I Recalled How One Of My Last Sights Of Her Had Been On A
Sunday Morning In Summer When I
Had ridden to a spot on the plain
where it was overgrown with giant thistles, standing about ten feet
high,
In full flower and filling the hot air with their perfume.
There, in a small open grassy space I had dismounted to watch a hawk,
in hopes of finding its nest concealed somewhere among the thistles
close by. And presently two persons came at a swift gallop by the
narrow path through the thistles, and bursting out into that small
open spot I saw that it was Cipriana, in a white dress, on a big bay
horse, and her lover, who was leading the way. Catching sight of me
they threw me a "Good morning" and galloped on, laughing gaily at the
unexpected encounter. I thought that in her white dress, with the hot
sun shining on her, her face flushed with excitement, on her big
spirited horse, she looked splendid that morning.
But she gave herself too freely to her lover, and by and by there was
a difference, and he rode away to return no more. It was hard for her
then to face her neighbours, and eventually she went away with her
mother to live at the new estancia; but even now at this distance of
time it is a pain to remember her when her image comes back to my mind
as I saw her on that chance visit to La Paja Brava.
Every evening during my stay, after mate had been served and there was
a long vacant interval before night, she would go out from the gate to
a distance of fifty or sixty yards, where an old log was lying on a
piece of waste ground overgrown with nettles, burdock, and redweed,
now dead and brown, and sitting on the log, her chin resting on her
hand, she would fix her eyes on the dusty road half a mile away, and
motionless in that dejected attitude she would remain for about an
hour. When you looked closely at her you could see her lips moving,
and if you came quite near her you could hear her talking in a very
low voice, but she would not lift her gaze from the road nor seem to
be aware of your presence. The fit or dream over, she would get up and
return to the house, where she would quietly set to work with the
other women in preparing the great meal of the day - the late supper of
roast and boiled meat, when all the men would be back from their work
with the cattle.
That was my last sight of Cipriana; what her end was I never heard,
nor what was done with the Paja Brava after the death of Don Evaristo,
who was gathered to his fathers a year or so after my visit. I only
know that the old place where as a child I first knew him, where his
cattle and horses grazed and the stream where they were watered was
alive with herons and spoonbills, black-necked swans, glossy ibises in
clouds, and great blue ibises with resounding voices, is now possessed
by aliens, who destroy all wild bird life and grow corn on the land
for the markets of Europe.
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