The Passing of Enriquez Page #3

"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

								

drink. I have the very old Bourbon. He is not so old as the Aztec, but,
believe me, he is very much liflier. Attend! Hol' on!" He was already
rummaging on a shelf, but apparently without success; then he explored
a buffet, with no better results, and finally attacked a large drawer,
throwing out on the floor, with his old impetuosity, a number of
geological specimens, carefully labeled. I picked up one that had rolled
near me. It was labeled "Conglomerate sandstone." I picked up another:
it had the same label.

"Then you are really collecting?" I said, with astonishment.

"Ciertamente," responded Enriquez,--"what other fool shall I look? I
shall relate of this geology when I shall have found this beast of a
bottle. Ah, here he have hide!" He extracted from a drawer a bottle
nearly full of spirits,--tippling was not one of Enriquez's vices. "You
shall say 'when.' 'Ere's to our noble selfs!"

When he had drunk, I picked up another fragment of his collection. It
had the same label. "You are very rich in 'conglomerate sandstone,'" I
said. "Where do you find it?"

"In the street," said Enriquez, with great calmness.

"In the street?" I echoed.

"Yes, my friend! He ees call the 'cobblestone,' also the
'pouding-stone,' when he ees at his home in the country. He ees also
a small 'boulder.' I pick him up; I crack him; he made three separate
piece of conglomerate sandstone. I bring him home to my wife in my
pocket. She rejoice; we are happy. When comes the efening, I sit down
and make him a label; while my wife, she sit down and write of the
Aztec. Ah, my friend, you shall say of the geology it ees a fine, a
BEAUTIFUL study; but the study of the wife, and what shall please her,
believe me, ees much finer! Believe your old Uncle 'Ennery every time!
On thees question he gets there; he gets left, nevarre!"

"But Professor Dobbs, your geologian, what does HE say to this frequent
recurrence of the conglomerate sandstone period in your study?" I asked
quickly.

"He say nothing. You comprehend? He ees a profound geologian, but he
also has the admiration excessif for my wife Urania." He stopped to kiss
his hand again toward the door, and lighted a cigarette. "The geologian
would not that he should break up the happy efening of his friends
by thees small detail. He put aside his head--so; he say, 'A leetle
freestone, a leetle granite, now and then, for variety; they are
building in Montgomery Street.' I take the hint, like a wink to the
horse that has gone blind. I attach to myself part of the edifice that
is erecting himself in Montgomery Street. I crack him; I bring him
home. I sit again at the feet of my beautiful Urania, and I label him
'Freestone,' 'Granite;' but I do not say 'from Parrott's Bank'--eet is
not necessary for our happiness."

"And you do this sort of thing only because you think it pleases your
wife?" I asked bluntly.

"My friend," rejoined Enriquez, perching himself on the back of the
sofa, and caressing his knees as he puffed his cigarette meditatively,
"you have ask a conundrum. Gif to me an easier one! It is of truth that
I make much of these thing to please Urania. But I shall confess all.
Behold, I appear to you, my leetle brother, in my camisa--my shirt! I
blow on myself; I gif myself away."

He rose gravely from the sofa, and drew a small box from one of the
drawers of the wardrobe. Opening it, he discovered several specimens of
gold-bearing quartz, and one or two scales of gold. "Thees," he said,
"friend Pancho, is my own geology; for thees I am what you see. But I
say nothing to Urania; for she have much disgust of mere gold,--of what
she calls 'vulgar mining,'--and believe me, a fear of the effect of
'speculation' upon my temperamento--you comprehend my complexion, my
brother? Reflect upon it, Pancho! I, who am the filosofo, if that I am
anything!" He looked at me with great levity of eye and supernatural
gravity of demeanor. "But eet ees the jealous affection of the wife,
my friend, for which I make play to her with the humble leetle
pouding-stone rather than the gold quartz that affrights."

"But what do you want with them, if you have no shares in anything and
do not speculate?" I asked.

"Pardon! That ees where you slip up, my leetle friend." He took from the
same drawer a clasped portfolio, and unlocked it, producing half a dozen
prospectuses and certificates of mining shares. I stood aghast as I
recognized the names of one or two extravagant failures of the last ten
years,--"played-out" mines that had been galvanized into deceptive life
in London, Paris, and New York, to the grief of shareholders abroad
and the laughter of the initiated at home. I could scarcely keep my
equanimity. "You do not mean to say that you have any belief or interest
in this rubbish?" I said quickly.

"What you call 'rubbish,' my good Pancho, ees the rubbish that the
American speculator have dump himself upon them in the shaft, the
rubbish of the advertisement, of the extravagant expense, of the salary,
of the assessment, of the 'freeze-out.' For thees, look you, is the old
Mexican mine. My grandfather and hees father have both seen them work
before you were born, and the American knew not there was gold in
California."

I knew he spoke truly. One or two were original silver mines in the
south, worked by peons and Indian slaves, a rope windlass, and a
venerable donkey.

"But those were silver mines," I said suspiciously, "and these are gold
specimens."

"They are from the same mother," said the imperturbable Enriquez,--"the
same mine. The old peons worked him for SILVER, the precious dollar that
buy everything, that he send in the galleon to the Philippines for
the silk and spice! THAT is good enough for HIM! For the gold he made
nothing, even as my leetle wife Urania. And regard me here! There ees a
proverb of my father's which say that 'it shall take a gold mine to
work a silver mine,' so mooch more he cost. You work him, you are lost!
Naturalmente, if you turn him round, if it take you only a silver mine
to work a gold mine, you are gain. Thees ees logic!"

The intense gravity of his face at this extraordinary deduction upset
my own. But as I was never certain that Enriquez was not purposely
mystifying me, with some ulterior object, I could not help saying a
little wickedly:--

"Yes, I understand all that; but how about this geologian? Will he not
tell your wife? You know he was a great admirer of hers."

"That shall show the great intelligence of him, my Pancho. He will have
the four S's,' especially the secreto!"

There could be no serious discussion in his present mood. I gathered up
the pages of his wife's manuscript, said lightly that, as she had the
first claim upon my time, I should examine the Aztec material and report
in a day or two. As I knew I had little chance in the hands of these two
incomprehensibles together, I begged him not to call his wife, but

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