The Cubs and Other Stories by Mario Vargas Llosa

Author:Mario Vargas Llosa [Llosa, Mario Vargas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780374521943
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 1967-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Grandfather

Each time a twig cracked or a frog croaked or the windowpanes rattled in the kitchen at the back of the garden, the old man jumped spryly from his improvised seat on a flat rock and spied anxiously through the foliage. But the boy still had not appeared. Through the dining room windows opening onto the pergola he saw, instead, the beams from the chandelier lit some time ago and below them moving shadows that slithered from one side to the other with the curtains, slowly. Ever since he was a boy, he had been nearsighted, so his efforts were futile in trying to determine whether they were eating already or if those restless shadows came from the tallest trees.

He went back to his seat and waited. The previous night it had rained and the ground and flowers gave off a pleasant odor of dampness. But the insects were teeming; and waving his hands around his head desperately, Don Eulogio still did not succeed in chasing them away: every second, invisible lances managed to sting the flesh of his trembling chin, his forehead and even the hollows around his eyes. The enthusiasm and excitement that had kept him ready and feverish during the day had dwindled and now he felt tired and a little sad. He was cold, the darkness of the huge garden bothered him and he was tormented by the persistent, humiliating image of someone—maybe the cook or perhaps the butler—suddenly surprising him in his hiding place. “Don Eulogio, what are you doing out here in the garden at this time of night?” And his son and son-in-law would come, convinced that he was crazy. Trembling nervously, he turned his head and divined the narrow path that led, between the clumps of chrysanthemums, spikenard and roses, up to the back door, skirting the pigeon house. It hardly even calmed him to recall that he had checked three times to make sure that the door was shut, its latch undone, and that in a few seconds he could escape out onto the street without being seen.

And what if he’s already come? he thought nervously. Because there had been a second, a few minutes, after he had stealthily gotten into his house by way of the nearly forgotten entry through the garden, when he lost his sense of time and remained as if asleep. He only reacted when the object he was stroking now without realizing it fell out of his hands and struck his thigh. But it was impossible. The boy could not have crossed the garden yet, because his frightened footsteps would have awakened the old man, or the little boy would have shouted when he made out his grandfather, hunched over and sleeping, right at the edge of the path that should lead him to the kitchen.

This thought cheered him. The wind had died down, his body was growing accustomed to the surroundings, he had stopped trembling. Groping in the pockets of his jacket, he found the hard, cylindrical body of the candle he had bought that afternoon at the corner store.

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