidence of his story with my own experience was not, after all,
such a wonderful thing, considering what must have been the nervous
and mental disturbance produced by the earthquake. We dined together,
attended only by Pedro, an old half-caste body-servant. It was easy to
see that the household was carried on economically, and, from a word
or two casually dropped by Enriquez, it appeared that the rancho and
a small sum of money were all that he retained from his former fortune
when he left the El Bolero. The stock he kept intact, refusing to take
the dividend upon it until that collapse of the company should occur
which he confidently predicted, when he would make good the swindled
stockholders. I had no reason to doubt his perfect faith in this.

The next morning we were up early for a breezy gallop over the three
square miles of Enriquez's estate. I was astounded, when I descended to
the patio, to find Enriquez already mounted, and carrying before him,
astride of the horn of his saddle, a small child,--the identical papoose
of my memorable first visit. But the boy was no longer swathed and
bandaged, although, for security, his plump little body was engirt by
the same sash that encircled his father's own waist. I felt a stirring
of self-reproach; I had forgotten all about him! To my suggestion
that the exercise might be fatiguing to him, Enriquez shrugged his
shoulders:--

"Believe me, no! He is ever with me when I go on the pasear. He is not
too yonge. For he shall learn 'to rride, to shoot, and to speak the
truth,' even as the Persian chile. Eet ees all I can gif to him."

Nevertheless, I think the boy enjoyed it, and I knew he was safe with
such an accomplished horseman as his father. Indeed, it was a fine sight
to see them both careering over the broad plain, Enriquez with jingling
spurs and whirling riata, and the boy, with a face as composed as his
father's, and his tiny hand grasping the end of the flapping rein with
a touch scarcely lighter than the skillful rider's own. It was a lovely
morning; though warm and still, there was a faint haze--a rare thing in
that climate--on the distant range. The sun-baked soil, arid and thirsty
from the long summer drought, and cracked into long fissures, broke
into puffs of dust, with a slight detonation like a pistol-shot, at each
stroke of our pounding hoofs. Suddenly my horse swerved in full gallop,
almost lost his footing, "broke," and halted with braced fore feet,
trembling in every limb. I heard a shout from Enriquez at the same
instant, and saw that he too had halted about a hundred paces from me,
with his hand uplifted in warning, and between us a long chasm in the
dry earth, extending across the whole field. But the trembling of the
horse continued until it communicated itself to me. I was shaking,
too, and, looking about for the cause, when I beheld the most weird and
remarkable spectacle I had ever witnessed. The whole llano, or plain,
stretching to the horizon-line, was DISTINCTLY UNDULATING! The faint
haze of the hills was repeated over its surface, as if a dust had arisen
from some grinding displacement of the soil. I threw myself from my
horse, but the next moment was fain to cling to him, as I felt the
thrill under my very feet. Then there was a pause, and I lifted my
head to look for Enriquez. He was nowhere to be seen! With a terrible
recollection of the fissure that had yawned between us, I sprang to the
saddle again, and spurred the frightened beast toward that point. BUT
IT WAS GONE, TOO! I rode backward and forward repeatedly along the line
where I had seen it only a moment before. The plain lay compact and
uninterrupted, without a crack or fissure. The dusty haze that had
arisen had passed as mysteriously away; the clear outline of the valley
returned; the great field was empty!

Presently I was aware of the sound of galloping hoofs. I remembered
then--what I had at first forgotten--that a few moments before we had
crossed an arroyo, or dried bed of a stream, depressed below the level
of the field. How foolish that I had not remembered! He had evidently
sought that refuge; there were his returning hoofs. I galloped toward
it, but only to meet a frightened vaquero, who had taken that avenue of
escape to the rancho.

"Did you see Don Enriquez?" I asked impatiently.

I saw that the man's terror was extreme, and his eyes were staring in
their sockets. He hastily crossed himself:--

"Ah, God, yes!"

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"Gone!"

"Where?"

He looked at me with staring, vacant eyes, and, pointing to the ground,
said in Spanish: "He has returned to the land of his fathers!"

We searched for him that day and the next, when the country was aroused
and his neighbors joined in a quest that proved useless. Neither he
nor his innocent burden was ever seen again of men. Whether he had been
engulfed by mischance in some unsuspected yawning chasm in that brief
moment, or had fulfilled his own prophecy by deliberately erasing
himself for some purpose known only to himself, no one ever knew. His
country-people shook their heads and said "it was like a Saltillo." And
the few among his retainers who knew him and loved him, whispered
still more ominously: "He will yet return to his land to confound the
Americanos."

Yet the widow of Enriquez did NOT marry Professor Dobbs. But she too
disappeared from California, and years afterward I was told that she was
well known to the ingenuous Parisians as the usual wealthy widow "from
South America."
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