The Passing of Enriquez Page #7

"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

								

personate the staff, from the oracular hotel proprietor himself down to
the smart hotel clerk.

During these arrangements I had a chance of drawing near Mrs. Saltillo.
I fancied she gave a slight start as she recognized me; but her
greetings were given with her usual precision. "Have you been here
long?" she asked.

"I have only just come," I replied laughingly; "in time for the shock."

"Ah, you felt it, then? I was telling these ladies that our eminent
geologist, Professor Dobbs, assured me that these seismic disturbances
in California have a very remote centre, and are seldom serious."

"It must be very satisfactory to have the support of geology at such a
moment," I could not help saying, though I had not the slightest idea
whose the figure was that I had seen, nor, indeed, had I recognized
it among the guests. She did not seem to detect any significance in
my speech, and I added: "And where is Enriquez? He would enjoy this
proposed picnic to-night."

"Enriquez is at Salvatierra Rancho, which he lately bought from his
cousin."

"And the baby? Surely, here is a chance for you to hang him up on a
redwood tonight, in his cradle."

"The boy," said Mrs. Saltillo quickly, "is no longer in his cradle; he
has passed the pupa state, and is now free to develop his own perfected
limbs. He is with his father. I do not approve of children being
submitted to the indiscriminate attentions of a hotel. I am here myself
only for that supply of ozone indicated for brain exhaustion."

She looked so pretty and prim in her gray dress, so like her old correct
self, that I could not think of anything but her mental attitude, which
did not, by the way, seem much like mental depression. Yet I was aware
that I was getting no information of Enriquez's condition or affairs,
unless the whole story told by the broker was an exaggeration. I did
not, however, dare to ask more particularly.

"You remember Professor Dobbs?" she asked abruptly.

This recalled a suspicion awakened by my vision, so suddenly that I
felt myself blushing. She did not seem to notice it, and was perfectly
composed.

"I do remember him. Is he here?"

"He is; that is what makes it so particularly unfortunate for me. You
see, after that affair of the board, and Enriquez's withdrawal, although
Enriquez may have been a little precipitate in his energetic way, I
naturally took my husband's part in public; for although we preserve
our own independence inviolable, we believe in absolute confederation as
against society."

"But what has Professor Dobbs to do with the board?" I interrupted.

"The professor was scientific and geological adviser to the board, and
it was upon some report or suggestion of his that Enriquez took issue,
against the sentiment of the board. It was a principle affecting
Enriquez's Spanish sense of honor."

"Do tell me all about it," I said eagerly; "I am very anxious to know
the truth."

"As I was not present at the time," said Mrs. Saltillo, rebuking my
eagerness with a gentle frigidity, "I am unable to do so. Anything else
would be mere hearsay, and more or less ex parte. I do not approve of
gossip."

"But what did Enriquez tell you? You surely know that."

"THAT, being purely confidential, as between husband and wife,--perhaps
I should say partner and partner,--of course you do not expect me to
disclose. Enough that I was satisfied with it. I should not have spoken
to you about it at all, but that, through myself and Enriquez, you are
an acquaintance of the professor's, and I might save you the awkwardness
of presenting yourself with him. Otherwise, although you are a friend of
Enriquez, it need not affect your acquaintance with the professor."

"Hang the professor!" I ejaculated. "I don't care a rap for HIM."

"Then I differ with you," said Mrs. Saltillo, with precision. "He is
distinctly an able man, and one cannot but miss the contact of his
original mind and his liberal teachings."

Here she was joined by one of the ladies, and I lounged away. I dare say
it was very mean and very illogical, but the unsatisfactory character
of this interview made me revert again to the singular revelation I had
seen a few hours before. I looked anxiously for Professor Dobbs; but
when I did meet him, with an indifferent nod of recognition, I found
I could by no means identify him with the figure of her mysterious
companion. And why should I suspect him at all, in the face of Mrs.
Saltillo's confessed avoidance of him? Who, then, could it have been? I
had seen them but an instant, in the opening and the shutting of a door.
It was merely the shadowy bulk of a man that flitted past my door,
after all. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Were my perceptive
faculties--just aroused from slumber, too insufficiently clear to be
relied upon? Would I not have laughed had Urania, or even Enriquez
himself, told me such a story?

As I reentered the hotel the clerk handed me a telegram. "There's been
a pretty big shake all over the country," he said eagerly. "Everybody
is getting news and inquiries from their friends. Anything fresh?" He
paused interrogatively as I tore open the envelope. The dispatch had
been redirected from the office of the "Daily Excelsior." It was dated,
"Salvatierra Rancho," and contained a single line: "Come and see your
old uncle 'Ennery."

There was nothing in the wording of the message that was unlike
Enriquez's usual light-hearted levity, but the fact that he should have
TELEGRAPHED it to me struck me uneasily. That I should have received it
at the hotel where his wife and Professor Dobbs were both staying, and
where I had had such a singular experience, seemed to me more than a
mere coincidence. An instinct that the message was something personal
to Enriquez and myself kept me from imparting it to Mrs. Saltillo. After
worrying half the night in our bizarre camp in the redwoods, in the
midst of a restless festivity which was scarcely the repose I had been
seeking at Carquinez Springs, I resolved to leave the next day for
Salvatierra Rancho. I remembered the rancho,--a low, golden-brown,
adobe-walled quadrangle, sleeping like some monstrous ruminant in a
hollow of the Contra Costa Range. I recalled, in the midst of this noisy
picnic, the slumberous coolness of its long corridors and soundless
courtyard, and hailed it as a relief. The telegram was a sufficient
excuse for my abrupt departure. In the morning I left, but without again
seeing either Mrs. Saltillo or the professor.

It was late the next afternoon when I rode through the canada that led
to the rancho. I confess my thoughts were somewhat gloomy, in spite of
my escape from the noisy hotel; but this was due to the sombre scenery
through which I had just ridden, and the monotonous russet of the
leagues of wild oats. As I approached the rancho, I saw that Enriquez
had made no attempt to modernize the old casa, and that even the garden

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