Episode 2

Who, the toad?”

“Yes, sir. We are already nearing the end.”

“Indeed; yonder I see what looks like an eye watching us. It is the daylight at the opening.”

When they emerged, the first impression that struck the doctor’s senses was the melancholy song he had heard before. The blind youth heard it too; he turned abruptly and said, smiling with pleasure and pride:

“Do you hear her?”

“I heard that voice before, and it delighted me exceedingly. Who is the singer?...”

Instead of answering, the blind youth halted, and giving his voice to the wind with the full power of his lungs, shouted:

“Nela!... Nela!”

Resonant echoes, some near, some far, repeated the name.

The blind youth, cupping his hands to his mouth like a horn, shouted:

“Do not come here; I am coming to you. Wait for me at the forge... at the forge!”

Then, turning to the doctor, he said:

“Nela is a girl who accompanies me; she is my guide. At dusk we were returning together from the great meadow... it was turning chilly. As my father has forbidden me to go about at night without a cloak, I stepped into Romolinos’s hut, and Nela ran to my house to fetch my coat. After being in the cabin a short while, I remembered that a friend had arranged to wait for me at home; I lacked the patience to wait for Nela, and set out with Choto. I was passing through La Terrible when I met you.... We shall soon reach the forge. There we shall part company, for my father gets angry when I come home late, and she will escort you as far as the offices.”

“Thank you very much, my friend.”

The tunnel had led them into a second space more singular than the first. It was a deep fissure opened in the ground, resembling the chasms left by some cataclysm; yet it had not been torn open by the fiery convulsions of the planet, but by the toiling pickaxe of the miner. It looked like the interior of a great shipwrecked vessel, stranded upon the beach, broken in two by the waves and bent at an obtuse angle. One could even see its bare ribs, whose jagged tips crowned one of the heights in an uneven row. In the cavernous hollow large boulders could be made out, like remnants of cargo battered by the breakers; and so striking was the picturesque power of the moonlight’s chiaroscuro that Golfín fancied he saw, among a thousand relics of nautical gear, corpses half-devoured by fish, mummies, skeletons, all dead, asleep, half-decayed, and profoundly peaceful, as though they had dwelt long in the vast sepulcher of the sea.

The illusion became complete when he caught the murmur of water, a splash like that of gentle waves playing in the hollows of a reef or buffeting the ribs of a sunken bark.

“There is water near here,” he said to his companion.

“That noise you hear,” replied the blind youth, halting, “which sounds... how shall I put it? Does it not sound like gargling, like the noise we make when we rinse our throat?”

“Precisely. And where is this body of water? Is it a stream passing by?”

“No, sir. Here to the left there is a ridge. Behind it opens a great mouth, a chasm, an abyss whose depth no one knows. It is called La Trascava. Some believe it leads out to the sea near Ficóbriga. Others say that at the bottom runs a river that turns round and round like a wheel without ever coming forth. I picture it as something like a mill. Some say there is a blast of air down there rushing up from the bowels of the earth, as when we whistle, which collides with a jet of water; they quarrel, brawl, grow furious, and produce this boiling roar we hear from outside.”

“And has no one ever descended into that abyss?”

“One cannot descend except in one way.”

“How is that?”

“By throwing oneself in. Those who have gone down have never returned, and it is a pity, for they might have told us what happens down there. The mouth of that cavern lies quite a distance from us; but two years ago the miners, digging here, struck a fissure in the rock through which one hears the same boiling of water as at the main entrance. This fissure must communicate with the galleries deep inside, where the blast rises and the cascade falls. By daylight you will be able to see it clearly, for one needs only clamber a little way over the stones on the left to reach it. There is a comfortable seat there. Some folk are afraid to approach it; but Nela and I often sit there to listen to the voice of the abyss echoing up. And indeed, sir, it sounds as if it were whispering in our ears. Nela says and swears that she hears words, that she makes them out distinctly. I myself have never heard words, truth to tell; but I hear a murmur like a soliloquy or a meditation, sometimes mournful, sometimes merry, sometimes angry, sometimes mocking.”

“Well, I hear nothing but a sound of gargling,” said the doctor with a chuckle.

“So it seems from here... But let us not linger, for it grows late. Prepare to pass through another gallery.”

“Another one?”

“Yes, sir. And this one divides in two halfway through. Beyond lies a labyrinth of twists and turns, for galleries were driven that were afterwards abandoned, and the place is just as chance left it. Forward, Choto!”

Choto darted into an opening like a ferret chasing a rabbit, and the doctor and his guide followed, the latter probing the winding, narrow, and gloomy passage with his stick. Never had the sense of touch displayed greater delicacy and sharpness, extending from the human skin to an unfeeling piece of wood. They pressed forward, describing first a curve, then angle after angle, always between two walls of damp, half-rotted timber.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” said the doctor, perceiving that similes pleased his guide. “It reminds me of the thoughts of an evil man. We seem to be the intuition of the wicked when he searches his conscience to behold himself in all his ugliness.”

Golfín fancied he had spoken in terms scarcely intelligible to the blind youth; but the latter proved the contrary by replying:

“To one who possesses that unknown realm of light, these galleries must seem dismal; but to me, who dwell in darkness, I find here a certain affinity between the earth and my own being. I walk here as easily as you would through the broadest street. Were it not that the air is sometimes foul and the dampness excessive, I should prefer these subterranean regions to all other places I know.”

“That is the very essence of meditation.”

“I feel within my brain a passage, an opening just like this one through which I am walking, and along it my thoughts race, expanding magnificently.”

“Oh, what a sorrowful thing it is never to have beheld the blue vault of heaven in broad day!” exclaimed the doctor with deep feeling. “Tell me, does this gallery where your thoughts expand so magnificently never come to an end?”

“Yes, we shall very soon be outside.... You speak of the vault of heaven?... Ah! I picture it as a harmonious dome, which one feels one might reach with one’s hands, yet cannot truly touch.”

As he said this, they came out into the open; and Golfín, drawing a deep and grateful breath like one who has laid down a heavy burden, exclaimed as he looked up at the sky:

“Thank God that I see you again, little stars of the firmament! Never have you seemed fairer to me than at this moment.”

“As we came through,” said the blind youth, holding out his hand to display a stone. “I picked up this piece of crystallized limestone. Would you deny that these little crystals, which my touch finds so cleanly cut, so fine, and so neatly joined one to another, are a thing of great beauty? At least they seem so to me.”

As he spoke, he crumbled the crystals with his fingers.

“My dear friend,” said Golfín with emotion and pity, “it is truly sad that you cannot know that such a pebble is unworthy of man’s regard while there hangs above our heads the infinite flock of wondrous lights that fills the vault of heaven.”

The blind youth turned his face upward and murmured with profound sadness:

“Is it true that you exist, stars?”

“God is infinitely great and merciful,” observed Golfín, resting his hand upon his companion’s shoulder. “Who knows, who knows, my friend?... Very strange things have been seen, and are seen every day.”

As he said this, he scrutinized him closely, endeavoring by the faint moonlight to examine the young man’s pupils. Motionless and sightless, the blind youth turned his face with a smile toward the sound of the doctor’s voice.

“I have no hope,” he whispered.

They had emerged into an open space. The moon, growing brighter every moment, illuminated rolling meadows and long embankments that resembled the scarps of immense fortifications. To the left, on a gentle rise, the doctor noticed a cluster of white cottages perched on the very verge of the slope.

“Here on the left,” said the blind youth, “is my home. Up yonder... do you see? Those three houses are all that remains of the hamlet of Aldeacorba de Suso; the rest has been expropriated over several years to work the land; all beneath us here is calamine. Our fathers lived over millions without knowing it.”

He was saying this when a girl came running toward them—a child, a tiny creature with nimble feet and diminutive stature.

“Nela, Nela,” said the blind youth. “Have you brought my coat?”

“Here it is,” replied the girl, placing a cloak over his shoulders.

“Is this she who was singing?... Do you know that you have a lovely voice?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the blind youth with artless praise. “She sings admirably. Now, Mariquilla, you will escort this gentleman as far as the offices. I am staying at home. I hear my father’s voice coming down to look for me. He will surely scold me.... Coming, father, coming!”

“Go in at once, my friend,” said Golfín, pressing his hand. “The air is chilly and might do you harm. Many thanks for your company. I hope we shall be friends, for I shall be here for some time.... I am the brother of Carlos Golfín, the engineer of these mines.”

“Ah!... Indeed.... Don Carlos is a great friend of my father and myself; he has been expecting you since yesterday.”

“I arrived this afternoon at Villamojada station... they told me Socartes was close by and that I could easily walk. As I like the landscape and enjoy exercise, and they told me onward, always onward, I set out, sending my luggage on in a cart. You see how I lost my way... but it is an ill wind that blows nobody good; I have met you, and we shall be friends, perhaps very good friends.... Well, good night; get indoors quickly, for September night air is treacherous. This little Nela will be good enough to guide me.”

“From here to the offices is barely a quarter of an hour’s walk... a mere trifle.... Take care not to trip over the rails, and be careful going down the incline. They often leave the tramcars on the tracks... and with the moisture, the ground is as slippery as soap.... Farewell, sir and friend. Good night.”

He ascended a steep flight of earth-cut steps reinforced with timber balks. Golfín continued on his way, guided by Nela. Did what they spoke of deserve a chapter to itself? Just in case, we shall grant it one.