The Passing of Enriquez Page #6

"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

								

pointing to the capitalist who had driven the brake, "who used to be on
the board with him. No, sir. He was either lying low for something, or
was off his head. Think of his throwing up a place like that!"

"Nonsense!" I said indignantly. "He is mercurial, and has the quick
impulsiveness of his race, but I believe him as sane as any who sat with
him on the board. There must be some mistake, or you haven't got the
whole story." Nevertheless, I did not care to discuss an old friend
with a mere acquaintance, and I felt secretly puzzled to account for his
conduct, in the face of his previous cleverness in manipulating the El
Bolero, and the undoubted fascination he had previously exercised over
the stockholders. The story had, of course, been garbled in repetition.
I had never before imagined what might be the effect of Enriquez's
peculiar eccentricities upon matter-of-fact people,--I had found them
only amusing,--and the broker's suggestion annoyed me. However, Mrs.
Saltillo was here in the hotel, and I should, of course, meet her. Would
she be as frank with me?

I was disappointed at not finding her in the drawing-room or on the
veranda; and the heat being still unusually oppressive, I strolled out
toward the redwoods, hesitating for a moment in the shade before I ran
the fiery gauntlet of the garden. To my surprise, I had scarcely passed
the giant sentinels on its outskirts before I found that, from some
unusual condition of the atmosphere, the cold undercurrent of air
which generally drew through these pillared aisles was withheld that
afternoon; it was absolutely hotter than in the open, and the wood was
charged throughout with the acrid spices of the pine. I turned back to
the hotel, reascended to my bedroom, and threw myself in an armchair by
the open window. My room was near the end of a wing; the corner room at
the end was next to mine, on the same landing. Its closed door, at right
angles to my open one, gave upon the staircase, but was plainly visible
from where I sat. I remembered being glad that it was shut, as it
enabled me without offense to keep my own door open.

The house was very quiet. The leaves of a catalpa, across the roadway,
hung motionless. Somebody yawned on the veranda below. I threw away
my half-finished cigar, and closed my eyes. I think I had not lost
consciousness for more than a few seconds before I was awakened by the
shaking and thrilling of the whole building. As I staggered to my feet,
I saw the four pictures hanging against the wall swing outwardly from
it on their cords, and my door swing back against the wall. At the same
moment, acted upon by the same potential impulse, the door of the end
room in the hall, opposite the stairs, also swung open. In that brief
moment I had a glimpse of the interior of the room, of two figures, a
man and a woman, the latter clinging to her companion in abject terror.
It was only for an instant, for a second thrill passed through the
house, the pictures clattered back against the wall, the door of the end
room closed violently on its strange revelation, and my own door swung
back also. Apprehensive of what might happen, I sprang toward it, but
only to arrest it an inch or two before it should shut, when, as my
experience had taught me, it might stick by the subsidence of the walls.
But it did stick ajar, and remained firmly fixed in that position. From
the clattering of the knob of the other door, and the sound of hurried
voices behind it, I knew that the same thing had happened there when
that door had fully closed.

I was familiar enough with earthquakes to know that, with the second
shock or subsidence of the earth, the immediate danger was passed, and
so I was able to note more clearly what else was passing. There was the
usual sudden stampede of hurrying feet, the solitary oath and scream,
the half-hysterical laughter, and silence. Then the tumult was
reawakened to the sound of high voices, talking all together, or the
impatient calling of absentees in halls and corridors. Then I heard
the quick swish of female skirts on the staircase, and one of the fair
guests knocked impatiently at the door of the end room, still immovably
fixed. At the first knock there was a sudden cessation of the hurried
whisperings and turning of the doorknob.

"Mrs. Saltillo, are you there? Are you frightened?" she called.

"Mrs. Saltillo"! It was SHE, then, who was in the room! I drew nearer
my door, which was still fixed ajar. Presently a voice,--Mrs. Saltillo's
voice,--with a constrained laugh in it, came from behind the door: "Not
a bit. I'll come down in a minute."

"Do," persisted the would-be intruder. "It's all over now, but we're all
going out into the garden; it's safer."

"All right," answered Mrs. Saltillo. "Don't wait, dear. I'll follow. Run
away, now."

The visitor, who was evidently still nervous, was glad to hurry away,
and I heard her retreating step on the staircase. The rattling of the
door began again, and at last it seemed to yield to a stronger pull,
and opened sufficiently to allow Mrs. Saltillo to squeeze through. I
withdrew behind my door. I fancied that it creaked as she passed, as if,
noticing it ajar, she had laid an inquiring hand upon it. I waited, but
she was not followed by any one. I wondered if I had been mistaken. I
was going to the bell-rope to summon assistance to move my own door when
a sudden instinct withheld me. If there was any one still in that room,
he might come from it just as the servant answered my call, and a public
discovery would be unavoidable. I was right. In another instant the
figure of a man, whose face I could not discern, slipped out of the
room, passed my door, and went stealthily down the staircase.

Convinced of this, I resolved not to call public attention to my being
in my own room at the time of the incident; so I did not summon any one,
but, redoubling my efforts, I at last opened the door sufficiently to
pass out, and at once joined the other guests in the garden. Already,
with characteristic recklessness and audacity, the earthquake was
made light of; the only dictate of prudence had resolved itself into
a hilarious proposal to "camp out" in the woods all night, and have
a "torch-light picnic." Even then preparations were being made for
carrying tents, blankets, and pillows to the adjacent redwoods; dinner
and supper, cooked at campfires, were to be served there on stumps of
trees and fallen logs. The convulsion of nature had been used as an
excuse for one of the wildest freaks of extravagance that Carquinez
Springs had ever known. Perhaps that quick sense of humor which
dominates the American male in exigencies of this kind kept the
extravagances from being merely bizarre and grotesque, and it was
presently known that the hotel and its menage were to be appropriately
burlesqued by some of the guests, who, attired as Indians, would

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