The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder Page B

the shadows of his long hair and left her to improvise.
    â€œI am going to engage you to write a letter for me, a very secret letter. But now I can see that you don’t like me and that to ask you to write a letter would be as good as reading it aloud in all the wine-shops. What does that look mean, Manuel? Are you my friend?”
    â€œYes, señora.”
    â€œGo away. Send me Esteban. You do not even say Yes, señora as a friend would say it.”
    Long pause. Presently she raised her head: “Are you still there, Unfriendly?”
    â€œYes, señora . . . you can trust me to do anything for you . . . you can trust . . .”
    â€œIf I ask you to write one letter for me, or two letters, you promise never to mention to a human being what is in them, or even that you wrote them?”
    â€œYes, señora.”
    â€œWhat do you promise by?—by the Virgin Mary?”
    â€œYes, señora.”
    â€œAnd by the heart of Saint Rose of Lima?”
    â€œYes, señora.”
    â€œName of the Name, Manuel, anyone would think you were as stupid as an ox. Manuel, I am very angry with you. You are not stupid. You don’t look stupid. Please don’t say just Yes, señora again. Don’t be stupid or I’ll send for Esteban. Is anything the matter with you?”
    Here Manuel cast himself upon the Spanish language and exclaimed with unnecessary vigor: “I swear by the Virgin Mary and the heart of Saint Rose of Lima that all that has to do with the letter will be secret.”
    â€œEven from Esteban,” prompted the Perichole.
    â€œEven from Esteban.”
    â€œWell, that’s better.” She motioned him to sit down at a table where writing materials were already laid out. As she dictated she strode about the room, frowning, swinging her hips. With her arms akimbo, she hugged her shawl about her shoulders defiantly.
    â€œCamila Perichole kisses the hands of Your Excellency and says —No, take another piece of paper and begin again. The señora Micaela Villegas, artist, kisses the hands of Your Excellency and says that, being the victim of the envious and lying friends that Y.E.’s goodness permits about Him, she can no longer fight against the calumnies that Y.E. believes servant has always valued Y.E.’s friendship and has never committed, nor even thought, an offense against it, but she can no longer fight against the calumnies that Y.E. believes so readily. Señora Villegas, artist, called the Perichole, therefore returns herewith such of Y.E.’s gifts as have not been placed beyond recall, since without Y.E.’s confidence, Y.E.’s servant can take no pleasure in them.”
    Camila continued walking about the room for several minutes, consumed by her thoughts. Presently without so much as glancing at her secretary, she commanded: “Take another leaf. Have you gone mad? Do not ever think of dedicating another bull to me again. It has caused a frightful war. Heaven protect you, my colt. Friday night, the same place, the same time. I may be a little late, for the fox is wide awake. That will be all.”
    Manuel rose.
    â€œYou swear that you have made no errors?”
    â€œYes, I swear.”
    â€œThere is your money.”
    Manuel took the money.
    â€œI shall want you to write me more letters from time to time. My uncle Pio generally writes my letters; these I do not wish him to know about. Good night. Go with God.”
    â€œGo with God.”
    Manuel descended the stairs and stood for a long time among the trees, not thinking, not moving.
    Esteban knew that his brother was continually brooding over the Perichole, but he never suspected that he saw her. From time to time during the next two months a small boy would approach him in great haste and ask whether he were Manuel or Esteban, and being informed that he was only Esteban, the boy would add that Manuel was wanted at the theater. Esteban assumed that the call was for