Evening star., 1935-12-15

~
me, Sebastian"
Il don't steal, Sefora," the man had
answered, respectfully. He was tall, for
Yucatec. we'll put together. and so plainly
strong that one wondered at his meekness, at
his cowed, almost hang dog manner. Every
day you accuse me, Sonora, and always wrong
fully. If there were any other place could
work -"
Zarita had shifted at that. Fifty centavos
more" she had commanded and Sebastian
had given her the fifty centavos, out of his
tip, and gone back to clear the table
This occurred almost every time tourists
stopped here on their way from Uxmal.
Sebastian didn't remember that anything else
had ever happened - except of course that
diurnal arrival and departure of the wood
burning locomotive and the ramshackle wood
en- cars, on the nanow-gauge railway.
Zarita did remember. Through the dusty
leaves OF the orange tree, she watched her
servant clearing the table, and slipping off,
the remainder of his tip in hand, for as much
bulque as it would buy at the corner bOdesa.
A sodden middle-aged man, Sebastian. What
had she ever seen in him? Midde-aged herself,
fat and blowzy, Zarita still had lovely hands,
a soft brown skin, and big lustrous eyes She
had been beauty twenty six years ago, when
she had been employed with Sebastian in this
very inn.
1t had been a tumble-down place then; for
no tourists ever went to Uxmal. Sometimes
a wandering sisal foreman would spend the
night in one of its hammocks before taking
the morning train for day off in Merida
Many of the local shop-keepers had an occa-
sional meal there. Zarita, fifteen then and
tempting. helped in the kitchen. Zarita, fat
and middle-aged, rocking sleepily on the
balcony of her own hotel remembered that
very well.
Sebastian had been handsome youth and
she had liked walking with him evenings.
They had wandered about the town, at first.
Then, under full moon, through the green
bush along the road to Uxmal. 1t was
stony road, but the stoniest roads lead past
pleasant places. Zarita remembered that, and
then weeks of growing suspicion, and finally
of fearful certainty Twice three times, she
had asked Sebastian to marry her. The cere-
mony was expensive in Yucatan, and most of
the poorer people dispensed With it, but Zarita
was ardently Catholic Sebastian had made
excuses
Little streams of sweat were running down
Zarita's swarthy face She dried them with
her white cotton garment, and went on think
ing.
Her baby would have been town talk She
could not have borne that and, besides, she
hated Sebastian and wanted to get away from
him. She didn't hate him now, sitting on the
balcony of her own hotel. That had been
quite another Sebastian. She had asked him
for money then - money to go away - and
he had made more excuses. She had begged
abjectly, clinging to him in the moonlight and
the public street Finally she had threatened
and Sebastian had reported her to Don
Fernando, who owned the inn, and he had
turned her out, with five pesos and third
class railway ticket to Merida. Zarita, rocking
recalled vaguely something Don Fernando
had said about Sebastian being good SER
want and bringing trade.
Twenty-six years ago, but little bits of that
time were vivid yet. Merida - what a big
city it seemed to frightened, sixteen-ye
child from the village of Muna. Trying to get
work - vainly. Sleeping in the street, and
begging morsels of food in the market.
After the baby had come, they had very
nearly died, both of them. She recalled
writing Sebastian twice No of course she