The Passing of Enriquez Page #8

"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

								

was left in its lawless native luxuriance, while the rude tiled sheds
near the walled corral contained the old farming implements, unchanged
for a century, even to the ox-carts, the wheels of which were made of a
single block of wood. A few peons, in striped shirts and velvet
jackets, were sunning themselves against a wall, and near them hung
a half-drained pellejo, or goatskin water-bag. The air of absolute
shiftlessness must have been repellent to Mrs. Saltillo's orderly
precision, and for a moment I pitied her. But it was equally
inconsistent with Enriquez's enthusiastic ideas of American progress,
and the extravagant designs he had often imparted to me of the
improvements he would make when he had a fortune. I was feeling uneasy
again, when I suddenly heard the rapid clack of unshod hoofs on a rocky
trail that joined my own. At the same instant a horseman dashed past me
at full speed. I had barely time to swerve my own horse aside to avoid a
collision, yet in that brief moment I recognized the figure of Enriquez.
But his face I should have scarcely known. It was hard and fixed. His
upper lip and thin, penciled mustache were drawn up over his teeth,
which were like a white gash in his dark face. He turned into the
courtyard of the rancho. I put spurs to my horse, and followed, in
nervous expectation. He turned in his saddle as I entered. But the next
moment he bounded from his horse, and, before I could dismount, flew to
my side and absolutely lifted me from the saddle to embrace me. It was
the old Enriquez again; his face seemed to have utterly changed in that
brief moment.

"This is all very well, old chap," I said; "but do you know that you
nearly ran me down, just now, with that infernal half-broken mustang? Do
you usually charge the casa at that speed?"

"Pardon, my leetle brother! But here you shall slip up. The mustang is
not HALF-broken; he is not broke at all! Look at his hoof--never have
a shoe been there. For myself--attend me! When I ride alone, I
think mooch; when I think mooch I think fast; my idea he go like a
cannon-ball! Consequent, if I ride not thees horse like the cannon-ball,
my thought HE arrive first, and where are you? You get left! Believe
me that I fly thees horse, thees old Mexican plug, and your de' uncle
'Ennery and his leetle old idea arrive all the same time, and on the
instant."

It WAS the old Enriquez! I perfectly understood his extravagant speech
and illustration, and yet for the first time I wondered if others did.

"Tak'-a-drink!" he said, all in one word. "You shall possess the old
Bourbon or the rhum from the Santa Cruz! Name your poison, gentlemen!"

He had already dragged me up the steps from the patio to the veranda,
and seated me before a small round table still covered with the
chocolate equipage of the morning. A little dried-up old Indian woman
took it away, and brought the spirits and glasses.

"Mirar the leetle old one!" said Enriquez, with unflinching gravity.
"Consider her, Pancho, to the bloosh! She is not truly an Aztec, but
she is of years one hundred and one, and LIFS! Possibly she haf not the
beauty which ravishes, which devastates. But she shall attent you to the
hot water, to the bath. Thus shall you be protect, my leetle brother,
from scandal."

"Enriquez," I burst out suddenly, "tell me about yourself. Why did you
leave the El Bolero board? What was the row about?"

Enriquez's eyes for a moment glittered; then they danced as before.

"Ah," he said, "you have heard?"

"Something; but I want to know the truth from you."

He lighted a cigarette, lifted himself backward into a grass hammock, on
which he sat, swinging his feet. Then, pointing to another hammock, he
said: "Tranquillize yourself there. I will relate; but, truly, it ees
nothing."

He took a long pull at his cigarette, and for a few moments
seemed quietly to exude smoke from his eyes, ears, nose, even his
finger-ends--everywhere, in fact, but his mouth. That and his mustache
remained fixed. Then he said slowly, flicking away the ashes with his
little finger:--

"First you understand, friend Pancho, that I make no row. The other
themself make the row, the shindig. They make the dance, the howl, the
snap of the finger, the oath, the 'Helen blazes,' the 'Wot the devil,'
the 'That be d--d,' the bad language; they themselves finger the
revolver, advance the bowie-knife, throw off the coat, square off, and
say 'Come on.' I remain as you see me now, little brother--tranquil."
He lighted another cigarette, made his position more comfortable in the
hammock, and resumed: "The Professor Dobbs, who is the geologian of the
company, made a report for which he got two thousand dollar. But thees
report--look you, friend Pancho--he is not good for the mine. For in the
hole in the ground the Professor Dobbs have found a 'hoss.'"

"A what?" I asked.

"A hoss," repeated Enriquez, with infinite gravity. "But not, leetle
Pancho, the hoss that run, the hoss that buck-jump, but what the miner
call a 'hoss,' a something that rear up in the vein and stop him. You
pick around the hoss; you pick under him; sometimes you find the vein,
sometimes you do not. The hoss rear up, and remain! Eet ees not good for
the mine. The board say, 'D--- the hoss!' 'Get rid of the hoss.' 'Chuck
out the hoss.' Then they talk together, and one say to the Professor
Dobbs: 'Eef you cannot thees hoss remove from the mine, you can take
him out of the report.' He look to me, thees professor. I see nothing; I
remain tranquil. Then the board say: 'Thees report with the hoss in
him is worth two thousand dollar, but WITHOUT the hoss he is worth five
thousand dollar. For the stockholder is frighted of the rearing hoss. It
is of a necessity that the stockholder should remain tranquil. Without
the hoss the report is good; the stock shall errise; the director
shall sell out, and leave the stockholder the hoss to play with.' The
professor he say, 'Al-right;' he scratch out the hoss, sign his name,
and get a check for three thousand dollar."

"Then I errise--so!" He got up from the hammock, suiting the action
to the word, and during the rest of his narrative, I honestly believe,
assumed the same attitude and deliberate intonation he had exhibited at
the board. I could even fancy I saw the reckless, cynical faces of
his brother directors turned upon his grim, impassive features. "I am
tranquil. I smoke my cigarette. I say that for three hundred year my
family have held the land of thees mine; that it pass from father to
son, and from son to son; it pass by gift, it pass by grant, but that
NEVARRE THERE PASS A LIE WITH IT! I say it was a gift by a Spanish
Christian king to a Christian hidalgo for the spread of the gospel, and
not for the cheat and the swindle! I say that this mine was worked
by the slave, and by the mule, by the ass, but never by the cheat and

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