KIMBRA SWAIN
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Kimbra Swain
Comin’ Up a Cloud, Fairy Tales of a Trailer Park Queen, Book 4
©2018, Kimbra Swain / Crimson Sun Press, LLC kimbraswain@gmail.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Cover art by Hampton Lamoureux @ TS95 Studios https://www.ts95studios.com
Formatting by Serendipity Formats: https://serendipityformats.wixsite.com/formats
Editing by Carol Tietsworth: https://www.facebook.com/Editing-by-CarolTietsworth-328303247526664/
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments Coming Soon… About the Author
CONTENTS
A COOL BREEZE FLOWED AROUND ME KICKING THE FABRIC OF MY SKIRT UP around my legs. Spring was almost here, but not quite. I stared at the stone marker before me. The limestone pillars surrounding me sang with power. I stepped up on the center stone, and the triquetra carved into it ignited in blue light. The sounds of the meadow ceased as an icy fog settled on the ground. It drifted up around the stone, then around my legs. A low thrum vibrated in my feet.
The power and knowledge that my father gave me had become too much to bear. I was sure that I didn’t deserve it. I also knew I’d never be able to wield it as he had. My heart and soul were bound to this warm land while he was once bound to the barren cold of eternal winter in the Otherworld. The two realms were not compatible. I concluded that it wasn’t compatible with me.
This was Dylan’s idea. Curse him for being so damn smart and sexy. The one-two punch should be illegal. Gathering the power and knowledge of my father, I dipped into the well of the stone circle, but instead of releasing its stored power, I thrust my father’s power down into it.
The searing cold shot out of my body into the stone. I screamed in pain.
“Grace!” I heard Levi’s voice in the back of my mind. He was nearby with Dylan. I’d brought him along to keep Dylan out of the circle, but I didn’t take into account his servitude. It kicked in, and I knew Dylan was now holding Levi back.
My scream petered out into a low whimper as the last of that raw energy left my body. I sank to the stone in a crumpled heap. The thrumming sound of the circle stones terminated. I felt too weak to whip a gnat.
Dylan got to me first, rolling me over on my back.
“Talk to me, Gracie,” he said softly. His warm hand caressed my face.
“Levi Rearden, you were supposed to keep him out,” I scolded Levi.
“She’s fine,” Levi gruffed, then walked away.
“Are you fine?” Dylan asked.
“Shit, that hurt,” I said.
“Is it all gone?” he asked.
“The memory of it is still there,” I said. “But yes, I think I might be able to walk straight now.”
“You won’t be when I’m done with you,” Dylan grinned.
The last few months had been rough for both of us. At first, after receiving my father’s inheritance, it overwhelmed me but I soon recovered enough to please my fiancé as he deserved. However, with each passing day, I slept more and had less energy. I knew that my father intended me to do something with the power, but I just couldn’t use it like he did. I’d slept three days straight prior to this in preparation to store the power and knowledge in the well I had built in the woods outside of Shady Grove, Alabama.
The town voted me the leader of this fairy rabble, which is exactly what the town had become. An influx of refugees from the war-torn Otherworld descended upon Shady Grove. The onslaught included fairies of all shapes and forms, as well as an unusual number of shifters. Lone wolves joined Amanda Capps and Troy Maynard’s make-shift pack. A loyal werewolf pack could be very helpful if needed. Troy assured me he had it under control. Since getting to know him better, I had found he was the son of an alpha but was banished because he refused a fight with his own brother to take the alpha position. I didn’t understand werewolf politics. I barely understood fairy politics, but I trusted Troy. He’d come through for Dylan and me on several occasions.
During my waking moments, I spent my time making hasty decisions with the new fairy council. As a result, Dylan and I lost our intimate time. The closest we’d come to anything was snuggling in bed together as I slept off the intense exhaustion. I felt different with that energy surging inside of me. The control I had over the darker parts of myself teetered over a pit of abandon. I was willing to try to force the power into my well deep within the forest outside Shady Grove, Alabama just to get a small reprieve.
Finally, with the power stored in my well, I felt like myself. Dylan’s lips found mine, and I was home. “Come on, Grace. Let’s go,” he said.
“I’ll go anywhere with you,” I replied.
“More than the trailer?” he asked.
I held up my fingers making a “tiny” gesture. His laughter filled the meadow. I heard my bard groan in my head. I sent back an equal groan of immature proportions. Riley MacKenzie still had her meat hooks in him, but he seemed to be happy with her. Angry at me. Very angry at me. For what I had no idea, but now that I had my wits about me, he would have to ‘fess up. Life wasn’t right if Levi wasn’t brooding about something, but I wanted to know what it was.
Dylan helped me to my feet. As we walked away, the fog swirled up once more.
“Gloriana, where are you going?” my father’s voice ripped through the air.
Dylan stepped in-between me and the triquetra stone. I shoved him out of the way as I stood in awe. My father, diamond-encrusted antler crown and all, stood before us, as a blue shimmering ghost.
“What the hell?” Levi said.
“Bard, I’ll have you know there is no such thing as hell unless you consider the eternal cold of my realm as such,” my father’s ghost said.
“Father?”
“Gloriana, why have you bound me like this?” he asked looking down at the stone.
“What you gave me was too much. I couldn’t handle it,” I said.
He scoffed, “You are my daughter. Of course, you could handle it.”
“Seriously, Father, since you died, the Unseelie Otherworld has fallen into Brock’s hands. There was nothing I could do. He had it before I could even shift there,” I said.
“Nonsense. All you have to do is go there with my power, and it’s yours,” he said simply.
“I don’t want it. I never did,” I protested. “Why did you do this?”
“I could not bear to see my child die!” he yelled. The circle stones vibrated with his voice. Even in death, he knew how to make the earth tremble. “I could not watch you leave this world.” The second statement filled with love softened the blow of the first one.
“She’s not going to take over down there. The best we can hope for is to provide anyone that escapes a haven here. Perhaps you could help us with that,” Dylan suggested.
“Serafino, I’ve had just about enough of your interference. To be honest, if she didn’t love you, I’d end your pathetic flame,” Oberon said.
“Father! Enough! You are no longer in control. I am. Right?” I asked.
“If you have to ask, then most certainly you are not,” he said. “The question is, my child, who is?”
My uncle for one. He held the power in the deepest, darkest places in the Otherworld. His wife, Bitch Face, was Rhiannon’s daughter. Rhiannon, the queen of the Seelie in the Otherworld, had recently assured me by messenger that she still had a firm control of her parts of that realm. Despite her assurance, I was afraid that Brock was only moments from holding the entirety of the Otherworld. To be honest, I couldn't care less. Except that Shady Grove had exploded into chaos with more and more fairies arriving daily. We were inundated. Of this, I wasn’t in control either. Mainly because I’d spent so much time sleeping.
“Father, either you help, or you enjoy your time trapped in my well,” I sneered. I didn’t have time for this. I had a fairy town to run and a fiancé to fuck. Probably in reverse order.
“You may ask my advice. You may use my power. You can leave me here or take me with you. But until you take what is rightfully yours, this nightmare will not end. Brock’s reign will end that world and this one unless you stop him. It can only be you, Gloriana,” he said. His image began to fade. I’d wished I hadn’t been so harsh, but his words to Dylan were too much. It was time to get busy. In more ways than one.
PANTING I ROLLED OVER ON MY BACK TO STARE AT THE TRAILER CEILING. “I’VE missed you,” my exhausted voice said to Dylan.
His voice, husky and breathless, said, “Not as much as I’ve missed you.”
“That’s probably true. I am amazing,” I smirked. He reached over and pulled me to him. “That you are, my Queen,” he whispered in my ear. He rolled out of bed, then put on a pair of jeans. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I said. Once he left the room, I dragged my thoroughly sexed body out of the bed, to get a quick shower.
The garden tub in my triple wide hadn’t been used yet. All that fuss and it collected dust. I jumped in the shower, washing the sex off of me when I heard the front door slam. That would be Levi coming home after a long night with Riley. It was funny how no matter how big the trailer is when the doors open and close, the whole house shook.
Drying off, I looked at myself in the mirror. Chestnut brown hair, full lips, and turquoise eyes. Ever since my father’s power settled upon me, my glamour’s brown eyes hadn’t returned. I thought that once I stored that power, I would look like myself, but the cool power of winter pulsed through my eyes.
Slipping a t-shirt over my bra, I stepped into jeans to follow my nose to the rich scent of coffee. As I entered the kitchen, Dylan handed me a cup. “Thanks,” I said. “Levi, dare I even ask what the hell is wrong with you?”
“None of your business,” he pouted while flipping channels on the television.
“Levi, one day you will learn that your business is my business,” I laughed. He didn’t find that amusing, but Dylan did.
“Leave him alone,” Dylan whispered in my ear. I supposed he knew more than I did, so I let it go. Looking out into the trailer park, I marveled at how much it had grown in the last couple of months. However, the village idiots still lived across the street. Their newest contraption grew day by day in their front yard. They’d spent the last few weeks collecting plastic bottles. One by one they were gluing them together to make a boat. It had turned into a plastic graveyard. Bottles lay all over the yard. I shook my head at the mess.
I supposed if it decided to come a gully washer, then we could depend on Cletus and Tater to Noah our asses out in their plastic boat. “Rufus, I think you would be shit out of luck,” I spoke out loud. My internal conversations were finding their way outward. Rufus wagged his tail at my feet, hearing his name. I dropped him a treat from the jar on the counter.
“Grace?” Dylan looked at me puzzled.
“Oh, I was thinking if all damnation came down on us, Cletus and Tater could save human civilization with a plastic bottle boat, but I think Rufus and all the other critters would be out of luck,” I said.
“I wouldn’t get in that thing. Just let me drown,” Dylan said.
“You are lucky. You can just fly,” I said.
“I’d save you, baby,” Dylan smirked.
Levi grunted.
“You know, Levi, I could just jerk a knot in your tail,” I said.
“I’d like to see you try,” he said. He flipped the remote over to Dylan who almost spilled his coffee trying to catch it. Levi stomped off to his room. I stomped behind him. I knew I’d slept a lot lately, but every time I was awake, Levi pitched a hissy fit. Time to get to the bottom of it.
“Grace. Leave it,” Dylan warned.
“Why? Why is he acting like this? Do you know?” I asked.
“I do, and I say leave it. If he wants to talk about it with you, he will, but not with you chasing him around the trailer,” he said. I sighed. Damn brooding bard.
Through the door to his room, I heard the soft thrum of his fingers on his guitar. He’d retreated to his music. I worried about him. Something was wrong, and it had been since right after Valentine’s when I suggested he seduce Riley using his guitar. He didn’t give me details, but I thought everything went off as planned that night. From the moment Levi walked into my trailer, I’d given him hell, and he’d taken every bit of it. I loved him. He was family.
“What’s the plan today?” I asked.
“I’m not your secretary,” Dylan smirked. “But you have to go to the council meeting today. They are rezoning a few areas to build more apartments.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Actually, it is. Troy is going to need some help on the force. I’m thinking of rejoining them. He said the job was mine if I wanted it,” Dylan said.
“Seriously? What about the private investigator stuff? Jeremiah has kept you busy,” I said. Dylan had worked with Jeremiah to hunt down and weed out the troublemakers that had come to town after Brock’s takeover. We either set them straight and allowed them to stay with a vow to me as their queen, or we would kick them down the road.
“Yes, I’ve had plenty to do, but I miss law enforcement. It’s in my blood,” he said. “If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”
“Darlin’, you know I’d never keep you from doing something you wanted to do,” I said, but I knew I’d regret those words. I’d worked with Dylan when he was the sheriff as a consultant to supernatural matters. He didn’t need my help. At the time, he knew more than me.
“Come here,” he said beckoning me to the recliner. I sat down in it with him. He brushed a finger down my cheek. “Do you mean that? I know you, Grace. You didn’t want me going back.”
“I’m a woman. I can change my mind anytime I want,” I said.
“So, you are saying I should call him and tell him yes before you change it again?” he laughed
“Probably,” I replied. “Dylan, if you want to do it, then do it. The town probably needs you more now than ever.”
He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched a few buttons. “Hey Troy, can you meet me for lunch at the Diner?”
I heard Troy Maynard’s voice on the other end of the line. Troy was the sheriff. He took over after Dylan was put on leave of absence for his involvement with using me as a consultant. Dylan never went back to the force, and Troy’s position became permanent. He was a good law officer helping us out as much as he could. His mate, Amanda, also worked in the sheriff’s department. She and I didn’t see eye to eye on most things, but she was an ally.
“Thanks, Troy, I’ll see you there,” Dylan said, hanging up the phone.
“I guess I’ll go down to the community center meet with council, but I think I can make it back to meet you for lunch,” I said. “That is if you want me there.”
“Of course, I want you there,” Dylan said. “Your support of this means a lot to me.”
“Well, it’s settled. I might stop by the bar, too. Haven’t seen Nestor in a few days,” I said.
“I love you, Grace,” said Dylan.
“I love you too,” I replied.
Dylan and I went our separate ways after a few kisses and hugs. I hopped into my brand-new red Ford F150. Dylan bought it for me as a gift for winning the election. Plus, we desperately needed a new vehicle since I managed to destroy two. Before I left, I knocked on Levi’s door. He didn’t answer.
“Levi, are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine, Grace,” he replied.
“Are you sure? You know you can always talk to me,” I said softly. I felt his troubled heart through the door. Levi always had something on his mind and something on his heart. I loved him for it, but it was frustrating at times. I would do anything for Levi Rearden. Dylan, Winnie, and Levi were my family. I would kill for my family.
“Not now. Maybe later,” he replied.
“All right. I’m going down to the Council meeting. If you need anything, you can call me.”
“I know, Grace,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
I’ll be fine, he said which meant he wasn’tfine. At least not right now. Made me hurt to know he talked to Dylan about his problem, not to me. I knew that sometimes a man needed to talk to another man, but Levi had always talked to me. I stared at the door for a moment thinking he might change his mind but he didn’t.
Driving the big red truck through town, I noticed all the new faces. Before I received my father’s power, I had had a difficult time telling the difference between different kinds of fairies. Once that power was laid upon me, each type of fairy was like a neon blinking sign on top of their heads. It wasn’t just fairies either, it went for all sorts of beings. I knew looking at Dylan that he was a Phoenix crossed with a Thunderbird. I knew that Troy and Amanda were werewolves. But most importantly, I could identify my enemies immediately. Thankfully, the only trouble we’d seen in Shady Grove since Brock took over the Otherworld had limited itself to mischievous fairies.
The biggest problem we had was population. Remington Blake and his partner were building apartments as fast as they could. The trailer park had doubled in size. It was almost like the humans who still lived in town knew something was up. Little by little they sold their homes, farms, and businesses and moved out of town. There were very few normals left, but most of them knew about us fairies. Like Matthew Rayburn and his daughter.
The Council was overwhelmed with requests. Most of them were silly things like a Seelie elf that might live next door to an Unseelie fairy or troll. There were very few Seelie in town. The influx had
come from the unsavory territories as Brock pushed through while destroying anyone who stood in his way. The reports I had received from the Otherworld were grave, but to be honest, I didn’t feel any responsibility for that. My father’s own people drove me out of the Otherworld, so why in the world would I save it now? If it threatened Shady Grove, then I would deal with it. However, if Brock kept his activities to the eternal winter of the Otherworld, then I didn’t care what he did in Unseelie.
As I entered the building, I heard angry voices filtering through the hall. “Oh, hell, they are fighting again,” I told the wall. In my debate against Stephanie, I had made the lofty implication that we would be able to work things out. However, I ended up being the mediator most of the time for four adults who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. All of them were friends, but politics brought out the claws. Diego Santiago’s claws scared the crap out of me. Mr. Santiago, one of the council members, was a bear shifter from Mexico. His temper was enormous, like his claws. You know what they say about stubborn and bears, it was all true. I wasn’t sure if he conceded a vote or negotiated point on any issue. He stated his opinion and that was his vote, and for him that was the end of it.
The voices grew louder as I approached. When I turned the corner, Mr. Santiago stood yelling at Nestor Gwinn, my grandfather, and Dr. Tabitha Mistborne, my best friend. Anger welled up inside me. I pulled my authoritative power and leveled the command. “Sit down and shut up.”
The bear slumped down in his chair with a snarl. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“You look like you feel better,” Tabitha said.
“I do. Thank you,” I said staring at the bear. “What is your deal?”
“We’ve discussed this over and over, but you people don’t seem to get it. We cannot continue to mix the races. Our neighborhoods are in danger just because we don’t know how to get along. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, but at some point, we need to realize that some of us just don’t get along well with others,” Diego offered.
I walked up to the round table and took my seat. Nestor gasped my hand, squeezing it. I gave him a weak smile. “You aren’t wrong.
I think for the time being we need to ensure that those who live together in the neighborhoods can get along. If not, we can relocate as necessary. However, I’d like to see some community events planned to unite all of us. We are all exiles. Some of us are scared and away from home for the first time in hundreds of years. I know that it won’t be easy, but we have to try to get along. That starts in this room. I’m sick of coming in here and listening to the four of you bickering. We learn to get along, or I’ll dissolve the council. It seems like I’m the deciding vote most of the time anyway.”
“That’s a dangerous road, Grace,” Nestor said.
“I agree. It is. But what choice do I have when the four of you act like you were born in a barn?” I replied. “I don’t have the temperament for it.”
“You can’t dissolve the council. The shifters would revolt,” Diego said.
“And?” I asked. “Is that supposed to scare me? Perhaps you forget the authority I have here. Perhaps you forget that I allow this discussion to happen. If you and your constituents choose to abandon my rule, then you will be asked to leave Shady Grove. If you resist, you will be removed by force.” I could see in his eyes that the threat didn’t sit well with him. Tabitha shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Nestor buried his head in his hands.
“I agree with Grace,” Betty Stallworth made her presence known after sitting quietly watching the exchange. “This council was made to work things out. We don’t work anything out, we just split the vote forcing Grace to make all the decisions. No need to waste our time or hers if we can’t agree on anything.”
“Diego, I don’t want any of your people to leave this community. You are part of what we are doing here, but I will not tolerate the general disdain for my authority here. Now, what is the proposal that we are currently discussing?”
Diego rumbled for a moment. “Neverland Cottages, a traditionally Seelie community, has a new resident, a werehog shifter. The community wants the pig to move. The neighborhood association has requested the council to review the situation and make a ruling.”
“Werehog? Purcell moved into a neighborhood?” I asked, knowing that Chris Purcell loved his place in the wild. I couldn’t imagine him domesticated.
“It’s one of his wives. He is in and out of the house, but doesn’t live there,” Tabitha said.
“Is the pig causing problems for the neighbors?” I asked.
“No,” Nestor muttered.
“So, it’s a prejudiced thing? I won’t have it. Tell the neighborhood association to get over it. If the pig causes problems, then I will deal with it personally. Purcell and I are on good terms. I’ll go over there this afternoon just to visit. Show my support of the new addition to the neighborhood. This is the kind of shit we need to get over so we can deal with the real issues.”
“It will be a real issue when someone loses their temper,” Diego said.
“Then, we should do everything we can to prevent it. Including you supporting the desegregation of the neighborhoods. If we stand together on these things, it will go a long way to show everyone that we want this to work. We have to get along. Shady Grove is inundated with fairies. The humans are moving out. We are going to have to rely on each other. It’s time to get over petty prejudices,” I said. “Anything else on the agenda?”
“Not today,” Betty replied as the chairwoman of each meeting. “However, we might consider bringing ideas to the next meeting for a community event.”
“I agree. Perhaps something around St. Patrick’s Day,” I suggested.
“Or Eostre,” Tabitha offered. Eostre, Ostara or Easter as it was modernly called was like many other celebrations by the Christians. They were based on pagan traditions. Either day would provide us with a great opportunity to celebrate.
“What day is Easter this year?” Betty asked.
“April 1st,” Tabitha said.
“I don’t want to wait that long. I wish we would have celebrated Imbolic as a town. Let’s think about it and meet back in two days,” I
said.
“Agreed,” Betty replied. “Diego?” I prompted.
“Agreed,” he muttered. Tabitha and Nestor nodded.
“Great. I’m hungry, and I’ve got a handsome man waiting for me,” I replied. Diego stood and stomped out of the room. “Well, that’s always so much fun.”
“You do look better, Grace,” Betty said.
“I am better. I’m headed to the diner to meet Dylan and Troy,” I said.
“Troy?” Nestor asked.
“Yeah, Dylan finally got around to asking if I minded if he rejoined the sheriff’s department,” I smiled.
“Why didn’t you just tell him if you already knew he wanted to do it?” Nestor asked.
“What fun is that?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Love you, Grace. Come by the bar when you are done.”
“Sure thing,” I replied.
“I’m headed to the diner. See you there,” Betty said grabbing her massive purse to head out the door.
“What about you, Doc?” I asked Tabitha.
“What about me?” she asked.
“How’s the boyfriend?” I asked.
“Meh,” she replied.
“I mean don’t brag about him or anything,” I teased.
Nestor laughed as he left alone. Tabitha and I walked out to our vehicles together. She’d been dating Sylvester Handley’s son, Michael. I took it as it wasn’t very serious. “Sex isn’t good?” I asked.
“No, it’s fine,” she said.
“If it’s just fine, it isn’t good enough,” I said.
“It’s good enough,” she laughed.
“Then what is it?” I asked.
“He wants to be serious,” she said.
“So, be serious,” I replied.
“Not what I want. I’m too busy at the hospital to be serious. It’s okay. We aren’t breaking up or anything,” she said.
I decided to stop prying. If she wanted me to know more, she would tell me. “Wanna go grab a bite to eat?”
“No, I’m supposed to be at work. I took a break to come to the meeting,” she replied.
“How’s the hospital handling all the humans leaving?” I asked.
“Our staff has been replaced with fairy healers from the realm. I’m glad to have them. Most of our cases are fairies anyway. The workload has gone down though. We might just convert the med center into a small clinic. I’ll talk about it later. I gotta run,” she said hopping into her Volkswagen Beetle.
“See ya later,” I said.
TROY AND DYLAN GUFFAWED AT A JOKE THAT PRECEDED MY ENTRANCE INTO the diner. When the bell hanging from the door frame announced my arrival, Dylan perked up, “Hey baby, come have a seat.” He patted the chair next to him. He looked better than he had in weeks. I knew my condition had weighed on him, but I didn’t realize how much until now.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Well, it seems that ol’ Lamar. You know, peg leg Lamar. Got himself in another fix,” Dylan said.
“Please tell me he wasn’t cow tippin’ with that leg again,” I said.
“No, nothing like that. He called me out to Parsons Road the other day. He was doing something out in the woods and got stuck in some mud. It buried him up to his knee joint,” Troy explained.
“Just the peg leg?” I asked.
“Naw. Both of ‘em, but he was struggling when I got there. Good thing he had his cell phone or he might have been out there a long time in the mud. By the time I got him out, we were both covered in mud,” Troy said.
“What was he doing out there?” I asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me. He was too embarrassed,” Troy said. “Nothing to worry about, you know Lamar is harmless. Mostly.”
“Seems like a stupid thing to do for no reason,” I replied.
“He’s not the smartest tool in the shed,” Troy replied.
“Yeah. Like a wooden doorstop,” Dylan added. He and Troy both died laughing again. Something about men, wood, and immaturity
always made a joke that I’d never completely understand.
Betty sat a cheeseburger and fries in front of me. Dylan kissed my temple. He’d ordered for me because he knew everything about me. “Thank you,” I said.
“You are welcome, my love. How was the meeting?” he asked.
“Diego is wound up about a werehog living in Neverland,” I said.
A confused look crossed his face. “Purcell?”
“One of his mates apparently,” I said.
“Interesting,” he replied.
“Her name is Henrietta. She’s nice. A little plump for my taste,” Troy grinned.
“Why is she living in a house instead of in the wild?” I asked. I knew they said she was domesticated, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how Chris mated with a tame pig.
“She’s never been feral. I think he took her from a farm somewhere. The farmer thought she was just a regular pig,” Troy said.
“How romantic,” Dylan quipped.
“Well, the residents of Neverland aren’t happy about her living there. They are raising a stink. I’m going there after I leave here,” I said.
“She must be happy,” Dylan said.
“Huh?” I questioned.
“You said they were raising a stink. You know what they say about a pig in shit,” he smiled. Troy died laughing. I shook my head at the terrible joke. Men.
“You going with me?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. The Sheriff here says I don’t have to start work until tomorrow,” Dylan said while still snickering.
Troy and Dylan continued to talk and make their pig jokes. The male-chauvinist kind. I was lost in my thoughts about planning a town gathering and trying to figure out how in the world one pig could cause so much trouble.
“Grace,” Levi’s voice startled me.
“You okay?” Dylan asked.
“Fucking Levi,” I muttered. Dylan shook his head and returned to Troy. “What’sup,Levi?”
“Rileywantstotalktoyouaboutsomething,” he said.
“Whatissomething?When?Where?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Tonight. She asked ifyou would meet her at Hot Tinat8p.m.” he said.
“Okay. I’ll be there, and you think you are cute blocking your thoughts from me, but you know as well as I do that I can get through that if I wanted to. It only means you don’t trust me anymore,andIdon’tknowhowwegottothisplace,butIhateit.I hateit,Levi.” I buried my head in my hands so that no one else saw my frustration with Levi. Perhaps Riley could let me in on whatever was bothering him. Dylan’s warm arm wrapped my waist.
“Nothing is wrong with us. You are paranoid. Just stop,” he scolded.
“Whatever, Levi,” I said shutting him out of my head. When I looked up Troy was gone. “He left?”
“Yeah, he had a call and had to go. You okay?” Dylan asked.
“Levi,” I said.
“You gotta let it go, Grace. Levi has always come around when he was ready to come around,” he said.
“It’s not that. He said Riley wants to meet with me,” I said.
“Why?” Dylan asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “She will be at the bar tonight.”
“Okay. Ready to go to Neverland with me?” he smiled.
“You got pixie dust?” I asked.
“I’ve got a red Camaro,” he offered.
“Good enough. I’ll move my truck around to the bar,” I said.
As we drove past the sign for Neverland Cottages, it reminded me of a conversation I had with my lawyer recently. Remington Blake and his colleagues from New Orleans had single-handedly taken over the real estate market in Shady Grove. As the humans moved out, Blake
and his cronies would swoop in to buy up the land. Tearing down farmhouses that had dotted the countryside to put up small housing developments like Neverland Cottages. They were those itty bitty zero lot line houses. Garden homes, he called them. We needed the housing, but he kept naming the neighborhoods after mythical locations. Neverland Cottages, Bag End Circle, Camelot Village, Wonderland Lakes, Narnia Springs, and the list goes on. It was getting pretty stupid, but the fairies ate it up. He’d even gone so far has to have contests to name the next neighborhood. I needed to talk to him about ideas for a community gathering. He had ways of making all the fairies get along beyond the fact that he was the biggest flirt known to the entire world, fairy or not.
Dylan pulled his Camaro into a small drive behind a Pepto-pink Beetle.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said looking at the car.
“It’s hideous,” Dylan replied.
I made a gagging noise, and he laughed. “Sorry. I should be diplomatic, I suppose,” I replied.
“Probably,” he smiled. I started to get out when he grabbed my hand. “I’ve missed you, Grace.”
Leaning over to give him a kiss, I said, “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“It wasn’t the same,” he said.
“I know, but it’s better now,” I replied.
“Yes, it is,” he said as he released my hand.
We walked up the tiny sidewalk to the garden home. As we approached, the grating noise of a female voice carried through the house, “If you are going to smoke those god-forsaken cancer sticks, get outside and do it.”
“Yes, Etta,” Chris Purcell’s sly voice answered.
The front door opened, and Chris stepped out on the porch. His handlebar mustache twitched when he saw us. “Why hello, Grace, it’s good to see ya,” his drawl seemed heavier than normal.
“You in the doghouse?” Dylan asked.
“Naw. More like in a hell of a poke,” he replied. “How can I help y’all?”
“I’ve come over to see if I can do anything to smooth relations. I hear that Henrietta has been having a tough time with the neighbors,” I said.
He rolled the cheroot between his fingers watching it smoke. After taking a drag, he said, “Things are a little tense. However, I’m not sure it requires the attention of the fairy council or its Queen.”
“I don’t mean to pry at all, Chris. I’m just trying to help out,” I replied.
The front door swung open, and Chris cringed.
“Christopher Purcell! Why didn’t you tell me we had visitors?” a plump woman with golden locks and an upturned nose said.
“Grace Ann Bryant meet my wife, Henrietta Purcell,” Chris droned.
“Oh, my stars! It’s the Queen. Oh, my! Should I bow? Dear Heavens, I’m not sure my heart can take the excitement. Oh, Miss Grace, I’ve been dying to meet you ever since I moved to town. I’ve been trying to get Chris to invite you over for dinner. Please come in,” she said waving to the front door.
“Why thank you,” I replied astonished at her adoration.
We followed her into the living room which screamed frumpy to me. Lacy curtains with ruffles, floral print furniture, white end tables and a coffee table full of magazines filled the small living space.
“Dear me, I never imagined. And Mr. Riggs, it’s an honor,” she said fluttering her eyelids at Dylan. She shot an evil look at Chris who promptly put out his cheroot at the door. He entered the room but leaned against a door just inside the main entry. Dylan and I sat down on the couch.
“The honor is mine, ma’am,” Dylan replied in his sweetest southern accent. She fluttered her hand at her face, then winked at me. I chuckled.
“Let me get you both some lemonade. I’ll be right back,” she said as she hurried into the kitchen before I could protest.
Dylan and I both looked at Chris with questioning eyes.
“Not here,” he gruffly replied.
“Soon,” I indicated as Henrietta re-entered with two glasses of lemonade which made me feel awkward because she hadn’t gotten
any for herself or Chris.
She set a glass in front of each of us on a delicate handcrocheted doily. “Here you go. Now tell me, what brings you to the neighborhood?”
“Well, I’d heard that the neighbors were giving you problems. I came out to see if I could do anything to help. Chris and I have been acquainted for many years, and I didn’t mind doing him a favor,” I replied.
“I’m sure it’s just a ruckus that will pass. No need for you to worry your pretty little head. I’m sure you and Mr. Riggs have plenty of other things to do than be here,” she replied. “Ain’t that right, Chris?”
Chris grunted. “Excuse me, I need to make a call,” he said exiting down a hallway and out of sight.
“Forgive him. He’s not used to having a proper house and guests. He doesn’t know that it’s rude to leave company to make phone calls.” Her voice raised with each word talking more to her exiting husband than to either of us.
“It’s no problem. Are you sure everything is okay? I’ll be glad to help if I can,” I reassured her.
“I’m sure all of it will blow over as soon as they realize that I’ll be a great neighbor,” she smiled.
A gust of wind blew outside, then a light knock on the door. Dylan tensed like he did when his thunderbird senses indicated danger. I looked at him. “What?”
“Stay here,” he said approaching the front door. There was another light knock on the door. Henrietta stood. “Please, Mrs. Purcell. Stay there.”
The light knock repeated. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled. Dylan shot me a look. He reached for the door handle as I got a magical impression of the being outside. Apparently, not all of my father’s abilities were trapped in my well. Ever since I’d taken on his powers, I had no issues knowing who and what everyone was in the supernatural realm. Before I could protest, Dylan turned the knob on the door. “No!”
The door imploded in on him, throwing him across the room. His fiery wings exploded from his back to balance him before he hit the wall. He clenched his fists in anger. Chris ran into the room as the being stepped into the house.
She couldn’t have been taller than 5 feet, but she floated off the ground by at least 2 feet. Her blue and white dress swirled around her body as a wind whipped around her like a mini-tornado. Large iridescent wings fluttered on her back. Her bright orange hair flared around her head like the snakes of Medusa. With large feline eyes and sharp teeth, she snarled at Chris Purcell. “Give me what is mine or else,” she growled.
Chris’ eyes widened. Henrietta cowered behind the couch. I could hear her whimpering.
“Or what? Are you gonna huff and puff? Blow the house down? I’m pretty sure you have your fairy tales mixed up, Sylph,” I drew her attention to me. Dylan’s nostrils flared as I took control of the situation.
“Queen! Why are you in this house?” she asked.
“Well, let’s see. This is my town. My friends. And frankly, none of your damn business unless you want to make it your business, then I’ll be happy to oblige,” I replied as my tattoo flared. My skin turned milky white. Silvery filigree covered my shoulders and neck. My hair shifted to a platinum blonde.
“You have no idea what he’s done!” she snapped.
“Why don’t you settle down, and we will talk about it,” I suggested.
“Grace,” Dylan warned. I shot him the look he gave me earlier, and his teeth shifted beneath the skin of his face as he ground them together.
“By laws of hospitality, you’ve entered this home uninvited. I could call the wolves to take you in now or I could just put you down myself,” I warned her.
“This isn’t over!” she shouted, as the wind in the room spun around us. The walls shook in the small house, and the sylph took off out the door. Dylan ran out the door as his wings dissipated. Dark black holes were burned into the back of his white t-shirt.
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muchas invitaciones que otros tantos despreocupados las hicieron.
—La incipiente juventud no se atrevió á tanto desde que notó que las damas distinguidas las miraban de reojo.
Esto era muy significativo.—No pudo averiguarse, por más que se registraron al otro día los billetes de convite entregados al portero del salón, qué socio las había dado la credencial para entrar allí.
Inútil es decir que estas nuevas confusiones excitan más y más el afán de las conjeturas acerca de las desconocidas.—Las señoras del pueblo comienzan á tratar de ellas con alguna vehemencia, y también se dividen en pareceres.
No falta ya quien asegura que son dos princesas rusas que se han propuesto darse, á todo gusto, un paseo por Europa. Pero como hay también quien afirma que hablan el castellano, y hasta con cierto dejillo andaluz, se conviene en que serán dos sevillanas de buen humor, cuyos maridos llegarán de un momento á otro.
Esta suposición coincide con el aserto de un curioso, de que, según noticia de Pedro, tomada de Juan, que á su vez la tomó de Felipe, las dos incógnitas tienen letra abierta en una casa de comercio, de las más respetables de la plaza.
Y entonces es cuando empieza á vacilar la repugnancia que hacia ellas sentía la femenil sociedad indígena. Y tanto vacila y tanto decae, que si á la sazón no asisten aquéllas al más encopetado baile particular, ó á la tertulia más entonada, es ó porque no ha habido una disculpa para invitarlas, ó porque ellas no han querido aceptar la invitación.
Tal sube y baja en el humano criterio el concepto que en él se forjan los hombres... y las mujeres, dejándose seducir por las apariencias.
Un día se observa que al pasar junto á uno de esos forasteros bullidores y omniscientes, en lo que respecta á pueblos, tipos y costumbres, y de quien hablaré al lector más adelante, le sonríen con inusitada familiaridad, al cual agasajo corresponde él flagelando el vestido de la rubia con dos golpecitos de bastón.
Entonces se le asedia, se le acosa, se le marea con preguntas de todos los colores.
Asómbrase el interpelado del asombro de los interpelantes, y les da una respuesta brevísima.
—¡No es posible!—se le replica.
—Con verlo basta, caballeros.
Desde el día siguiente se las mira en la calle como á gente conocida, y se observa un hecho bien opuesto á todo lo usual y corriente en el trato social; y es á saber, que á medida que van ellas ensanchando sus relaciones entre los antes codiciosos de sus miradas y preferencias, van éstos escatimándoles sus atenciones en público, es decir, que más se aíslan cuanto más se comunican.
Muy poco tiempo después tiene lugar el completo eclipse de estos dos astros, que aparecieron entre los de primera magnitud.
Y llamo completo al eclipse, porque se necesita un ojo muy avezado
á la observación para distinguirlos, de vez en cuando, en las alturas de un palco segundo del teatro, obscurecidos ya por la luz de una candileja, ó describiendo, como fuegos fatuos, caprichosos giros y recortes en el Muelle, al desembarcar en él los indianos de un vapor-correo.
UN ARTISTA
—Gusta usted que le sirva, cabayero?
—Sí, señor.
—Sírvase usted tomar asiento aquí... ¿Qué va á ser?
—¿Cuál?
—Digo si gusta usted cortarse, rizarse...
—Quiero que me afeiten.
—Al momento, cabayero... ¿Le gusta á usted así el respaldo?
¿Quiere usted que le suba... que le baje?
—No, señor.
—Muy bien. ¿Fría ó caliente?
—Como á usted le dé la gana, con tal que me afeite pronto y bien.
—¡Oh! como una seda, cabayero... Un poquito más alta la barbiya, si usted gusta... Así... ¡Qué calores tenemos, eh? ¡Cómo se estará
asando aquel Madrí!... ¿Hace mucho que no ha estado usted por Madrí, cabayero?
—Y ¿qué sabe usted si yo he estado allá alguna vez?
—¡Oh! yo le conozco á usted.
—Pues que sea por muchos años.
—Sí, señor. Cuando vino usted á cortarse el pelo anteayer, me lo dijo el chico que le sirvió á usted.
—Es decir, que es usted nuevo en esta peluquería.
—Ocho días hace que llegué de Madrí.
—Como en verano se aumenta la parroquia...
—No, señor: yo he venido de placer; quiero decir, á baños.
—Vamos, afeita usted por recreo.
—Hágase usted cuenta que sí; porque lo que sucede es de que al saberse que yo había venido, me solicitó el maestro; y yo, por hacerle un favor...
—Ya lo comprendo.
—Como á mí, en dejándome tiempo para bañarme, una hora para el café y otras dos para ir con los amigos al paseo, no me hace falta el resto del día...
—¿Y todos los años viene usted á bañarse aquí?
—No, señor Ésta es la primera vez; pero otros amigos de mi arte han venido otros veranos, y me han hablado muy bien de este pueblo. Lo demás, yo siempre he salido á San Sebastián. Hay muy buena sociedad allí.
—¿De modo que usted no piensa quedarse todo el año en esta barbería?
—¡Qué ha dicho usted! ¡Dejar yo aquel Madrí... Madrí de mi alma!...
Desengáñese usted, cabayero: nosotros, los artistas, acostumbrados á aquel mundo, no servimos para provincias.
—Según eso, nacería usted allí.
—Naturalmente, cabayero.
—Lo supongo; y supongo también que será extremada la necesidad que tiene usted de los baños de mar, cuando sale usted todos los veranos á una miserable provincia para tomarlos.
—Yo le diré á usted lo que hay. Mi papá estuvo en Ultramar muchísimo tiempo desempeñando un buen destino; y á los dos años de venir él de allá, nací yo... Por cierto que mi mamá tuvo un parto atroz... ¿Hace daño?
—¿Cuál, hombre?
—La navaja.
—Va «como una seda».
—Es claro... Pues verasté. Yo me crié muy delicadito, y los médicos decían que unos tumores como puños que me salían en salva la parte, eran escrúfulas ínticas á las que papá había traído de América.
—Pero las llevaría ya de España.
—No, señor: las cogió allá.
—Yo creía que las escrófulas no se adquirían así tan de repente.
—Por eso decían los médicos, cabayero, que cuando las escrófulas se cogen de golpe y á esa edad, ya no se sueltan; y á más á más, se pegan.
—Ya me voy enterando.
—Como que mamá, que nunca las había tenido de joven, se fué á la sepultura llena de ellas... Pues verasté: y criándome yo tan delicadito, dijeron los médicos que necesitaba poco trabajo y mucho baño de mar Por eso nunca pude ir al colegio; que, por lo demás, mi papá quería que yo estudiara para ingeniero. Pero papá era muy liberal, y murió en la Plaza de la Cebada... de un tiro, cuando la revolución del cincuenta y cuatro. Entonces mi mamá no pudo con el susto; se le metieron en el cuerpo las escrófulas, y murió también. Quedándome yo huérfano y con pocos recursos, me dediqué á este
arte, y con él voy viviendo, gracias á los baños de mar que tomo todos los veranos... ¿Quiere usted que le descañone?
—Haga usted todo lo de costumbre.
—Y usted, cabayero, ¿no se da luego una vuelta por Madrí? Conocerá usted allí mucha gente.
—No tanta como usted.
—¡Oh! yo conozco á todo el mundo... Sobre todo, artistas y literatos.
—¡Anda!
—No sé si vendrá este año por aquí Benito.
—¿Qué Benito?
—Galdós.
—Parece que le trata usted con mucha confianza.
—Muchísima. Cuando salí de Madrí quedaba él dando las últimas plumeadas á un libro muy bonito que va á publicar en seguida.
—Se le leería á usted.
—Porque yo no quise que se molestara, no me le leyó; pero hablamos de él, así, por encima.
—Vamos, le gustará su parecer de usted.
—Aunque yo no debiera decirlo... ¿No ve usted que no se riza con nadie más que conmigo?
—Es extraño eso; porque yo juraría que gasta el pelo rapado.
—Efectivamente; pero yo me refería á la barba.
—Siempre se la vi afeitada.
—Pues se la afeito yo, cabayero.
—¡Ah, ya!
—Y la misma intimidad tengo con Adelardo Ayala. Pues ¿y con Campoamor?... El primero que le dió la mano cuando se echó el
último dracma suyo, fuí yo.—«Gracias, chico, me dijo, y créete que estimo tu enhorabuena como la mejor».
—De modo que trata usted á toda la literatura por debajo de la pata.
—Hágase usted cuenta que á toda... ¡Qué chicos! Tienen la gracia de Dios... Pues ahí está Lagartijo, que dice en el Imperial á voz en cuello que la tarde que no estoy yo en la plaza no sabe dar un volapié. ¡Ése sí que tiene sombra!
—¿El Imperial?
—No, señor, Lagartijo... Así decimos en Madrí... Cosas de esos chicos del Gil Blas. Aquí, en provincias, tiene uno que mirarse mucho para hablar, porque en seguida se escama la gente...
—Ya ve usted, la ignorancia...
—Es natural; porque no están, como uno, al tanto de las cosas del día... pero allí, aunque no se quiera, hay que estruirse... Misté, cabayero: yo estoy todo el año en la peluquería de Prats, que es la mejor de Madrí. Allí el literato, allí el músico, allí el diputado... Para que usted vea: ocho días antes que Salaverría leyera en las Cortes los presupuestos últimos, sabía yo todo aquello del recargo que tanto dió que hablar. Lo mismo me sucedió con lo de los fueros. Así es que yo tengo á montones las papeletas para las trebunas de orden; y si no voy á todas las sesiones, es porque, para mí, todo lo que no sea hablar Emilio ó Roque Barcia...
—De modo que es usted de los que llaman «de la cáscara amarga».
—¡Pues ahí verá usted!... No, señor. Por de pronto, yo no soy ya hombre de opinión, porque los desengaños me han hecho ateo en política; pero, de estar por alguno, más bien estoy por los de guante blanco, que, al cabo, se peinan y se afeitan, y son, como el otro que dice, parroquianos de uno. Es que esos oradores yo no sé que tienen para mí: bien séase que no los entiendo, ó que lo dicen con cierto... Vamos, ello es que me llevan detrás, como si me dechizaran... Aquí, en provincias, estarán ustedes poco al tanto de esas cosas.
—Nada, hombre, nada.
—Es natural. Les falta el roce y la... Allí da gusto: de todo se trata y en todo se ilustra la persona... ¿Descañono más?
—Está bastante.
—¿Fría ó caliente?
—De la más fría.
—Tenga usted la bondad de ensugarse con esta toballa. Le daré á usted unos golpes de peine.
—¿En dónde?
—En el pelo... ¡Oh, cabayero! ¡qué antigua es ya esa moda que usted yeva! Ahora, en Madrí, todos los chicos distinguidos llevan el pelo en bandós...
—¿Sí, eh? Pues deje usted el mío como está, y así seré mucho más distinguido.
—Como usted guste, cabayero... ¿Conque también tienen ustedes ya tranvía?
—Así parece.
—Han querido imitar al de Madrí. ¡Aquél sí que es tranvía!
—¿Mejor que éste, eh?
—¡Qué tiene que ver! Sin embargo, cabayero, para una provincia, éste es todo lo que se puede pedir.
—Ya me hago cargo. Además, aquél recorre sitios más amenos.
—¡Muchísimo más! Recoletos, la calle de Alcalá, la Mayor, Palacio, el barrio de Pozas... todo Madrí; conque, figúrese usted.
—Al paso que aquí, Molnedo, San Martín, la Magdalena, el Sardinero...
—Eso es: mucho prado, mucha mar... rústico todo. Pero no hemos de pedir en una provincia las ventajas de un Madrí. ¡Cuántas tiene usted en España todavía mucho más atrasadas que ésta! Pero ya irán ustedes entrando poco á poco. Por de pronto, la buena sociedad madrileña que les visita todos los veranos, ya adorna esto
y algo ilustra. Misté: el domingo fuí yo en el tranvía, y se me figuraba que estaba en Madrí. Todos los pasajeros éramos de allá, y todos conocidos. Así es que la gente se nos quedaba mirando cuando nos apeamos.
—¡Qué le parece á usted!
—Lo mismo me sucede cuando voy por las mañanas á tomar el baño. Toda la gente que anda por el arenal y por la galería, somos de Madrí. De modo que todo se le vuelve á uno saludar. Le digo á usted, cabayero, que algunas veces me parece que estoy en el Prao, y me da tristeza.
—¿Por qué, hombre?
—Ya ve usted la diferiencia: cuatro peñascos, un arenal y un poco de agua. Compáreme usted esto con aquel gentío de carruajes, con aquellos palacios y aquel vaivén de sociedad, que á veces no cabemos en el salón... porque, créame usted, cabayero, aquello es la mar de elegancia... Esto no es decir que el Sardinero sea del todo malo, pues, para una provincia, no puede pedirse más; pero desengáñese usted, á los que estamos hechos á aquel Madrí... ¡Ay, Madrí de mi alma!... Está usted servido, cabayero.
—Muchas gracias, amigo.
—Me alegraré haberle dado gusto.
—Pues vaya usted alegrándose.
—Ya lo sabe usted: por ahora, desgraciadamente, aquí; desde el mes que viene, calle del Carmen, peluquería de Prats, para cuanto se le ocurra.
—No olvidaré las señas. Conque agur, y aliviarse de las escrúfulas.
—Tantísimas gracias... Beso á usted su mano, cabayero.
UN SABIO
Al siguiente día de su llegada á Santander, ó acaso sin sacudirse el polvo del camino, dase á conocer en tertulias y corrillos diciendo, con la mayor impavidez, que España es un país de estúpidos, y que la capital de la Montaña es el último rincón del país, puesto que no hay un solo montañés que conozca la telematología, ni la filosofía del sentimiento estético en sus relaciones con la actividad del yo pensante, en, dentro, sobre, sobre en y por debajo de la conciencia universal. Pero esta ignorancia no le sorprende en un pueblo en que todavía oyen misa los hombres que se llaman ilustrados, y desconocen á Jeeéguel (muy arrastrada la J) ó Hegel, como decimos las personas vulgares.
Y ahora que el lector sabe algo sobre la venida de este huésped, voy á decirle otro poco acerca de su procedencia.
La humana debilidad tiende, por instinto, á lo más cómodo, hacedero y comprensible.
Por eso á los grandes apóstatas, aunque arrastrados á la apostasía por el demonio de la soberbia, ó de la codicia, ó de la
concupiscencia, nunca les han faltado inocentes que formen su cortejo.
Pero llegó el siglo XIX, hijo legítimo de la glacial filosofía del XVIII, y la masa dócil á tantas voluntades durante tantos siglos de controversias y de charlatanes, endurecióse como el mármol, y hasta el más lerdo se convenció de que en estos días esplendorosos, de luz y de pronunciamientos, ya no cabe el cisma, por la sencilla razón de que el que se separa de la verdad católica no es para proclamar otra creencia, sino para dudar de todas; y dudar de todas equivale á carecer de entusiasmo, que es hijo de la fe; y careciendo de fe y de entusiasmo, no cabe la disputa ni, por consiguiente, la escuela. Es decir, que los disidentes de la verdad «ya no creen en brujas», ó, hablando más en «carácter de época», están «curados de espantos», en plena despreocupación.
Deducción lógica de esto: no puede darse una ocasión que sea menos á propósito que la presente, para fundar sectas religiosas y sistemas filosóficos.
Pues bien, lector: en ninguna otra, desde que el mundo es mundo, se han hecho mayores esfuerzos para arrastrar á la razón humana á los extremos que más la repugnan; jamás se ha visto mayor cúmulo de desatinos presentados como armas de seducción, unos en el campo religioso, otros en el filosófico y otros en el de la política; siendo inútil advertir que todas estas agrupaciones, tan diferentes entre sí, coinciden en un punto: el consabido odio á las viejas instituciones y creencias.
Ni de los fundadores, ni de los pontífices, ni de los apóstoles (aunque todo ello suele andar en una sola pieza) de estas doctrinas, ni siquiera de los adeptos que lo sean de veras, voy á tratar aquí, gracias á Dios.
Pero es el caso que alrededor de estas colmenas de insípida melaza, bulle de continuo un enjambre de zánganos impresionables, que, so pretexto de un amor desmedido á lo nuevo y á lo fuerte, pero incapaces de elaborar cosa propia, aunque sea mala, van chupando, á hurtadillas, cien desatinos de la filosofía, cincuenta extravagancias de lo religioso y doscientas majaderías de la política;
y con estas provisiones en el buche, mal digeridas, así por falta de jugos como por la indigesta condición de lo engullido, échanse zumbando por esos mundos de Dios, y aun pretenden elevar su vuelo hasta las águilas, porque les han dicho que aquello que les nutre el menguado entendimiento se llama ciencia moderna.
Uno de estos sabios es el huésped consabido.
Y ya que tampoco ignoras de dónde viene, continúo leyéndote todas las señas particulares de su pasaporte.
Generalmente es tipo por su figura, ó por el corte de su vestido, y joven; porque no se concibe que pueda llegar nadie á la edad de las canas con tantos grillos en la cabeza.
Ni la experiencia, ni la erudición más vasta en el campo de los viejos sistemas, le merecen el menor respeto; porque él ha asistido durante dos meses á una cátedra de filosofía krausista en la universidad de Madrid, y sabe, por boca de uno de los oráculos españoles de esta escuela alemana, que «cada filósofo debe construir su propia ciencia sin necesidad de abrir un libro». Y tan al pie de la letra ha tomado el consejo; á tal extremo ha llevado el asco á los libros, que ni siquiera conoce la gramática castellana.
Ya hemos visto, al dársele á conocer al lector, qué desparpajo le presta ó le infunde esta ilustrada ignorancia; mas como aquella tesis la repite donde quiera que halla tres hombres reunidos, y como no es raro que entre tantos haya muchos á quienes sobre de buen sentido lo que les falte de ciencia moderna, su temporada de verano es una pelea sin tregua ni sosiego.
Porque es de advertir que, aunque de pronto se le escucha como quien oye llover, una vez metido en barro ya no hay paciencia que sufra tantas salpicaduras al sentido común, única ciencia, á mi entender, que se construye sin abrir un libro, por la sencilla razón de que no hay libro que enseñe á construirla cuando Dios ha negado á alguno la materia prima.
Sin ese lastre en la cabeza, claro es que, como todo lo henchido de aire, ó menos pesado que él, este sabio, no bien se agita un poco, ya está dando tumbos por el espacio y perdiéndose de vista en el
infinito. Por eso lo primero que discute, y con doble afán si hay mujeres en el auditorio, es á Dios, es decir, al Dios de las viejas creencias.
Eso de Dios Trino y Uno, tiénelo él por logomaquia.
La conciencia humana no siente este concepto absurdo; la mente, por tanto, no le penetra, no le alcanza.
Entonces es la ocasión de echar atrás las solapas del levisac, poner la cara hosca y lanzarse sobre los ignorantes con este párrafo que, según el sabio, es claro, perceptible y concluyente:
—«Dios es el absoluto ser, en su total unidad é integridad, como lo que es y de lo que es, en la esencial sustantiva unión y composición del ser y del existir, del conocer y del pensar, dándose y determinándose en, dentro y debajo de la unidad, abiéndose de sí, para sí y consigo, congrua, individual y homogéneamente, antes y sobre toda determinación concreta de la materia caótica en tiempo y espacio, medio en que lo objetivo y lo subjetivo recíprocamente comulgan».
En seguida apoya su aserto con la autoridad de los santos padres, ó pontífices de su iglesia, Krause, Sanz del Río y Salmerón; mira en derredor de sí con cara de lástima, y pasa á otra cosa.
Nada le repugnaba tanto cuando él era católico, «por no disgustar á su pobre madre que creía como una inocente todas esas cosas», como los milagros, lo sobrenatural; y lo del premio y el castigo inmediatos á la muerte del cuerpo, ni más ni menos que si Dios llevara una cuenta corriente á cada una de sus criaturas. Esto es empequeñecer la idea; agraviar á la razón humana, que es un destello divino, etc., etc.
Y he aquí que comienza á cantar endechas al espiritismo, secta de la cual se declara partidario y hasta miembro integrante. Y siendo espiritista, cree, por ende, y así lo manifiesta, que los espíritus vagan por el espacio, ramoneando de planeta en planeta, como carneros trashumantes, para purificarse por una serie de transmigraciones, hasta que Dios los llame junto á sí, después de juzgarlos dignos de Él: cree, por tanto, en los meta-espíritus, y que
el hombre está en la tierra, de tránsito, procedente ya de otro planeta, ó de otra criatura de diferente condición social ó naturaleza, y ni siquiera niega que pueda él mismo haber sido asno tiempos atrás, por más que—¡otro contrasentido!—no le guste que se lo llamen. En fin, repugnándole todo lo sobrenatural, y hasta negándolo con indignación, nos cuenta entusiasmado que se pasa las horas muertas hablando mano á mano con el espíritu de Confucio... ó con el de Sancho Panza (pues inspirados eruditos hay en la secta que se lo han tragado), si es medium, por su propia virtud, y si no, por el del hermano que la posea; y le cuentan que esto está perdido, y que la Iglesia caerá, y que prevalecerá lo que quieran Bassols, Solanot, Allan-Kardek y otros cuantos apóstoles de la doctrina famosa... Y todo esto y mucho más se lo cuentan en parábolas y rengloncitos entrecortados, que necesitan luego una interpretación no poco ingeniosa.
También en este trance tapa la boca á los incrédulos que se ríen al oirle, con nombres propios. En seguida enjareta una letanía de los más sonados en España entre políticos y militares, los cuales sujetos hacen lo mismo que él, y aliquid amplius, en esas conferencias con los espíritus; prueba que, aunque irrecusable, porque es la pura verdad, no levanta un ápice la cuestión ante el testarudo y arranciado sentido común que escucha al sabio; pues se obceca aquel inconquistable tribunal en sostener que en ninguna parte hay reunidas, en menos terreno, más extravagancias, más monomanías, más opuestas condiciones sociales que en un manicomio, y, sin embargo, á nadie se le ha ocurrido tomar por lo serio aquella algarabía de insensatos.
Indígnale también que existan todavía hombres que se llaman ilustrados sosteniendo que la raza humana, entera y verdadera, procede de Adán. Parécele absurda esta teoría; y buscando otra más verosímil, y hasta solar más noble á la humanidad, agárrase á Darwin, y pónese muy hueco al declarar con este otro sabio que el hombre desciende del mono—cosa que muchos ignorantes no negarían si todos los ejemplares de la especie fueran idénticos al preopinante.—Verdad es que el sustentar esta teoría le permite soltar la palabreja antropiscos ó antropoides, que no es despreciable
para un sabio de su calibre, y tapar con ella el resuello al que le pregunte por la raza que debió llenar el abismo que separa al cuadrumano famoso, del más estúpido de los hombres... Por eso me gustan á mí los sabios (y no aludo ahora al de mi cuento): se tropiezan en sus investigaciones con un abismo sin fondo, y le cubren con una palabra rimbombante; y saltando sobre ella, para no sentir el vértigo que les perdería, siguen adelante tan satisfechos como si la senda no tuviera un bache.
Volviendo ahora á nuestro sabio, digo que si se logra hacerle descender de esas alturas en que se mece tan á su gusto, y bajar al mundo terreno, se le ve lanzarse rápido sobre la memoria de los grandes hombres; porque ésta es de las águilas que no pierden el tiempo cazando moscas. La calidad del auditorio es lo que menos le importa.
Así, por ejemplo, al primer tratante en caldos que halla á mano, le enreda en una discusión sobre Cervantes.
Concedo—dice el generoso sabio,—que no fué el autor del Quijote un hombre enteramente vulgar, teniendo en cuenta la época en que vivió; pero ¿qué materiales dejó preparados para la arquitectónica de la ciencia moderna? ¿No están sus obras impregnadas del estúpido fanatismo religioso? Lo mismo á él que á Calderón les faltó la filosofía de la estética, que les hubiera enseñado lo poco que valían sus creaciones por sí, mediante, en, con relación al idealismo transcendental, en cuanto, sobre, antes y después de.
Por el mismo procedimiento demuestra el idiotismo de Colón, la candorosa ignorancia de Agustín (como no cree en brujas, le suprime la santidad), el espíritu mezquino de Raimundo Lulio, la charlatanería de Balmes, y la sublime metafísica de las coplas de Mingo Revulgo.
Ninguno de estos hombres, ni otros infinitos que cita sin pararse en barras, hicieron cosa alguna en beneficio de la humanidad progresiva; les faltó la gran idea del símbolo, del schema, ó séase la gráfica determinación en que la naturaleza y el espíritu se unen en forma de lenteja.
¿Necesito añadir que la aspiración política de este mozo es ir tan lejos como puedan llevarle las corrientes de la idea nueva, ó los huracanes de la libertad de su altivo pensamiento?
Así es, en efecto; y conste que, según propia declaración, para colocarse en la senda que necesita su razón sin trabas ni cortapisas, ha comenzado por tomar en una logia masónica el nombre de Wamba, y por jurar, á obscuras, sacrificarse en cuerpo y alma á la voluntad de un superior á quien no conoce, sin que le sea lícito preguntar jamás el por qué ni el para qué de los esfuerzos que se le impongan.
En fin, lector ignorante, después de volcar este ollón de potaje religioso-filosófico-político en plazas, casinos, tiendas y cafés, es cuando el sabio, para rematar la obra, encaja este ribete, pespunteado con aires de protección y tono campanudo:
—Esto se llama, señores, estar penetrado del ideal de la humanidad; esa ciencia sublime, mediante la cual, el hombre, artista de su vida, determinándose en todas las esferas de la actividad, se hace divino en, bajo, mediante Dios.
Mas, á pesar de la substancia de este luminoso dato, oigo al asombrado lector preguntarme:—Pero ¿adónde va ese mozo con semejante grillera entre los cascos?
¿Adónde va?—En Madrid, al Ateneo, si hemos de creerle.
En Santander, á lo que hemos visto, á difundir la luz; á tomar el aire... y, muy á menudo, á la ruleta.
Mañana... (si antes no se cura) al Limbo, que es la mansión adonde van á parar los que en vida tuvieron la enfermedad debajo del pelo.
