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Era un barrio desapacible, sin cabida al menor pensamiento de soledad. Todo lo contrario. Era uno de esos distritos urbanos desesperados, un típico arrabal pobre asolado por cierto grado de infortunio. El panorama resultaba incómodo, casi repulsivo. Así, desde hacía tiempo, viviendo en medio de todos sus sonidos, ecos y griteríos, Meg no había conseguido, tras su huída del hogar paterno, una expectativa más amplia de vida. Recordaba muy a menudo la silueta tortuosa, oscura, y enfermiza de su madre: “¡Que Dios no nos castigue por dejarte marchar!... Escóndete bien... y no vuelvas nunca”... Sus palabras, persiguiéndola, no habían logrado hallar un hueco evanescente en su memoria. Y mientras trataba que su infancia y adolescencia, angustia tras angustia, se mantuvieran relegadas en el pasado, aquellas palabras, palpables, desgarradoras, creaban pesadillas del alma, heredadas tal vez como gemidos de una doctrina acusadora de la que no lograba desprenderse.
Esperanzas y sueños de libertad seguían sumidos en perspectivas desalentadoras. El pequeño apartamento donde se hallaba temporalmente instalada era una jaula de madera, sucia y sombría, donde se tiritaba entre la humedad y el frío, con lobreguez de prisión. En su recorrido hasta allí, perdida toda identidad entre extrañas rutas marcadas por el cansancio y el hambre, había logrado subsistir empleándose entre sucias cantinas agónicas, a pie de carreteras polvorientas, hasta que se abandonó a la sugerencia casual de que, en la última ciudad más próxima, podía enfrentar mejor cualquier nueva dificultad que se le presentase. A fin de cuentas, ¿había llevado jamás algo semejante a una vida normal y dichosa? Invariablemente, había estado perdida. Y aunque este sentimiento pertenecía al ayer más doloroso y restrictivo, parecía seguir junto a ella, allí, y ahora,... siempre.
El “American
Dinner Coffee" se remontaba a 1921. Recordaba a los viejos tostadores
de Baton Rouge en Louisiana. Y mantenía el jovial chirrido de un mundo agresor,
vociferante y tan desacreditado como su clientela pendenciera, embriagada y
soñolienta. El establecimiento, situado en un viejo edificio de dos plantas,
aliviaba, como una pequeña atracción luminosa, un par de calles que corrían
paralelas a ambos lados del mismo. Eran calles demasiado sucias y, salvo cuando
llovía, llenas de polvo, en cuyas aceras se elevaban altos postes
eléctricos y se desperdigaban algunas farolas. Las formas que lo rodeaban
se destacaban con perfiles informes. Eran edificios bajos de caras deterioradas
por cuyas ventanas se comunicaba un vocerío urbano de fútiles inquietudes
humanas. Frente a las aceras desarboladas, las trazas de automóviles eran
escasas. La chiquillería formaba la mayor resonancia que revoloteaba por encima
del rugido en sordina del café cercano. No muy lejos de allí aparecían algunos
campos atrapados por la incuria de agrestes vegetaciones olvidadas, algunos de
ellos cercados por tapias rudimentarias y desconchadas por el tiempo.
Aunque resultase poco "deportivo" apartarse de las tertulias escandalosas que en el "Dinner Coffee" formaba de continuo la riente soldadesca, la asiduidad de un silencioso oficial resultaba chocante, y podría decirse que su grosería individualista y distante, tras los saludos reglamentarios de sus subalternos, podría resultar ofensiva para los mismos. Pero lo cierto era que no inquietaba en absoluto a ninguno de ellos. Se trataba del capitán Thomas Huntington, cuya presencia en el "Coffee", lejos de parecer inoportuna, no alteraba en nada el desorden festivo de los soldados. El único que cumplía el obligado concepto de bienvenida con el silencioso oficial que solía alternar sus visitas domingueras al establecimiento era mister Watts, el propietario del bar. Aquella presencia resultaba una inexplicable deferencia para el anfitrión; un visitante que acaparaba la primera línea de su atención. Meg o su compañera Lily, groseramente amonestadas sin motivo alguno por mister Watts, acudían con la máxima rapidez a atender al oficial que carraspeaba significativamente su única e invariable petición:
-Una cerveza, por favor... y un sandwich...
Si la encargada de atenderle resultaba ser Lily, una rubita pizpireta, aguzada y viva, dotada de una impertinencia similar a la de su actriz cinematográfica preferida, Bette Davis, y a la que se complacía en imitar después de haber degustado su negrura interpretativa en "Cautivo del deseo", a medias desabrochada su blanca blusa, preguntaba sin esperar respuesta:
-¿Carne, queso y verdura o...?
A Huntington le podría parecer insoportable la descarada actitud de la joven, pero nunca la consideraba así más de los dos minutos escasos que duraba la pregunta, por ser casi siempre la misma. Mantenía los ojos bajos, y no solía contestar a la muchacha que ya se daba por enterada y volaba hacia el mostrador.
Y sin
pronunciar una palabra más, mirando de reojo a los grupos alborotadores de sus
subordinados, como espectador indiferente y desdeñoso de la vida insultante y
rutinaria de una tribu de patanes con la que resultara ignominioso compartir el
más ligero de los roces, Huntington aguardaba a ser servido resguardado en una
apartada mesa individual al final menos iluminado del establecimiento, lejos
del mostrador y del resto de acaparados asientos por la bullanguera soldadesca.
El capitán no acostumbraba a abandonar el "Dinner Coffee" hasta
que la que él consideraba una auténtica jauría militar levantaba el campo y
daba comienzo la rutina obligada de su marcha vociferante y renqueante por el
alcohol ingerido hacia el campamento. Pese a todo, nada de aquello excitaba en
lo más mínimo los nervios del capitán. Tras dos o tres cervezas, observaba la
salida en masa de los soldados como si sintiera un repulsivo horror hacia
aquella especie humana a la que etiquetaba con auténtico desprecio.La alocada Lily, de lengua insidiosa e infernal al igual que su comportamiento, detestaba aquella sobriedad gélida y absoluta del personaje solitario que era Thomas Huntington ante la algarabía reinante del bar de la que nunca había formado parte. El capitán no representaba más que una odiosa manifestación de inoportuna gravedad castrense etiquetada por la antipatía ranciosa que interpretaba a la perfección por medio de su aborrecible condición como oficial militar. Y, por lo general, dejaba en manos de Meg la obligatoriedad de servirle.
-Es tan tieso e insufrible que parece un fósforo que no encendería nadie ni para fumarse un maldito cigarrillo después de un año sin fumar.-opinaba Lily- Un auténtico espárrago necesitado de mayonesa, y ni aún así le hincaría el diente. Ése, en lugar de sangre, lo que tiene es estricnina.
-¿Y que es este cafetucho sino una ruina para pajarracos de todas las especies?- confirmó Meg- ¿Estricnina dices? Es lo que más abunda en cada botella que servimos... Y estricnina es lo único que corre por la sangre de ese negrero de mister Watts...
Pero Lily, jovial y despreocupada, ante las manifestaciones derrotistas de Meg, se limitaba a levantar los hombros.
-"Tengo que salir de aquí como sea"- Era aquella la expresión muda que, surgiendo desde lo más profundo de la mente de Meg, reclamaba constantemente toda su voluntad.
Meg, muy al contrario que su compañera Lily, mostraba siempre una inflexión relajada cuando servía al capitán. Y casi siempre una sonrisa comprensiva se agregaba a ella. Carecía por tanto del tono agresivo de Lily, y no se negaba a sí misma que le gustaría saber lo que se cocía en el fondo de aquel comportamiento tan férreo y distante con sus soldados, y qué clase de dificultades recorrían aquella región nefasta, estéril y hostil de su cerebro. Más que un capitán de mando castrense semejaba un débil discípulo aislado y escarmentado por una rivalidad inexplicable, casi rencorosamente infantil, en lo que al trato militar con la tropa se refería. Y Thomas Huntington, con aquella ordenada y consciente docilidad de lacónico subordinado al enigma de su comportamiento, manteniendo intacta aquella sequedad inexpresiva que parecía romper la piel y la carne de su rostro sin que en él asomara la menor sonrisa, pareció decidirse a afrontar directamente el camino más blando, nada quejumbroso, que le ofrendaba Meg. Huntington desconocía por completo cual podría ser la mejor manera de conocer a una mujer. Y a ello había que añadir que en el "Dinner Coffee", exceptuando en un principio al anfitrión mister Watts, la dignidad hospitalaria dejaba mucho que desear. Y es que también el mismísimo propietario había empezado a observar ya con aire de desaprobación la presencia anodina del capitán, que tampoco aportaba la menor ganancia al establecimiento con sus nimias consumiciones. Fue esta quizás una equivocada táctica, ya que Huntington últimamente parecía empezar a calcular por momentos la posibilidad de iniciar algún conato de confianza con la cada vez más participativa Meg:
¿Fue esta quizás una equivocada táctica? Y es que el capitán, tan excéntricamente como regulaba sus apariciones no volvió a reintegrarse a su rincón solitario del "Coffee", como el que se vale de una despedida sin explicación o con disgusto por haber faltado a una no deseada cotidianidad amistosa. Por supuesto, no se trataba de una desaparición que descorazonara a nadie. Tampoco para Meg y mucho menos para la monocorde y quisquillosa Lily. Para ésta la reputación del estirado capitán a fin de cuentas no arrastraba más que esa destructiva tendencia de los hombres mezquinos. Volviera o no volviera, nada iba a turbar el jolgorio clientelar de aquel tugurio. ¡Qué diferencia la de aquella soledad íntima del oficial a la del ambiente del "Dinner Coffee", abierto siempre al libre ajetreo de la ciudad, lejos de las duras manipulaciones castrenses del campamento, acogido a la rudimentaria autoridad militar en aquella especie de rincón perdido entre los bosques cercanos! ¡Pobre capitán Thomas Huntington, encadenado a una marcialidad que le obligaba a domeñar sus propios pesares, y quizás hasta sus deseos más secretos, con las virtudes de aquella naturaleza restrictiva con la que se veía obligado a comulgar hondamente!
Pero como suele suceder tanto con lo divino como con lo humano (y Meg se había convertido en una alumna aventajada en maldecir ambos tanteos) aquella verdad, que se mantenía con vehemencia entre la fanfarronería y entusiasmo que seguía reinando en el "Coffee", enfriaba triunfalmente el personalizado destierro del capitán Huntington, presencia nada placentera para la falsa patriotería de los soldados. Y mucho más después de una cruel guerra que, como todas las guerras, no había arreglado nada en el mundo. El buen humor trivial al que se entregaban valía mucho más que todo un cosmos de desagradables obligaciones coactivas. Y un oficial resultaba perverso y despectivo en su vida privada, y por tanto se convertía en un desagradable colega. Huntington no importaba a nadie. Su descripción en aquellas mentes juveniles no era más que la de un indeseable mercenario al que había que pedir permiso para hablar, pese a hallarse destruido por el militarismo.
-¿Quién es usted?... ¿Qué quiere?- exclamó Meg- ¡Le aseguró que no voy a dejar de gritar como se acerque a mí!
-Escuche, Meg...
-¿Cómo sabe mi nombre?...
Y tras un breve instante de reflexión, cuando la luz amarillenta de la farola clareó el rostro del hombre, y le observó enfundado en su trench militar, Meg se sintió más relajada, aunque todavía tuvo que hacer un esfuerzo por recobrar su sangre fría y el dominio de sí misma, como obedeciendo a un pensamiento surgido súbitamente en su memoria.
-¿Usted?... No le había reconocido... Hace ya mucho que dejó de visitar el café... Pero... no entiendo que quiere usted... aquí, en plena calle. Es muy tarde y yo tengo que volver a casa. Estoy rendida... Esta es una situación absurda... No entiendo que hace usted apareciendo así,... de repente. Le aseguro que me ha dado un susto de muerte , y...
-Escúcheme usted...- confesó Thomas Huntington- Esto no me divierte, créame...
-Ni a mí...
-Ha sido un error por mi parte... Es cierto. Pero quería hablar con usted... No en el café, naturalmente...
-Pues no ha escogido usted ni el buen momento y mucho menos el mejor lugar...
Oiga, de verdad, estoy agotada, muerta de frío y deseando coger la cama. Además,
me tengo que levantar muy temprano
¡Qué efecto más ridículo
ofrecía aquel encuentro en mitad de la noche!
-Vamos, capitán, déjelo ya- le interrumpió Meg- Y, bueno, vuelva usted por el café. Quizás podamos...
-Necesito una esposa... - la voz del capitán Thomas Huntington, al lanzar estas palabras, había sonado a tan incongruente rogativa, que Meg no pudo por menos que soltar una carcajada.
-¡No se ría usted de mí!- tembló ligeramente Huntington- ¡Por favor!...
-Oiga, ¿ha bebido usted más de la cuenta o se ha vuelto loco?- intentó
esquivarlo la muchacha en un impulso furioso- Le aseguro que es la burla más
grotesca que he oído en mi vida.
-No me burlo, créame...
-Mire, capitán...- zigzagueó Meg de una parte de la pared trasera a la otra
procurando sortear la presencia de su inesperado pretendiente nocturno,
tropezando un instante con él, y tratando de reanudar la marcha -Vuelva usted
al campamento y duerma la mona. Estoy segura de que es lo que en estos momentos
usted necesita de verdad. ¿Una esposa dice?- Meg, súbitamente, se sintió presa
de cólera contra el sombrío personaje que representaba Thomas Huntington- ¡Yo
no le quiero a usted! ¡Y por supuesto, no necesito ningún marido!...
La
primera semana de diciembre había avanzado con una cautela otoñal no demasiado
desapacible pisando de puntillas la proximidad del invierno. Y, de improviso,
se fortaleció en un estallido fulminante de lluvias. Todo, hasta la unanimidad
del rebullir escandaloso de los barrios se paró y calló, como si la tormenta
que aguijaba las calles absorbiera cada ansiedad de hombres, mujeres y niños.
Las aguas subieron por los filos de las casas sobrepasando bases e inundando
escaleras. Las nubes se moldearon en un encierro de sombras turbulentas. El río
Catawba, desbordándose, formó tajos caudalosos, grandes y rápidos, que se rompían
en ángulos estridentes, como meandros furiosos atracándose de caminos y calles
bajo sus riadas.
El "Rozzelle’s
Ferry Bridge" tembló como una gran osamenta vegetal frente a la
acometida torrencial del río. El vendaval, desde su horizonte invisible,
lanzaba un aullido infinito, colonizando el vacío lluvioso, sin descansar un
instante; como una prodigiosa sirena de barco que detenía los ecos de la tierra
y los atrapaba entre sus hondos alaridos. Fueron tres días descarnados, de una
respiración atmosférica mojada y fría. Y cuando ya se abría el día y las
apariciones de azul desnudo aparentaban haberse cristalizado con millones de
gotas de lluvia retenidas, el impetuoso estruendo del recio caudal del río Catawba se
detuvo, y la ciudad y sus campos se desgajaron encima de las aguas.
Tras la cuarta noche de lluvia incesante y riadas escampó. Meg había trazado con ánimo vigilante sus regresos al apartamento a través de aquella confusión acuosa. Había vuelto la calma, pero soplos de fríos vientos cruzaban las siguientes noches. La luz era escasa, el fango estaba todavía muy húmedo, y el suelo estaba hecho un verdadero deslizadero. Las aceras, así cubiertas por el légamo, formaban rampas cuyas líneas irregulares no podían adivinarse del todo. Y las calzadas, mostrando las huellas de la crecida que las habían cubierto de piedras y todo tipo de residuos vegetales dos días antes, bajaban por las calles, en las que se hallaban estacionados algún que otro coche, como una oscura maraña indescriptible. El "Coffee" había mantenido abiertas al público sus puertas. El garito, como un islote en calma frente a la tormenta, no se mantuvo siempre desierto, y había permanecido erguido como un roquedal abrupto pero ondulante frente a la pálida luz de las trepidantes lluvias. Luego, durante las primeras cuarenta y ocho horas, pareció flotar como un extraño navío sobre la grisácea laguna esparcida por las desmanteladas calles. La llama de sus lámparas seguían ya alineadas junto a las dos o tres cristaleras. Y fueron muchos clientes los que se arrastraron hasta allí entre exclamaciones, y frente al mostrador y las jarras de cerveza, explicaban y se reían de las cosas inesperadas que habían ocurrido.
Aquella cuarta noche, la escasa
luz de uno de los postes de alumbrado se derretía como un unto amarillento en
el entorno blando y resbaladizo de la acera mordida por el fango. La calle
parecía reducida a otro tiempo, libre de gente en el último rescoldo de la
noche, al igual que si el mundo hubiera envejecido y el cielo se hubiera
quedado ciego; como una órbita devorada también. Y de improviso, ¡un gemido! Y
Meg se detuvo, como si hubiera sorprendido un oculto secreto de
fragilidad. Y el lamento pasó de lo sutil a lo concreto. Un ladrido... Un
perrito, casi ajado y flaco. Y a Meg el pulso íntimo de su conciencia se le
aceleró, compadeciéndose sin remedio. El animal soltaba su solitaria agonía en
la calma de la fría noche sin que, hasta el momento, nadie se hubiera inclinado
para recogerlo.
-Eh, perrito, ¿qué haces ahí?...
¿Te han cerrado todas las puertas, eh?... De quién serás... Ah, pero si eres
una perrita. ¿Te has quedado sola?...Ven, cariño..., vamos... no tengas miedo.
Meg no pudo apartarse sin dulzura de aquel sentimiento compasivo, porque cuando el animal se acercó a ella, se le deparó otro.
-No temas. Yo no voy a abandonarte, pequeñina,... aunque tendré que
esconderte... Pero, por favor, tienes que procurar no ladrar... ¡Venga!... ¡Vamos!...
Y la tomó entre sus brazos.
Meg sintió que le daba un vuelco el corazón. Había llegado a toda prisa hasta el destartalado apartamento en que vivía, y una rendija de luz bajo la puerta de la propietaria del edificio, frente a la escalera, amenazó con delatar su presencia. Era una sucia edificación, más relacionada con la oscuridad que con la certidumbre de que allí hubiera algún tipo de vida. Era preciso subir con urgencia, y apretó contra su pecho a la pobre perrita que no emitió el más leve rumor. Una única bombilla clareaba levemente los escalones.
-¡Shisst! Tranquila, pero no vayas a ladrar...
Las palabras salieron de su boca tan a tientas como sus pasos escalera arriba. Le había sido difícil hasta emitir su propia voz, y el asustado animal pareció comprenderla como si le hubiera infundido sus inquietudes. Introdujo la llave de la puerta, impaciente y angustiada. Y una vez en el interior del departamento, el vuelco de su corazón, acelerado por la prisa y el miedo, se atenuó por fin en un leve alivio. Soltó al animal...
-Recuerda... No tienes que ladrar- repitió de nuevo-... ¿Tendrás hambre? Espera, algo tengo por ahí... Yo, cariño, ... necesito una copa... - Meg rebuscó en una pequeña alacena y tomó un trago en la misma botella de un licor que allí guardaba- ¡Uff, esto me reconforta! Y tú, por lo menos, no me lo vas a reprochar...
Tomó otro sorbo y volvió a
dejar la botella en la alacena.
El pobre mobiliario que les
rodeaba se destacó con mayor claridad con la luz que partió del rincón que servía
de cocina, con una alacena repleta de tarros y un viejo almanaque de ese año
1946. Había una raquítica mesa de madera pintada de negro, un par de sillas
desiguales, una cortinilla que cubría la ventana y otra la parte honda del
tabuco de la que no podía tenerse la certeza de que fuese privada del todo. Allí
se hallaba la cama, una pequeña mesita de noche con una lamparilla y un
menguado ropero con espejo de cuerpo entero.
-También tendrás sed... - le puso un recipiente con agua- Yo también..., pero es mejor no abusar... de mi sed... aunque sé que tú - rió - no me lo reprocharías.
Ingresaba contenta en el reino animal, aquel pueblo sin ideas propias. Luego le tendió una manta junto a su cama, y el animal se acurrucó en ella aceptando aquel calor.
-¿Hace frío, eh? Ahí estarás
calentita... ¿Te gustaría quedarte conmigo? Yo estaría encantada... ¿Sabes,
cariño?, creo que vamos a ser buenas amigas. Y como me imagino que no tienes
nombre... ¿A ver? ¡Sí! ¿Qué te parece el de... Lissy? ¿Te gusta?... Lissy... Lissy... ¿Sí?... Sí,
Lissy está bien.. -repitió Meg- Es bonito... Tengo que averiguar de qué raza eres,
aunque, bueno, ahora no importa. Pero recuerda, nada de ladridos, si no nos
vamos a quedar las dos en la calle.
Meg siguió hablando al animal empleando su tono esperanzado como si la recién bautizada Lissy pudiera entenderla:
-Te voy a adoptar, ¿sabes Lissy? Aunque es poco probable que esa vieja bruja que me alquila esta asquerosa habitación no acabe enterándose de tu presencia aquí. Pero ¿quién sabe? Probemos...
Meg se agachó acariciándola.
-Eres muy bonita, Lissy, pero necesitas un baño. Y como puedes comprobar, aquí no hay servicio. Sí, cariño, está fuera, en el piso de abajo... Y para utilizarlo tengo que hacer malabarismos. ¡Tendremos que hacer malabarismos las dos!... ¿Ves esto? - Meg extrajo de debajo de la cama un bacín- Este es mi cuarto de baño... Esa bruja me cierra el retrete durante la noche, y me escatima hasta el agua para ducharme. Así que, por las mañanas, tengo que correr... Lo que hay que hacer, Lissy - prosiguió Meg- Ya te lo he dicho. Guardar silencio, y ni el menor ladrido, oigas lo que oigas.
Empezó a desnudarse, y una vez más, antes de meterse en la cama, mientras Lissy la observaba, juzgó como algo incomparable aquella tertulia que, individualmente, mantenía con el animal.
-¡Uff, yo también tengo frío!- se dirigió con rapidez hasta el apartado que
servía de cocina y tomó de nuevo la botella de la alacena llevándosela hasta la
cama.
-Otro traguito me reconfortará y me hará entrar en calor. No te importa, ¿verdad Lissy? Este cuartucho es una nevera. - dejó la botella sobre la mesita de noche- Para mañana cuando me despierte...
Observó contenta a la perrita que seguía acurrucada sobre la manta mirándola, aunque medio adormecida.
-¿Sabes Lissy que no me explico como no te has ahogado? Aquí hemos estado a punto de necesitar el arca de Noé. Mi padre - se rió-... mi padre habría invocado a su Dios para que se la alquilase durante estos días pasados... Bueno, el caso es que, como tú, nos hemos salvado también del diluvio..., aunque esta cochambrosa ciudad esté llena de ateos. ¡Yo la primera!- aseguró Meg sonriente, mientras se acomodaba entre las mantas de la cama.
-Y ahora, ¡buenas noches, Lissy!- exclamó.
El nombre la embriagaba, y Lissy sacudió su cabeza, la miró obediente y se durmió.
Al amanecer del día siguiente, Meg se apresuró a ponerse a cubierto de las sospechas que la presencia de Lissy en el departamento pudieran desencadenar. El pobre animal seguía todos sus pasos en silencio, pero dando curso a un torrente de palabras por parte de la muchacha:
-Mira Lissy, pequeñina... tendrás que tranquilizarte..., bueno, ¡qué tontería!,... soy yo la que me tengo que tranquilizar... Te estás portando muy bien, ¿sabes?... Pero no tengo más remedio que dejarte sola...– Lissy la observaba ahora atentamente mientras se recogía el pelo y se arreglaba para salir- ¿Me entiendes, verdad?... No he podido bajar a ducharme, pero no importa... En realidad la que huele fatal eres tú – rió Meg- Tendremos que buscar una solución al problema de tu baño... Y la verdad es que ahora no se me ocurre ninguna... Si esa bruja no me escatimara el agua. Mira, cariño, tendremos que esperar... Pero, ¡qué demonios!... ¿Y cómo lo haremos?-
Acarició ahora al animal.
-No vas a ladrar, ¿verdad, preciosa?... Yo tengo que volver a ese maldito tugurio... Te voy a dejar comida y... ¿a ver? Sí, en alguna botella tengo agua... – se dirigió al rincón que servía de cocina- Te voy a dejar agua, aquí – tomó un plato hondo- por si tienes sed. No te importará quedarte sola, ¿verdad? Pero recuerda, cariño, ¡ni un solo gemido y ni un ladrido!... Vuelve a la manta, allí estarás calentita, y sobre todo procura dormir... Tienes que comprender lo que te estoy diciendo, ¿eh pequeñina?...
La ansiedad de Meg unida al constante movimiento por el departamento hacían más insoportable el hecho de tener que dejar sola al animal. Y cuando se halló en el descansillo de la escalera, aguardó unos instantes. Pero ni un murmullo partió del interior de la habitación. Si el éxito del silencio de Lissy se imponía, Meg consideró las probabilidades de diferentes soluciones para su cuidado. Y lo cierto fue que el comportamiento de Lissy correspondió con absoluta fidelidad al desasosiego de su nueva dueña. El animal emitía únicamente leves exhalaciones de contento cuando Meg, llevando consigo, a escondidas, algunas sobras alimenticias de la cocina del “Coffee”, regresaba sigilosamente al apartamento, ya avanzada la noche.
-Eres un cariño, Lissy. Y la verdad es que te estás portando estupendamente. Aunque no sé hasta cuando podremos... Es igual, pequeñina- Y con cierto regocijo, su mente volaba hacia la heroína de “Lo que el viento se llevó”- Como decía Scarlett: “Ya lo pensaré mañana”... Mira, he conseguido un buen jabón, muy perfumado. Y en este barreño me traje agua de la ducha. Te voy a dar un buen baño, preciosa.
Tras la primera semana, Meg acariciaba ya la idea de que nada marchase mal. Recogía y limpiaba con toda presteza las deposiciones de Lissy, que se había aclimatado a la inacción que ofrendaba el departamento, sujeta con despierta inteligencia a la suerte que le deparaba todo lo humano.
De forma inesperada, cuando Meg ya había olvidado el incidente nocturno con el capitán Huntington, éste volvió a aparecer en el “Dinner Coffee”. Y naturalmente su presencia no halló la menor muestra de satisfacción ni por parte de Meg ni de la insolente Lily, con la que por supuesto no había compartido el grotesco episodio que tuvo con el capitán. Y cuando Meg cumplía de nuevo con la tarea de servirle, en el contraluz, lejos del juego de sombras clientelar, el rostro de Huntington, quizás avergonzado, cobraba un leve matiz purpúreo.
-Oiga, Meg... – la requirió el capitán.
-No..., oiga usted- dijo Meg meneando la cabeza incesantemente, preocupada, como tratando de encubrir un peligro inconfesable- Tengo que trabajar... Vamos, no sea absurdo... Ya le dije que no entiendo nada, absolutamente nada... Cualquiera diría que le estoy atormentando- ironizó- ¿Qué tipo de sándwich prefiere?
-Le aseguro que mi intención es honrada... – Insistió susurrante el capitán - Soy un oficial soltero... en un campamento militar... Odio las habladurías... – Huntington parecía hallarse sumido en un vértigo del cual no podía defenderse sino tratando de que la ignorancia de la muchacha pudiera penetrar el significado de aquellas palabras.
Esa confesión turbó momentáneamente a la joven, intranquila además porque mister Watts no le quitaba ojo de encima.
-Oiga...- Meg le dirigió una mirada penetrante- Sólo tengo veinticinco años... – bajó la voz- Y soy incapaz de..., bueno, de ponerme a mentir aceptando semejante disparate como el que usted me propone con el pretexto de que alguien, bueno sus compañeros militares, le hagan objeto de... chismes malintencionados por su soltería... ¿Es que no lo comprende usted? Lo que me propone acabaría convirtiéndose en un completo desastre...
-Comprendo, comprendo... ¿Pero no podría usted pensarlo mejor? No le exigiré nada... como marido... quiero decir...
-Mire usted, en lo único que ahora puedo pensar es en que estoy a punto de perder mi trabajo... ¿Cerveza y sandwich de pollo y verdura?...
Esta vez fue la voz chillona de Lily la que llamó a Meg.
-La cocina está que arde, so estúpida, y tú de palique con ese utensilio en forma de hombre. ¿Has visto la cara de mister Watts? ¡Te va a poner de patitas en la calle! Y tal como está la vida... – insinuó Lily regodeándose en la intuitiva negatividad de sus propias palabras.
-¡Eh, señorita! ¡Oiga!- avanzó el forastero hacia el mostrador, frente al hueco tras el cual las dos empleadas trajinaban en los fogoncillos y tostadoras de sándwiches.
Meg había levantado levemente la mirada tras la abertura, aunque sin dejar de moverse entre los hornillos.
-¡Usted, señorita Conway!
Al oír su apellido en boca del desconocido, sacudió violentamente la cabeza, y exclamó:
-¿Qué quiere usted?... No me llamo Conway –mintió- ¡Así que déjeme en paz!
-Usted se llama Margaret Conway... – insistió el recién llegado- ¿No ha nacido por casualidad en Rockers, Tennessee, y su padre es el pastor evangelista Aengus Conway?...
-No sé de qué me está usted hablando... – replicó Meg indignada- Mis padres murieron...
Intervino entonces mister Watts:
-Meg, hay tres clientes esperando... Y usted – al desconocido- haría bien en largarse de aquí y dejar en paz a mi empleada. Ya le he dicho antes que su apellido no es Conway...
-Es posible, pero una tal Margaret Conway está reclamada en Rockers, de Tennessee, por su familia. Va para cinco años que desapareció de allí...
-La gente desaparece cada día, en especial los jóvenes. Es un hecho que nada tiene de excepcional- dijo mister Watts.
Meg salió con toda rapidez de la cocina con la bandeja del servicio solicitado.
-¿Algo va mal, Meg? –inquirió Lily que había estado aguzando el oído- ¡No me digas que te persigue la policía o algún gángster!
-¿Dejarás alguna vez en tu vida de soltar idioteces? – desató Meg su indignación- ¡Eres un bicho insoportable, por si no lo sabías!
-Sabes, nena, no pienso preocuparme por ti- arguyó Lily, y lo hizo con un tono anodino, alzando los hombros- No eres Gene Tierney.
-¡Ni tú Bette Davis, estúpida!
-Oiga usted, señorita Conway, no quisiera tener que recurrir a la policía. Lo mejor que podría hacer es colaborar... Piense en sus padres...
La reacción de Meg fue tan segura como impresionante. Debía contrarrestar con una inusitada ofensiva el acto de hostigamiento a que la sometía el desconocido. Había palidecido intensamente. La bandeja rodó por tierra, se deshizo del delantal y la cofia de camarera, y corrió hacia el vestuario trasero situado detrás de la cocina en busca de su abrigo. Y cuando volvió a reaparecer con sorprendente firmeza, sin el menor cambio de expresión, aunque las mejillas le temblaban, exclamó:
-Déjeme usted en paz de una vez! – Y abandonó a toda prisa el “Dinner Coffee”
-¡Oiga, señorita! ¡Lo que está haciendo es una tontería! – le gritó el forastero.
La expresión de Mister Watts, en aquel momento, era tan solemne que resultaba imposible decir si experimentaba estupefacción, angustia o cólera.
La tarde acabó convirtiéndose en una pesadilla atroz que volvió a amenazarla con una nueva e inesperada pesadumbre. Su casera la esperaba entre un irritable remolino de reproches y amenazas.
-¡Ya le advertí cuando le alquilé mi habitación...!
-¿Habitación- repuso con ironía Meg- ¿A eso le llama usted habitación, cuando no es más que un cuchitril?... -¿Qué demonios quiere usted?...
-¡No es usted más que una vieja bruja!- la escarneció Meg.
-¡Fuera!, ¿me oye? ¡Fuera de mi casa!
Por un momento Meg pensó que se hallaba irremediablemente perdida.
-Antes tendrá que devolverme la cantidad que le pagué esta semana por adelantado. Luego me alegraré de perderla de vista.
-Está bien...- Se congració por un instante la casera con Meg. La posibilidad de verse obligada a devolver la renta se torció en su rostro con un gesto a la vez que falso muy poco sugestivo. Titubeó y ofreció- Puede ocupar la habitación hasta pasado mañana... pero ni un día más...
-¡No me iré de aquí hasta que me devuelva mi dinero! – insistió Meg, dirigiéndole una mirada penetrante y amenazadora- Si no recurriré...
La idea de apelar a la policía no acabó de brotar de los labios de la muchacha. Recordó al desconocido que andaba tras sus pasos. Y la policía representaba un nuevo peligro que añadir a la penosa situación por la que estaba pasando.
-¡Cállese de una vez, bruja asquerosa!...
Lissy había ladrado por primera vez, probablemente alterada al oír los gritos de su dueña y de la enfurecida arrendataria del edificio. Y cuando Meg penetró en la habitación aceptó complacida las caricias que ésta le prodigó.
-¡Tranquila, Lissy! No hay que alterarse, sabes cariño. Vamos a salir de aquí... Ya tengo pensada la solución. Mañana..., sí, mañana habrá que madrugar más de la cuenta.
-Meg no creo muy acertada su presencia aquí – dijo asombrado el capitán- Preferiría...
-Oiga... – interrumpió la muchacha con un leve susurro- Bueno, el caso es que todavía no sé ni su nombre... Estoy metida... no, no, perdone,...
-¿Algo grave?- aventuró Huntington.
-No, grave no,... – siguió con voz apagada Meg- pero tendría que hacer un esfuerzo demasiado largo para que usted pudiera entender,... y no quiero... El caso es que yo, bueno, lo he estado pensando... y si usted...
-Sí... pero este no es el lugar más idóneo... – se mostró poco animado Huntington.
-Bueno, tampoco usted es un maestro en buscar lugares idóneos... –ironizó Meg- Oiga, capitán como se llame.
-Thomas... Thomas Huntington...
-Oiga Thomas,... hace frío, y reconozco que la situación resulta tan grotesca como la primera vez.
-Podemos hablarlo en el café...
-No, no voy a volver por allí... Me he despedido...- Meg le entregó una nota- Esta es mi dirección... momentáneamente. No es un lugar muy apetecible para una cita. Pero no tengo otra opción. Y tan sólo quiero añadir que si he venido hasta aquí es porque estoy dispuesta a aceptar su proposición.
[It was an unpleasant neighborhood, with no room for the slightest thought of loneliness. Quite the opposite. It was one of those desperate urban districts, a typical poor suburb ravaged by some degree of misfortune. The scene was uncomfortable, almost repulsive. Thus, for a long time, living in the midst of all its sounds, echoes and screams, Meg had not achieved, after her escape from her parental home, a longer life expectancy. She remembered very often the devious, dark, and sickly silhouette of her mother: "May God not punish us for letting you go! ... Hide well ... and never come back" ... Her words, chasing her, had not managed to find an evanescent hole in his memory. And while she tried to keep his childhood and adolescence, anguish after anguish, relegated to the past, those words, palpable, heartbreaking, created nightmares of the soul, inherited perhaps as moans of an accusing doctrine that she could not get rid of.
Hopes and dreams of freedom remained mired in grim prospects. The small
apartment where she was temporarily installed was a wooden cage, dirty and
gloomy, where she shivered between the damp and the cold, with the gloom of a
prison. On her way there, lost all identity among strange routes marked by
fatigue and hunger, she had managed to subsist working among dirty agonizing
canteens, at the foot of dusty roads, until she abandoned himself to the casual
suggestion that, in the last city closer, she was better able to cope with any
new difficulty that presented itself. After all, had she ever led anything like
a normal, blissful life? Invariably, she had been lost. And although this
feeling belonged to the most painful and restrictive yesterday, it seemed to
continue with her, there, and now, ... always.
The "American Dinner Coffee" dated back to 1921. It was reminiscent of the old roasters of Baton Rouge in Louisiana. And it had the jovial screech of an aggressive world, vociferous and as discredited as its rowdy, drunken and sleepy clientele. The establishment, located in An old two-story building, it relieved, like a small luminous attraction, a couple of streets that ran parallel to both sides of it. They were streets that were too dirty and, except when it rained, full of dust, on whose sidewalks tall electric poles rose and some street lamps were scattered. The shapes that surrounded it stood out with shapeless outlines. They were low buildings with dilapidated faces through whose windows an urban voices of futile human concerns communicated. In front of the treeless sidewalks, the tracks of automobiles were scarce. chiquillería formed the biggest resonance that hovered above the muted roar of the nearby cafe. fields trapped by the neglect of wild forgotten vegetation, some of them surrounded by rudimentary walls and chipped by time.
From time to time, and especially on weekends, jovial-looking, scandalous, and devoid of military character would drop into the area. They were divided between a nearby bowling alley and the cafe. They drank liters of beer, made advances to the two waitresses of the establishment, and on their return to the camp, located about two miles from the city, they stumbled in groups after having a lot of fun at that slight relief that allowed them to be absent during a few hours of the restrictive military environment. On many occasions, the Military Police made their appearance, attacking the most aggressive groups and given the brawl the coercive blow of their attenuated but precise arrests, and with which to avoid confrontations and discussions conducive to certain degrees of violence. They thus passed from the sober state upon arrival, to wavering shadows that, before nightfall, and in both directions of the adjacent streets, seemed to drift away, leaving behind distant human profiles of an impatient and rootless immaturity.
Although it was not very "sporty" to depart from the scandalous gatherings that the laughing soldiery continually formed at the "Dinner Coffee", the assiduity of a silent officer was shocking, and it could be said that his individualistic and distant rudeness, after the regulatory greetings of his subordinates, it could be offensive to them. But the truth was, it didn't bother any of them at all. It was Captain Thomas Huntington, whose presence at the "Coffee", far from seeming inopportune, did not alter in any way the festive disorder of the soldiers. The only one who fulfilled the obligatory concept of welcome with the silent officer who used to alternate his Sunday visits to the establishment was Mr. Watts, the owner of the bar. This presence was an inexplicable deference to the host; a visitor who was the front line of his attention. Meg or her companion Lily, rudely admonished for no reason by Mr. Watts, came with the utmost haste to attend to the officer who was clearly clearing his unique and invariable request:
-A beer, please ... and a sandwich ...
If the person in charge of taking care of him turned out to be Lily, a wily blonde, sharp and alive, endowed with an impertinence similar to that of her favorite film actress, Bette Davis, and whom she was pleased to imitate after having tasted her interpretive blackness in "Of Human Bondage", half unbuttoned her white blouse, asked without waiting for an answer:
-Meat, cheese and vegetables or ...?
Huntington's blatant attitude might seem unbearable to Huntington, but he never considered it that way for more than the scarce two minutes that the question lasted, since it was almost always the same. He kept his eyes downcast, and did not usually answer the girl who already took notice and flew to the counter.
And without saying another word, glancing at the rowdy groups of his subordinates, like an indifferent and disdainful spectator of the insulting and routine life of a tribe of louts with whom it would be ignominious to share the slightest of friction, Huntington waited for be served sheltered at a secluded individual table at the dimly lit end of the establishment, away from the counter and the rest of the seats crowded by the rowdy soldiery. The captain did not usually leave the "Dinner Coffee" until what he considered a true military pack raised the field and began the obligatory routine of his vociferous and limping march by the alcohol ingested towards the camp. Still, none of this excited the captain's nerves in the least. After two or three beers, he watched the soldiers come out en masse as if he felt a repulsive horror towards this human species whom he labeled with genuine contempt.
The maddened Lily, with an insidious and infernal tongue as well as her demeanor, detested that icy and utter sobriety of the lonely character that was Thomas Huntington in the face of the reigning hubbub of the bar of which he had never been a part. The captain represented nothing more than a hideous manifestation of inopportune military gravity labeled by rancid antipathy that he perfectly interpreted through his abhorrent status as a military officer. And, usually, she left it up to Meg to serve him.
-It's so stiff and insufferable that it looks like a match that no one would light even to smoke a damn cigarette after a year without smoking.-thought Lily- A real asparagus in need of mayonnaise, and even then it would not sink its teeth into it. That, instead of blood, what he has is strychnine.
-And what is this coffee cup but a ruin for birds of all species?- Meg confirmed. -Strychnina, you say?- It is what is most abundant in every bottle we serve ... And strychnine is the only thing that runs through the blood of that slave driver, Mr. Watts ...
But Lily, jovial and carefree, faced with Meg's defeatist manifestations, just shrugged her shoulders.
- "I have to get out of here as it is" - It was that mute expression that, arising from the depths of Meg's mind, constantly demanded all her will.
Meg, quite unlike her partner Lily, always displayed a relaxed inflection when serving the captain. And almost always an understanding smile was added to it. She therefore lacked Lily's aggressive tone, and she did not deny to herself that she would like to know what was going on in the background of such iron and distant behavior with her soldiers, and what kind of difficulties faced that dire, sterile and barren region. hostile from your brain. More than a military command captain, he seemed like a weak disciple isolated and chastened by an inexplicable rivalry, almost spitefully childish, as far as military treatment with the troops was concerned. And Thomas Huntington, with that orderly and conscientious docility of a laconic subservient to the enigma of his behavior, keeping intact that expressionless dryness that seemed to break the skin and flesh of his face without the slightest smile on it, seemed to make up his mind to face the question directly. softer path, nothing complaining, that Meg offered him. Huntington was completely unaware of the best way to meet a woman. And to this it was necessary to add that in the "Dinner Coffee", with the exception of the host Mr. Watts at first, the dignity of hospitality left much to be desired. And the fact is that the owner himself had already begun to observe with an air of disapproval the anodyne presence of the captain, who also did not bring the least profit to the establishment with his insignificant drinks. This was perhaps a wrong tactic, since lately Huntington seemed to begin to calculate at times the possibility of initiating some attempt of confidence with the increasingly participative Meg:
-I can prepare another type of sandwich ... I imagine you must be a little fed up with meat, or cheese ... one Sunday and another too. It must be as boring as the ranch at camp. You could combine the vegetables with bacon, and a fried egg ... Would you like it? And add a little hint of mustard ... A new sandwich ... new additives ...
Was this perhaps a wrong tactic? And it is that the captain, as eccentrically as he regulated his appearances, did not return to return to his lonely corner of "Coffee", like the one who uses a farewell without explanation or with disgust for having missed an unwanted friendly daily life. Of course, it was not a disappearance that would discourage anyone. Not for Meg, much less for the monotonous and fussy Lily. For this the reputation of the uptight captain after all carried only that destructive tendency of mean men. Whether he came back or not, nothing was going to disturb the patronage revelry of that slum. What a difference from that intimate solitude of the officer to that of the "Dinner Coffee" environment, always open to the free hustle and bustle of the city, far from the harsh military manipulations of the camp, sheltered by the rudimentary military authority in that kind of lost corner! among the nearby forests! Poor Captain Thomas Huntington, chained to a martiality that forced him to tame his own sorrows, and perhaps even his most secret desires, with the virtues of that restrictive nature with which he was forced to commune deeply!
But as is often the case with both the divine and the human (and Meg had become a gifted student in cursing both scores) that truth, which was vehemently maintained amid the swagger and enthusiasm that continued to reign in the "Coffee", cooled triumphantly the personalized exile of Captain Huntington, an unpleasant presence for the false jingoism of the soldiers. And much more after a cruel war that, like all wars, had not fixed anything in the world. The trivial good humor they indulged in was worth far more than a whole cosmos of unpleasant coercive obligations. And an officer was mean and contemptuous in his private life, and thus made an unpleasant colleague. Huntington didn't matter to anyone. His description in those youthful minds was nothing more than that of an undesirable mercenary who had to be asked permission to speak, despite being destroyed by militarism.
When Meg left the "Coffee", with great effort she negotiated the sidewalk with uneven cobblestones and at times somewhat loose. The lighting was poor. The night was late, the street, endless, resembling an immense ice bar of the kind used in refrigerators, and it trembled profusely before reaching the dusty corner where the building in which she lived momentarily stood. One of the streetlights brought out the profile of her muted presence when suddenly her heart almost stopped. Under the electric clarity a man deliberately interrupted the effort that the young woman printed in his footsteps. Meg stepped back and with an energetic movement of her arms tried to block the advance of the stranger who, in fact, remained motionless.
"Who are you? ... What do you want?" Meg exclaimed.
-Listen, Meg ...
-How do you know my name? ...
And after a brief moment of reflection, when the yellowish light from the streetlight lightened the man's face, and she saw him in his military trench coat, Meg felt more relaxed, although she still had to make an effort to regain her coolness and spirit. self-control, as if obeying a thought that suddenly arose in her memory.
-You? ... I hadn't recognized you ... It's been a long time since you stopped visiting the cafe ... But ... I don't understand what you want ... here, in the middle of the street. It is very late and I have to go home. I'm exhausted ... This is an absurd situation ... I don't understand what you're doing by appearing like this ... suddenly. I assure you, it scared me to death, and ...
-Listen to me ...- confessed Thomas Huntington- This does not amuse me, believe me ...
-Me neither...
-It was a mistake on my part ... It's true. But I wanted to talk to you ... Not in the cafe, of course ...
-Well, you haven't chosen the right time, much less the best place ... Hey, really, I'm exhausted, freezing to death and wanting to get to bed. Also, I have to get up very early
What a ridiculous effect that meeting in the middle of the night had to offer!
-Come on, Captain, stop it now- Meg interrupted- And, well, you come back for the coffee. Maybe we can ...
"I need a wife ..." Captain Thomas Huntington's voice, when launching these words, had sounded so incongruously pleading that Meg could not help but laugh.
"Don't laugh at me!" Huntington trembled slightly. "Please! ...
-Hey, have you drunk more than necessary or have you gone crazy? - the girl tried to avoid him in a furious impulse- I assure you it is the most grotesque joke I have heard in my life.
-I am not making fun of it, believe me ...
-Look, Captain ...- Meg zigzagged from one part of the back wall to the other, trying to avoid the presence of her unexpected nocturnal suitor, bumping into him for a moment, and trying to resume the march. monkey. I'm sure that's what you really need right now. Does a wife say? - Meg, suddenly, felt in a rage against the dark character that Thomas Huntington represented- I don't want you! And of course, I don't need a husband! ...
Meg now descended the sidewalk on which the unpleasant encounter with Huntington had taken place with the urgent need to get out of there in a hurry. Fortunately, the next line of the street was softened with a higher quality of light. She came across a very embracing and terrified couple. Not a single car traveled the road. Several street lamps spread an almost movable, almost warm luminosity ...
The first week of December had progressed with a not too unpleasant
autumnal caution, treading on tiptoe the approach of winter. And suddenly it
strengthened in a sudden burst of rain. Everything, even the unanimity of the
scandalous uproar of the neighborhoods, stopped and fell silent, as if the
storm that stung the streets absorbed every anxiety of men, women and children.
The waters rose by the edges of the houses, surpassing bases and flooding
stairs. The clouds formed into a confinement of turbulent shadows. The Catawba
River, overflowing its banks, formed great, fast, mighty gullies, which broke
at strident angles, like furious meanders blocking roads and streets under its
floods.
After the fourth night of incessant rain and floods it cleared. Meg had vigilantly traced her returns to the apartment through the watery confusion. Calm had returned, but cold winds blew through the following nights. The light was poor, the mud was still very wet, and the ground was a real slide. The sidewalks, thus covered by silt, formed ramps whose irregular lines could not be fully guessed. And the roads, showing the traces of the flood that had covered them with stones and all kinds of vegetal residues two days before, descended through the streets, where the odd cars were parked, like an indescribable dark tangle. The "Coffee" had kept its doors open to the public. The gambling den, like a calm island in the face of the storm, did not always remain deserted, and had stood like a steep but undulating rocky area in the pale light of the frenetic rains. Then, for the first forty-eight hours, it seemed to float like a strange ship over the gray lagoon scattered through the dismantled streets. The flame of their lamps were already lined up next to the two or three windows. And it was many customers who crawled there between exclamations, and in front of the counter and the beer mugs, they explained and laughed at the unexpected things that had happened.
Meg and Lily, trapped from the first morning when the storms began, reluctantly by the owner of the "Dinner Coffee", who had to accept that initial inactivity imposed by the rains, organized a small shelter in the basement of the establishment where they could pass, by at least the two nights with the worst downpour. The nearby houses and streets were so sunk in the flood that there was hardly any possible way back. Filled with the worst humor, Mr. Watts's voice was harsh and powerful. And his mistrust returned to him with more intense resonance in the silence of the almost solitary establishment as it rained down. He was cursing from inside the bar as if he were throwing the echoes of his curses over the incessant squall; and as if his life as a "boss" did not stop being lavished in the fury of the atmospheric elements. And, what was worse, encouraged by his authoritarian cautions, his complaints and his rich, insulting and provocative overtones, he did not sleep and kept an effective watch the two nights that Meg and Lily stayed in the basement, interrupting the sleep of the girls. at the cold hour of dawn.
That fourth night, the dim light from one of the lampposts melted like a yellowish oil onto the soft, slippery surroundings of the mud-bitten sidewalk. The street seemed reduced to another time, free of people in the last embers of the night, as if the world had aged and the sky had gone blind; like a devoured orbit too. And suddenly, a groan! And Meg stopped, as if she had caught a hidden secret of fragility. And the lament went from the subtle to the concrete. A bark ... A little dog, almost worn out and skinny. And Meg's inner pulse of her conscience quickened, pitying her without remedy. The animal released its lonely agony in the calm of the cold night without, so far, no one had bent to pick it up.
-Hey, puppy, what are you doing there? ... Have they closed all the doors, huh? ... Who will you be ... Ah, but if you are a dog. Are you left alone? ... Come on, darling ... come on ... don't be afraid.
Meg could not gently withdraw from that compassionate feeling, because when the animal approached her, another one was thrown at her.
-Do not worry. I'm not going to abandon you, little one, ... although I will have to hide you ... But, please, you have to try not to bark ... Come on! ... Come on! ...
And she took her in his arms.
Meg felt her heart skip a beat. She had rushed to the ramshackle apartment in which she lived, and a slit of light under the building's owner's door, in front of the staircase, threatened to betray her presence. It was a dirty building, more related to the darkness than to the certainty that there was some kind of life there. It was necessary to go up urgently, and she pressed the poor dog to her chest, who did not emit the slightest sound. A single bulb brightened the steps slightly.
-Shisst! Quiet, but don't go barking ...
The words came out of her mouth as gropingly as her footsteps up the stairs. It had been difficult for her to even utter her own voice, and the frightened animal seemed to understand her as if she had instilled her concerns. She inserted the key to the door, impatient and anguished. And once inside the apartment, the pounding of her heart, accelerated by haste and fear, finally faded into mild relief. She released the animal ...
-Remember ... you don't have to bark- she repeated again -... will you be hungry? Wait, I have something there ... I, darling, ... I need a drink ... - Meg rummaged in a small cupboard and took a drink in the same bottle of liquor that she kept there- Uff, this comforts me ! And you, at least, are not going to blame me ...
She took another sip and put the bottle back in the cupboard.
The poor furniture that surrounded them stood out more clearly in the light that came from the corner that served as a kitchen, with a cupboard full of jars and an old calendar from that year 1946. There was a rickety wooden table painted black, a pair of uneven chairs, a curtain that covered the window and another the deep part of the tabuco of which one could not be sure that it was completely deprived. There was the bed, a small nightstand with a night lamp, and a tiny wardrobe with a full-length mirror.
Meg now showed a jovial aspect, as the winner of an intrigue that, in those moments as she watched the dog devouring some remains of cooked ham stored in the window cooler, had lost its meaning.
-You will also be thirsty ... - she put a container with water- Me too ..., but it is better not to abuse ... my thirst ... although I know that you -she laughed- you would not blame me.
She entered the animal kingdom happily, that town without its own ideas. Then she held out a blanket next to his bed, and the animal snuggled into it, accepting that warmth.
-Is it cold, huh? You'll be warm there ... Would you like to stay with me? I'd be delighted ... You know, sweetie, I think we're going to be good friends. And since I imagine you don't have a name ... Let's see? Yes! How about ... Lissy's? Do you like it? ... Lissy ... Lissy ... Yes? ... Yes, Lissy is fine .. -repeated Meg- It's nice ... I have to find out what race you are, although, well, now never mind. But remember, no barking, otherwise the two of us are going to stay in the street.
Meg continued speaking to the animal using her hopeful tone as if the newly christened Lissy could understand her:
-I'm going to adopt you, you know Lissy? Although it is unlikely that that old hag who rents this disgusting room to me will not end up finding out about your presence here. But who knows? Let's try ...
Meg bent down, stroking her.
"You are very pretty, Lissy, but you need a bath." And as you can see, there is no service here. Yes, darling, it's out downstairs ... And to use it I have to juggle. We'll have to juggle the two of us! ... See this? - Meg extracted a potty from under the bed- This is my bathroom ... That witch closes the toilet for me at night, and she skimps even the water to shower. So, in the morning, I have to run ... What to do, Lissy - continued Meg - I already told you. Be silent, and not the slightest bark, whatever you hear.
She began to undress, and once more, before getting into bed, while Lissy watched her, she judged the gathering that she individually had with the animal as something incomparable.
"Ugh, I'm cold too!" She walked quickly to the kitchen section and took the bottle back from the cupboard, carrying it to the bed.
-Another sip will comfort me and warm me up. You don't mind, do you Lissy? This room is a refrigerator. -she put the bottle on the bedside table- For tomorrow when I wake up ...
She looked happily at the dog who was still curled up on the blanket,
staring at her, albeit half asleep.
-Do you know Lissy that I can't explain how you haven't drowned? Here we have been about to need Noah's ark. My father -she laughed -... my father would have invoked his God to rent it for him during these past days ... Well, the fact is that, like you, we have also saved ourselves from the flood ..., although this filthy city is full of atheists. I'm the first! - Meg assured smiling, as she settled between the blankets on the bed.
"And now, good night, Lissy!" She exclaimed.
The name intoxicated her, and Lissy shook her head, looked at her obediently, and fell asleep.
At dawn the next day, Meg scrambled to cover herself from the suspicions that Lissy's presence in the apartment might unleash. The poor animal followed all his steps in silence, but giving way to a torrent of words from the girl:
-Look Lissy, little girl ... you will have to calm down ... well, what nonsense!, ... I am the one who has to calm down ... You are behaving very well, you know? ... I have no choice but to leave you alone ...- Lissy was watching her carefully now as she gathered her hair and got ready to go out- You understand me, right? ... I couldn't go down to shower, but it doesn't matter ... Actually the one who smells terrible is you –Meg laughed- We will have to find a solution to the problem of your bathroom ... And the truth is that now I can't think of any ... If that witch didn't spare me the water. Look, darling, we'll have to wait ... But what the hell! ... And how will we do it? -
Now she stroked the animal.
-You're not going to bark, are you, precious? ... I have to go back to that damn dump ... I'm going to leave you food and ... let's see? If I have water in a bottle ... - she went to the corner that served as a kitchen - I'm going to leave you water, here - she took a deep plate - in case you're thirsty. You won't mind being alone, will you? But remember, darling, not a single moan and not a bark! ... Go back to the blanket, you will be warm there, and above all try to sleep ... You have to understand what I am saying, eh little girl? .
Meg's anxiety coupled with the constant movement around the apartment made the fact of having to leave the animal alone all the more unbearable. And when she was on the landing of the stairs, she waited a few moments. But not a murmur came from inside the room. If the success of Lissy's silence prevailed, Meg considered the probabilities of different solutions for her care. And the truth was that Lissy's behavior corresponded with absolute fidelity to the uneasiness of her new owner. The animal emitted only slight exhalations of contentment when Meg, taking with her, secretly, some leftover food from the kitchen of the "Coffee", quietly returned to the apartment, late at night.
After the first week, Meg was already cherishing the idea that nothing should go wrong. She quickly collected and cleaned Lissy's stools, which had become acclimated to the inaction offered by the department, subject with keen intelligence to the fate that everything human had in store for her.
Unexpectedly, when Meg had already forgotten about the nightly incident with Captain Huntington, he reappeared at the "Dinner Coffee." And naturally his presence did not find the slightest sign of satisfaction either on the part of Meg or the insolent Lily, with whom of course she had not shared the grotesque episode she had with the captain. And when Meg fulfilled the task of serving him again, in the backlight, away from the patronage shadow play, Huntington's face, perhaps embarrassed, took on a slight purple hue.
-"Hey, Meg ..." the captain requested.
-No ..., listen- Meg said shaking her head incessantly, worried, as if trying to cover up an unspeakable danger- I have to work ... Come on, don't be absurd ... I already told you that I don't understand anything, absolutely nothing ... Anyone would say that I'm tormenting him- ironically- What kind of sandwich do you prefer?
-I assure you that my intention is honored ... - the captain insisted whispering - I am a single officer ... in a military camp ... I hate gossip ... - Huntington seemed to be plunged into a vertigo from which he could not defend himself but trying that the ignorance of the girl could penetrate the meaning of those words.
This confession momentarily disturbed the young woman, also uneasy because Mr. Watts kept an eye on her.
-Hey ...- Meg gave him a penetrating look- I'm twenty-five only years old ... -she lowered his voice- And I'm incapable of ... well, to lie accepting such nonsense as the one you propose with him. Pretext for someone, well his military colleagues, to make him the object of ... malicious gossip because of his single status ... Do you not understand? What he proposes to me would end up becoming a complete disaster ...
-I understand, I understand ... But couldn't you think better of it? I won't demand anything of him ... as a husband ... I mean ...
-Look, the only thing I can think of now is that I'm about to lose my job ... Beer and chicken and vegetable sandwich? ...
This time it was Lily's shrill voice that called out to Meg.
-The kitchen is on fire, you stupid, and you chat with that utensil in the shape of a man. Have you seen Mr. Watts's face? It's going to kick you out on the street! And as life is ... - Lily hinted, basking in the intuitive negativity of her own words.
Another visitor of strange, indefinable behavior, but of concise discomfort, appeared the following afternoon at the “Dinner Coffee” asking for Margaret Conway. He had come here with the cool serenity of a Farwest movie bounty hunter. And when Mr. Watts pointed at her, the menacing silhouette of the newcomer did not stop following her with his gaze. He had slipped behind a group of customers, amid a network of boisterous voices, after mysteriously continuing to question the owner of “Coffee”. There were many minutes in suspense, in which Mr. Watts and the stranger found themselves afterwards watching the movements of Meg, who had now hidden in the kitchen, in the fear that that presence aroused in her.
-Hey, miss! Hey! '' The stranger advanced to the counter, in front of the gap behind which the two employees bustled around the stoves and sandwich toasters.
Meg had looked up slightly behind the opening, though still moving between the burners.
"You, Miss Conway!"
Hearing her surname from the stranger's mouth, she shook her head violently, and exclaimed:
"What do you want? ... My name is not Conway," she lied. "So leave me alone!"
-Your name is Margaret Conway ... - the newcomer insisted- You were not born by chance in Rockers, Tennessee, and your father is the evangelist pastor Aengus Conway? ...
-I don't know what you're talking about ... - Meg replied indignantly- My parents died ...
Mr. Watts intervened then:
-Meg, there are three clients waiting ... And you - the stranger - would do well to get out of here and leave my employee alone. I've told you before that your last name is not Conway ...
-It is possible, but a certain Margaret Conway is claimed in Rockers, Tennessee, by her family. It goes for five years that he disappeared from there ..
-People disappear every day, especially young people. It is a fact that nothing is exceptional - said Mr. Watts.
Meg hurried out of the kitchen with the tray of the requested service.
"Is something wrong, Meg?" Lily asked, who had been straining her ears. "Don't tell me the police or some gangster is after you!"
-Will you ever stop spouting crap in your life? - Meg unleashed her indignation - You're an unbearable bug, in case you didn't know!
"You know, baby, I'm not going to worry about you," Lily argued, and did so with a nondescript tone, shrugging her shoulders. "You're not Gene Tierney."
-Neither you Bette Davis, stupid!
"Hey, Miss Conway, I don't want to have to go to the police." The best thing you could do is collaborate ... Think about your parents ...
Meg's reaction was as sure as it was impressive. She had to counteract with an unusual offensive the act of harassment to which the stranger subjected her. She had paled intensely. The tray rolled to the ground, shedding her apron and waitress's bonnet, and ran to the back dressing room behind the kitchen in search of her coat. And when she reappeared with surprising firmness, without the slightest change of expression, although her cheeks were trembling, she exclaimed:
-Leave me alone for once! - And hastily left the "Dinner Coffee"
-Hey, miss! What you are doing is silly! - the stranger yelled at him.
Mister Watts's expression at that moment was so solemn that it was impossible to tell whether he was experiencing astonishment, anguish, or anger.
"I always thought she was a little crazy," Lily objected no less indignantly, experiencing at that moment a latent dislike for Meg.
The afternoon ended up turning into an atrocious nightmare that returned to threaten her with a new and unexpected sadness. Her landlady was waiting for her amid an irritable whirlwind of reproaches and threats.
-I already warned you when I rented my room ...!
-Room- Meg replied ironically- Do you call that a room, when it is nothing more than a hovel? ... -What the hell do you want? ...
-Don't try to hide it by insulting my house now! - The tenant stirred - Does the very young lady not like the room? Well, you can pack your suitcase now, assuming you have something you can take with you ... Yes, your disgusting pooch! ... I don't want cats or dogs here! ... Did you think I wasn't going to find out that you have a dog hiding in the room?
"You're just an old hag!" Meg scoffed.
"Get out! Can you hear me?" Get out of my house!
For a moment Meg thought she was hopelessly lost.
-Before you will have to return the amount I paid you this week in advance. Then I'll be glad to lose sight of you.
-Okay ...- The landlady with Meg was pleased for a moment. The possibility of being forced to return the rent twisted in her face with a gesture at the same time that was not very suggestive. She hesitated and offered- You can occupy the room until the day after tomorrow ... but not another day ...
-"I'm not leaving here until I get my money back!" -Meg insisted, giving her a penetrating and threatening look.
The idea of appealing to the police did not quite leave the girl's lips. She remembered the stranger who was following in his footsteps. And the police represented a new danger to add to the dire situation she was going through.
-To the police? - Exclaimed the tenant, while Meg ran upstairs, guessing the threat that the girl had not come to utter - I'll be the one who will call the police if you don't leave here! ... Do you hear me? ...
-Shut up, you filthy witch! ...
Lissy had barked for the first time, probably upset to hear the screams of her owner and the enraged tenant of the building. And when Meg entered the room, she gladly accepted the caresses that it lavished on her.
"Easy, Lissy!" There is no need to get upset, you know honey. Let's get out of here ... I've already figured out the solution. Tomorrow ... yes, tomorrow we will have to get up early.
The military camp was a couple of miles from the city. An uncomfortable bus was responsible for the journey from the center to the very entrance of the military settlement. The sun had just risen caught in a gray morning haze, and it was quite cold. Meg was shivering, wrapped in her long coat, waiting silently in front of the barracks on either side of the huge military facility where a couple of newcomers did their guard duty and a sergeant had tended to her in the small office attached to the entrance. It was truly admirable to observe how the two recruits made an effort to ignore the presence of Meg, whom they undoubtedly knew, while the sergeant relieved himself of the weight of the reception by hiding in his booth after having made the phone call requested by the young woman there. Present. The situation was so incomprehensible and special that it omitted any sense of chivalric solidarity with the girl. And when Captain Thomas Huntington came to meet the same good in full view, the somber image of the duty sergeant greeted his officer with the unsympathetic expression of a soldier who offers his courteous manners to actually cover up a hidden censure.
-Meg I don't think your presence here is very right - the captain said in amazement- I would rather ...
-Hey ... - the girl interrupted with a slight whisper- Well, the point is, I still don't know your name ... I'm involved ... no, no, excuse me, ...
"Something serious?" Huntington ventured.
-No, not serious, ... - Meg continued with a muffled voice- but I would have to make an effort too long for you to understand, ... and I don't want to ... The fact is that I, well, I have been thinking ... what if you ...
-Yes ... but this is not the most suitable place ... - Huntington was less animated.
-Well, you are not a master in looking for suitable places either ... –Meg ironic- Hey, captain, whatever your name is.
-Thomas ... Thomas Huntington ...
-Hey Thomas, ... it's cold, and I admit that the situation is as grotesque as the first time.
-We can talk about it in the cafe ...
-No, I'm not going back there ... I've said goodbye ...- Meg handed him a note- This is my address ... momentarily. It is not a very inviting place for a date. But I have no other choice. And I just want to add that if I have come this far it is because I am willing to accept your proposal.]
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