Ines of My Soul by Isabel Allende Read Free Book Online Page B

once in a while, her feet. He was tempted to tear off the accursed nightgown, rip it to shreds, but he was stopped by the terror in his wife’s eyes when he turned toward her, a terror that contrasted with the tenderness of her gaze during the day, when both were clothed. Marina did not take any initiative in making love, or in any other part of their life together. She never changed expression or mood; she was a quiet sheep. Her submission irritated Pedro, despite his belief that docility was a female virtue. He did not even understand his own feelings. When he had married her, and she was still a girl, he had wanted to keep her in the state of innocence and purity that had first seduced him, and now all he wanted was for her to rebel and defy him.
    Valdivia had very quickly risen to the rank of captain because of his exceptional courage and his ability to command but, despite his brilliant career, he was not proud of his past. After the sacking of Rome, he had been tormented by recurrent nightmares in which a young mother embracing her children was preparing to leap from a bridge into a river of blood. He had witnessed the extent of human degradation and the dark depths of the soul. He had learned that men exposed to the brutality of war are capable of terrible acts, and he felt that he was no different from the rest. He went to confession, of course, and the priest always absolved him, giving him a minimal penance. Faults committed in the name of Spain and the church were not sins. Hadn’t he been following his superiors’ orders? Did the enemy not deserve the worst? Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censuris, et peccatis, in nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritis Sanctis, amen.
    For anyone who has tasted the excitement of killing, there is no escape or absolution, Pedro thought. He had acquired a taste for violence. That was every soldier’s secret vice, otherwise it would be impossible to wage war. The crude camaraderie of the barracks, the chorus of visceral roars the men uttered as they rushed into battle, the shared indifference to pain and fear, made him feel alive. The savage thrill of running a man through with his sword, the satanic power of cutting short another’s life, the fascination of gushing blood were very powerful addictions. One began killing as a duty and ended up using violence as a way to satisfy one’s penchant for cruelty. Nothing could compare to it. Once unleashed, the instinct to kill was stronger than the instinct to live, even in Pedro, who feared God and prided himself on being able to control his appetites. Eating, fornicating, killing—that was what life was all about, according to his friend Francisco de Aguirre. The only way to save his soul was to avoid the temptation of the sword. On his knees before the main altar of the cathedral, he swore to dedicate the rest of his life to doing good, to serve the Church and Spain, not to indulge his hungers, and to rule his life by strict moral principles. He had been on the verge of dying more than once, and God had allowed him to live in order that he might expiate his sins. He hung his Toledo sword beside the ancient sword of his ancestor, and prepared to live a quiet life.
    The captain became a peaceful citizen, concerned with everyday matters: his cattle and harvest, droughts and freezes, the intrigues and jealousies of the townsfolk, and masses and more masses. As he was interested in law, people consulted him about legal matters, and even judicial authorities sought his counsel. His greatest pleasure was books, especially chronicles of journeys, and maps, which he scrutinized in detail. He had memorized the poem of the Cid, and he had drawn pleasure from the fantasy chronicles of Solino and the imaginary voyages of John Mandeville, but his true passion lay in the stories published in Spain about the New World. The feats of Columbus, Magellan, Vespucci, Cortés, and many others kept him awake at night, staring at the brocade