— Una y ima. . tres. What do you want now?
— Listen, it's almost dark by now, did you know that? What are you doing here, anyway?
— I tried to leave. No trains.
— No, I mean in this dump. Mr. Yak looked around. It was a modest place, to be sure. There were barrels, bottles, and dirty glasses recklessly arranged behind the bartender, who put a dish of olives before them, and awaited Mr. Yak's order. When he realized that someone was eavesdropping, Mr. Yak spun round with, — Nothing! Nothing!. . niente! Nada!. . He was quite agitated, and returned to his comrade, propped before him. — I ought to just leave you here like you are.
— That's the spirit.
— Now listen, said Mr. Yak, taking a step closer, and he put a hand on the reposing arm on the bar. A crafty look came to his face as the sharp eyes narrowed over the expression which was almost a smile before him. — How would you like to make sure? he asked in his low confidential tone.
— Sure?. .
— Sure listen. . how would you like to go up with me, up the hill, see?. . And look in and make sure that. . that that's your mother's. . resting place. Some recrudescence mounted to the face before him: the smile fell away, at any rate, leaving evidence of sharp consciousness scattered in fragments of complete confusion, which the muscles of the face seemed to try to draw together into some single question.
— Listen, see?… I have to go up there anyway, on business. You can come up with me. 1 hen you and me can. .
— Damn it just. . stop saying that. That you and me. Will you? Damn it. What do they want me for? What do you want me for? Damn it, what do they all want me for?! he burst out.
— Listen. .
— Damn it. Damn them. And you. . you. .
— Come on out, we'll get some fresh air outside.
— They all… they all… want me, they want. . damn it! What do they want? he cried.
— Come on. Come on. Mr. Yak put an arm round his shoulders, and led him toward the door. The bartender called, but not loudly, — Señor. . se olvida. . He held up a fresh one-peseta note, and Mr, Yak waved it back in a munificent gesture with his free hand.
Clusters of lights stood out on the mountain slopes like the lights of ports driven uphill by the sea, for it was yet light enough that the barren plateau stretched away levelly blue under the haze. They made their way up behind the town, and as they climbed the stone streets shocks of consciousness, and consequent revulsion, ran through the figure Mr. Yak supported, and pulled away from him, to come back the more heavily. Meanwhile, Mr. Yak talked. He explained the purple and yellow cord hanging from his shiny collar, and the debt incumbent upon Saint Anthony. He said he had made full confession, but in Rumanian, so the old párroco, who had not understood a word of it, had given him a light penance, — not like Rome, at Saint Peter's they can confess you in half a dozen languages, they got you going and coming. He said he had turned in three per cent of his money to the church, — to be devoted to pious uses, like it says, see? And he said the párroco was real old, — it won't take much to bring him around where we want him, I've got some ideas right now, see?. . because I already gave him an idea I've got an in on the sacred mysteries, see? But there's this one guy I got to watch, we got to watch, I met him the last minute there. . and as they trudged toward the rock-studded road up behind the town, Mr. Yak went on to describe Señor Hermoso Hermoso, who — had this real holy attitude about everything, see? Because they're getting this patron saint and he acts like he arranged everything, and he's not even a priest or anything, he runs a drugstore sort of, and that's one reason we got to watch out for him, see? And he speaks English, so he told me all about this patron saint they're getting. When they took her out of the graveyard here to put her somewhere else when she was beatified they thought she looks kind of big for an eleven-year-old girl, but the way the body was preserved after forty years almost, so that made them sure it's a saint. But that long, even no matter how well it's preserved they probably make a new head out of wax. Anyway that's not so long, you don't eat anything but beans all your life like these people around here they haven't got enough money to eat anything but beans all their life, then you don't decay so fast. Mr. Yak paused, but took up again almost immediately as though harried by the silence of his companion.
— Anyway so he told me all about the cures she effected, by her intervention, you know, like there was this one old guy who's deaf for six years, and so he prays to her for intervention and he gets over it just like that, what it was, it was an earwig that was in his ear all that time, you know?. . and when it comes out all of a sudden then he could hear again. And then about this old guy who raped this girl, or he tried to rape her, see?. . when he was young, he's real old now, he gets out of prison and he goes to this monastery where he's some kind of a penitent, you know? He's sort of like a janitor there. .
Mr. Yak finally silenced, mainly for the exertion this walk was costing him. It was dark now, as they reached the hill and started up it. Then Mr. Yak heard something behind them, and stopped. He looked back. — What the. . well I'll. . that barrel organ, they been following us. A square shape, with two shapeless conductors, had stopped at the last corner behind them, and reluctantly turned back into the streets of the town. — See? See? Mr. Yak shook his companion as they climbed. — I told you not to go giving them money like that, they'll follow you around the world now.
About halfway up, as he stepped out of a soft mound in the middle of the rough road, Mr. Yak stopped. — Listen, why don't you just wait for me here? You don't have to come up, you just sit down here a minute and wait, I'll be back in a minute, see?
At that, the man he was supporting suddenly came to life, and stepped back, almost falling over. — No, no, no, he said clearly. — I'm coming. I'm coming now.
— Listen there's no reason you should bother to come, see? And what I said before, I was just kidding, you don't want to go prying around up here, you just sit and wait here for me a minute, you. . wait. .
But the figure was already steps ahead up the hill in the dark, and Mr. Yak hurried to overtake him.
A light shone at the gate, piloting an unseen figure. It was the sacristan, and he groaned. — Quién es? he asked the specters, though he knew well enough, and turning without an answer, led them in. They passed through the inside gate, and the light from his lantern glanced away from the white bóvedas and here and there caught a beaded wreath, the Virgin stark in an icon looking like a playing-card queen, the Infant with a hand out as though hailing a passing cab.
The sacristan was pausing, helplessly, waiting for word from Mr. Yak, who was bending down along the way to look at ages and dates on the vaults, when they both realized that the man with them had gone on ahead. They found him, there where they had all met in the sunlight.
— Look, you don't want to go prying in there. . Mr. Yak commenced, but too late, he'd already started to pull the unmarked vault down himself, when the light showed him where it was. Mr. Yak was trembling too, turning his face as though he did not want to look when they lifted it down; and they were all surprised at the lightness of it as they lowered it to the ground. Of the three, the sacristan appeared most distracted now, trying to loose the top with one hand, holding the light up with the other, and he kept looking up as though in fear someone, or something, might appear. When it came open, not with a wrench, but breakage of the wooden top, it was he who was first to shatter the pattern of shock which gripped them together, staring in at the dark, withered, and childish-figured contents.