Part 2

This vision started to fade. Then it seemed to me that the tram was flying through the air, always in the same direction and without being blown off course by winds. Through the windows only empty space was visible. Clouds sometimes enveloped us and a sudden downpour drummed against the upper deck. All at once we came out into pure space flooded with sunshine, only to go back to the nebulous presence of huge flashes, now red, now yellow, sometimes opal, sometimes amethyst, which were being left behind us as we made our way forward. We passed then through a point in space where shining forms floated in a very fine golden dust: further on this dust storm, which I took to be produced by the movement of the wheels grinding the light, was silver, then green like flour made from emeralds, and finally red like flour made from rubies. The tram was being dragged by some apocalyptic bird, stronger than a hippogryph and more daring than a dragon, and the noise of the wheels and the driving force made me think of the whirring of the great sails of a windmill, or rather the buzz of a bumblebee the size of an elephant. We were flying through infinite space without ever arriving anywhere. In the meantime the earth fell away several leagues below our feet, and the things of earth--Spain, Madrid, the Salamanca district, Cascajares, the Countess, the Count, Mudarra, the gallant young man, all of them together.

I soon fell into a deep sleep and then the tram stopped moving, stopped flying and the sensation that I felt of travelling in such a tram disappeared and all that was left was the deep and monotonous bass of the wheels which never abandons us even in our nightmares, be it in a train or in the cabin of a steamship. I slept. Oh unhappy countess! I saw her as clearly as I now see the paper that I'm writing on. I saw her sat next to a night light, hand on cheek, sad and pensive like a statue depicting Melancholy. At her feet a lapdog lay curled up that seemed to me just as sad as his as his interesting mistress.

Then I was able to examine at my leisure the woman I had come to see as misfortune personified. She was tall and fair with big and expressive eyes, an aquiline nose that was actually quite prominent, though not out of proportion to the rest of her face, and set off by the twin curves of her fine and arched eyebrows. She was casually groomed and from this, as from her dress, it was possible to surmise that she did not intend to go out again that night. A night of marvels truly! I observed with increasing anxiety the beautiful form I so much wanted to know better and it seemed to me that I could read her mind behind that noble brow in which the habit of reflexion had traced scarcely visible lines which would soon become wrinkles. Suddenly the door to her room opened to let a man in. The Countess gave a yelp of surprise and got up in a state of great agitation.

"What's this?" she said. "Rafael. You. What barefaced cheek! How did you get in?"

"Madam," answered the one who had just entered, a young man of noble bearing. "Weren't you expecting me? I received a letter from you."

"A letter from me!" exclaimed the Countess even more agitated. "I wrote no such letter. And what reason would I have for writing it?"

"Madam, look," the young man responded, taking out the letter and showing it to her. "It's in your own handwriting."

"Good God! What devilry is this?" said the lady in despair. "It was not I who wrote this letter. They're setting a trap for me."

"Madam, calm down. I'm very sorry."

"Yes. I understand everything now. That infamous man. I have a strong suspicion as to what he had in mind. Leave this instant. But it's already too late. I can already hear my husband's voice."

Indeed a deafening voice could be heard in the room next door and, after a short interval, the Count came in the room. He feigned surprise at seeing the gallant visitor and, subsequently laughing somewhat affectedly, spoke to him:

"Ah Rafael! You're here. Long time no see! You came to accompany Antonia on the piano. You'll take tea with us."

The Countess and her spouse exchanged a meaningful glance. The young man in his perplexity hardly managed to return the Count's greeting. I saw them entering the living room and servants coming out to meet them. I saw that the servants were carrying tea things and afterwards they disappeared, leaving the three main characters alone.

Something terrible was going to happen.

They sat down. The Countess looked mortified. The Count affected a dazed hilarity like drunkenness and the young man spoke only in monosyllables. Tea was served and the Count passed to Rafael one of the cups, not just any cup, but one he'd singled out. The Countess looked at that cup so fearfully it seemed that her soul had left her body. They drank in silence ballasting the brew with a tasty assortment of Huntley and Palmers biscuits and other nibbles appropriate to this type of supper. Then the Count burst out laughing again with the outrageous and noisy demonstrativeness that was peculiar to him that night, and said:

"How bored we all are! You, Rafael, haven't said a word. Antonia, play something. We haven't heard you play for such a long time. This piece by Gorschack, for instance, entitled Death. You used to play it wonderfully. Come on. Sit down at the piano."

The Countess tried to speak, but could not say a word. The Count looked at her in such a way that the unhappy woman quailed before the terrible expression in his eyes like a dove hypnotized by a boa constrictor. She got up to go to the piano and again there the husband must have said something that terrified her even more, subjecting her to his devilish dominion. The piano sounded with several strings struck at once and, running from the low notes to the high notes, the lady's hands awoke in a second hundreds of sounds that were lying dormant in among the strings and hammers. At first the music was a confused mixture of sounds that stunned rather than pleased, but then that storm blew over and a funereal and timorous dirge like the Dies irae came out of such disorder. It seemed to me I heard the sad sound of a choir of Carthusians accompanied by the hoarse bellow of the bassoons. After could be heard pitiful sighs like those that we imagine souls exhale, condemned in purgatory to ceaselessly beg for a pardon that is a long time in coming.

Then came loud and extended arpeggios and the notes reared up as if arguing about which of them would could there first. Chords came together and broke up like the foam on waves which forms and is then effaced. The harmonies boiled and fluctuated in an endless heavy swell, fading into silence and then coming back more strongly in great and hasty eddies. I carried on entranced by the majestic and impressive music. I could not see the face of the countess, sat with her back to me, but I imagined it to be in such a state of bewilderment and fright that I started to think that the piano was playing itself. The young man was behind her, the count to her right, leaning on the piano. From time to time she raised her eyes to look at him, but she must have seen something dreadful in the eyes of her companion as she went back to lowering hers and kept on playing. Suddenly the piano stopped sounding and the Countess cried out.

Just at that moment I felt an extremely strong blow to my shoulder, shook myself violently and woke up.

V

In my agitated dream I had changed position and had allowed myself to fall on the venerable English lady who was travelling next to me. "Aah! You--sleeping--disturb me," she said, making a sour face, while she pushed away from her my bundle of books which had fallen onto her knees.

"Madam, it's true. I fell asleep," I replied, embarrassed to see that all the passengers were laughing at this scene.

"Oh! I tell driver--you disturb me--very shocking," the English woman added in her incomprehensible gibberish: "Oh! You think my body is your bed for you to sleep. Oh! Gentleman, you are a stupid ass."

On saying this, this daughter of Britannia, who already had a ruddy complexion, blushed red as a tomato. You might have thought that the blood that had rushed to her cheeks and her nose was flowing from her incandescent pores. She showed me four sharp and very white teeth as if she wanted to bite me. I asked of her a thousand pardons for the discourtesy of falling asleep, picked up my bundle and reviewed the new faces that there now were in the tram.

Imagine, oh calm and kind reader, when I saw facing me--guess who? the young man I had just finished dreaming about, Don Rafael in the flesh. I rubbed my eyes to convince myself that I was not still asleep and found myself awake, as awake as I am now. He it was and he was talking to someone else who was travelling with him. I paid attention and listened as hard as I could:

"But didn't you suspect anything?" the other person said to him.

"Something, yes. But I held my tongue. She looked petrified with terror. Her husband ordered her to play the piano and she did not dare to resist. She played, as always, admirably, and, as I listened to her, I managed to forget the dangerous situation in which we found ourselves. Despite the efforts she was making to look calm, a moment came when she was no longer able to pretend any more. Her arms relaxed and slipped off the keys. She threw her head back and cried out. Then her husband took out a dagger and, taking a step towards her, shouted furiously: "Play or I'll kill you this instant." When I saw this my blood boiled. I wanted to throw myself at that wretch, but I felt in my body a sensation that I cannot describe to you. A furnace had lit up in my stomach. Fire was running through my veins. My lungs were hyperventilating and I fell on the floor senseless."

"And before that did you not recognize the symptoms of poisoning?" asked the other. "I noticed a certain feeling of uneasiness and had a vague suspicion, but nothing more than that. The poison had been well prepared. It had a delayed effect on me and did not kill me, though it's left me with a physical impairment for life."

"And after you passed out, what happened?"

Rafael was going to answer and I was hanging on his every word as if it were a matter of life and death when the tram halted.

"Ah, here we are already at Consejos. Let's get off here," said Rafael.

What a nuisance! They were getting off and I would not know how the story ended.

"Sir, sir, a word," I said on seeing them get off. The young man stopped and looked at me.

"And the Countess? What became of her?" I asked eagerly.

Loud laughter was my only response. The two young men laughed too and left without saying a word. The only living being to keep her sphinx-like calm at such a comic scene was the English woman who, indignant at my outlandish behaviour, turned to the other passengers saying: "Oh! A lunatic fellow!"

VI

The tram continued on its way and I was burning with curiosity to know what had happened to the unfortunate Countess. Had her husband killed her? I understood how that villain's mind worked. Desirous of enjoying his revenge, like all cruel souls, he wanted his wife to be present, without pause in playing, at the death of that unwary young man brought there by a spiteful trick on the part of Mudarra. But the lady could not continue making desperate efforts to keep calm, knowing that Rafael had swallowed the poison. A tragic and horrifying scene I thought, more convinced than ever of the reality of that event--and now you'll say that such things only happen in novels!

On passing in front of Palacio the tram halted and a woman got on who was carrying a small dog in her arms. I immediately recognized the dog I had seen reclining at the feet of the Countess. This was the same dog with the same white and fine fur, the same black patch on one of his ears. As luck would have it the woman sat down next to me. Unable to resist being curious, I put the following question to her:

"Is this nice dog your dog?"

"Who else could he belong to? Do you like him?"

I fondled one of the ears of the intelligent animal to show him affection, but he, oblivious to my blandishments, jumped and put his paws on the knees of the English woman, who showed me her two teeth again as if wanting to bite me, and exclaimed:

"Oh! You are unsupportable!"

"And where did you acquire this dog?" I asked without taking notice of the latest explosion of righteous indignation on the part of the British lady. "Can you tell me?"

"My mistress gave it me."

"And what became of your mistress?" I asked most anxiously.

"Ah! Did you know her?" the woman replied.

"She was a good woman, wasn't she?"

"An excellent woman. But may I know how that bad business ended?"

"So you know about it, you've had news of it."

"Yes, madam. I know what happened, including the tea that was served. And tell me--did your mistress die?"

"Yes, sir. She's gone to a better place."

"And what happened? Was she murdered or did she die of fright?"

"What murder? What fright?" she said with a mocking expression. "You're not in the know after all. She ate something that disagreed with her that night and it harmed her. She had a fainting fit that lasted till dawn."

This one, I thought, knows nothing about the incident with the piano and the poison or doesn't want to make me think she does. Afterwards I said in a loud voice:

"So she died of food poisoning?"

"Yes, sir. I warned her not to eat those shellfish, but she took no notice of me."

"Shellfish, eh?" I said incredulously. "I know what really happened."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Yes. Yes," I replied, pretending to believe her. "And what about the Count, her husband, the one who pulled the dagger on her while she was playing the piano?"

The woman looked at me for a moment and then laughed in my face.

"You're laughing, are you? Don't you think I know what took place? You don't want to tell me what really happened. There'd be grounds for a criminal prosecution if you did."

"But you mentioned a count and a countess."

"Was not this dog's mistress the Countess wronged by the butler Mudarra?"

The woman burst out laughing again so uproariously that I muttered to myself distractedly: She must be Mudarra's accomplice and naturally she'll hide as much as she can.

"You're mad," the unknown woman added.

"Lunatic, lunatic. I'm suffocated. Oh! My God!"

"I know everything. Come now. Don't hide it from me. Tell me what the Countess died of."

"For crying out loud, what countess?" exclaimed the woman, laughing even more loudly.

"Don't think you fool me with your laughter!" I replied. "The Countess was either poisoned or murdered. There's no doubt about it in my mind."

At this juncture the tram arrived at Pozas and I had reached the end of my journey. We all got off. The English woman gave me a look indicative of her elation at finding herself free of me and each of us went in our several directions. I followed the woman with the dog, plying her with questions, until she reached her home still laughing at my determination to know better about other people's lives. Once alone in the street, I remembered the object of my journey and set off to visit the house where I was due to hand over those books. I gave them to the person who had asked for them in order to read them, and I started to walk up and down opposite Buen Suceso, waiting for the tram to reappear so I could then return to the opposite end of Madrid again.

I waited a long time and finally, just as it was getting dark, the tram prepared to leave.

I got on and the first thing I saw was the English lady sitting where she had sat before. When she saw me get on and sit down next to her, the expression on her face beggared description. She went as red as a beetroot and exclaimed:

"Oh! You again. I complain to driver--you are for high jump this time."

I was so preoccupied with my own emotions that, without paying attention to what the English lady was saying in her laborious utterances, I answered her thus:

"Madam, there is no doubt that the Countess was either poisoned or killed. You have no idea of that man's ferocity."

The tram continued on its way and every now and then stopped to take on passengers. Near the royal palace three got on, occupying seats opposite me. One of them was a tall, thin and bony man with very stern eyes and a bell-like voice that imposed respect.

They hadn't been on ten minutes when this man turned to the others and said:

"Poor thing! How she cried out in her dying moments! The bullet went in above her right shoulder-blade and penetrated down to her heart."

"What?" I exclaimed all of a sudden. "She died of a shot and not a stab wound?"

The three of them looked at me in amazement.

"Of a shot, sir, yes," the tall, thin and bony one said with a certain amount of surliness.

"And that woman maintained she had died of food poisoning," I said, more interested in this affair by the minute. "Tell me how it came about."

"And what concern is it of yours?" said the other with an offhand gesture.

"I'm very interested indeed to know the end of this horrific tragedy. Does it not seem to be straight from the pages of a novel?"

"Where do novels and dead people come into it? Either you're mad or you're trying to make fun of us."

"Young man, be careful what you joke about," added the tall and thin one.

"Don't you think I know what happened? I know it all from start to finish. I witnessed all the various scenes of this horrendous crime. But you're saying that the Countess died of a pistol shot."

"Good God. We weren't talking about a Countess, but about my female dog that we inadvertently shot while out hunting. If you want to make a joke of it, meet me outside and I'll answer you as you deserve."

"I see where you're coming from. Now you're determined to keep the truth hidden," I said, thinking that these men wanted to lead me astray in my inquiries, transforming that unfortunate lady into a female dog.

One of my interlocutors was doubtless preparing his answer, more physical than the case required, when the English woman put her finger to her temple as if to indicate to them that my head did not function properly. They calmed down at this and spoke not a single word more for the whole of their journey, which finished for them at the Puerta del Sol. No doubt they had been afraid of me.

I was so fixated on the idea that a crime had been committed that it was in vain that I tried to calm down as I reasoned out the threads of such a complicated question. But each time I did so my confusion grew and the image of the poor lady refused to leave me. In all the countenances that succeeded one another inside the tram, I thought I might see something that would contribute to an explanation of the enigma. I felt a frightful overheating of my brain and no doubt this inner disturbance was reflected in my face as everyone looked at me as at something that you don't see every day.

VII

There was yet another incident which would turn my head during that fateful journey. On passing through the Calle de Alcalá a man got on with his wife. He sat down next to me. He was a man who seemed affected by some strong and recent emotion and I could even believe that, from time to time, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away invisible tears which were no doubt being shed behind the dark green lenses of his unusual spectacles. After a short time he said in a low voice to the person I took to be his wife:

"They suspect that she was poisoned, there's no doubt about it. Don Mateo's just told me. Poor woman!"

"How terrible! That's what I thought too," answered his wife.

"What else can you expect from such savages?"

"I won't leave a stone unturned till I get to the bottom of this business."

I, who was all ears, also said in a low voice: "Yes, sir, she was poisoned. There's proof of it."

"What? You know? Did you know her too?" said the man with the green specs, turning towards me.

"Yes, sir. And I do not doubt that her death was a violent one, no matter how hard they try to make us believe it was food poisoning."

"I'm of the same opinion. What an excellent woman! But how do you know all this for a fact?"

"I know, I know," I replied, extremely pleased that this man at least did not think I was mad.

"You'll make a declaration to the court then, for the judge has already started to sum up."

"I'll be happy just to see these rascals get what's coming to them. I'll make that declaration, yes, I will, sir."

My moral blindness had reached such a point that I ended up completely taken in by this event half dreamed, half read about, and believed it as I now believe I'm writing with a pen.

"Indeed I will, sir, for it is necessary to clear up this mystery so that the perpetrators of this crime can be punished. I will declare that she was poisoned by a cup of tea, the same as the young man."

"Did you hear that, Petronila?" said the bespectacled man to his wife. "By a cup of tea."

"Yes, it surprises me," the lady answered. "What terrible things those monsters were capable of!"

"It's true, sir. With a cup of tea. The Countess was playing the piano."

"What countess?" the man asked, interrupting me. "The countess. The woman who was poisoned."

"The woman in question was no countess."

"Come off it. You too are one of those determined to hide the facts in this case."

"This was no countess or duchess, but simply the woman who did my laundry for me, the wife of the pointsman at Madrid North station."

"A laundress, eh?" I said roguishly. "You won't make me swallow that one."

The man and his wife looked at me quizzically and muttered some words to each other. From a gesture that I saw the woman make I understood that she had formed the deep conviction I was drunk. I opted not to argue and said nothing, content to despise such an irreverent supposition in silence as befits great souls. My anxiety knew no bounds. The Countess was not absent for a moment from my thoughts and she had started to interest me by reason of her sinister end as if all that had not been a morbid expression of my own impulse to fantasize, forged by successive visions and conversations. Finally, to understand to what extreme my madness carried me, I am going to relate the ultimate occurrence on this journey of mine. I shall say with what extravagance I put an end to the painful combat of my understanding caught in a battle with an army of shadows.

The tram was entering the calle de Serrano when I chanced to look through the window opposite where I was sitting into the street, weakly lit by street lights, and I saw a man go by. I shouted with surprise and foolishly exclaimed the following:

"There he goes. It's him, Mudarra, the principal author of so many crimes."

I ordered the tram to stop and alighted or rather jumped through the door, colliding with the feet and legs of the passengers. I descended to the street and ran after that man, shouting:

"Stop him! Stop him! Murderer!"

You can imagine what the effect of these words would have been in such a tranquil neighbourhood. The man in question, the same one I had seen in the tram that afternoon, was arrested. I, for my part, did not stop shouting:

"He's the one who prepared the poison for the Countess, the one who murdered the Countess."