Tristana by Benito Pérez Galdós Read Free Book Online

Tristana went to wait for the boys in Calle de Ríos Rosas, which joins Santa Engracia and Paseo de la Castellana, and on that lovely, broad, straight, sunny road, which looks out over a vast expanse of countryside, two lines of little prisoners were given their freedom. Some clung to their mothers, who had been following at a distance, while others immediately began staging one of their bullfights complete with bare-horned young bulls, a president of the bullring, a bull pen, inner and outer barriers, the separating out of good bulls from bad, as well as music from the hospice and other traditional touches. On that occasion, they were joined by a group of children in blue overcoats and braided caps; they were from the local school for deaf, dumb, and blind children, each deaf-mute child being paired with a blind child. The eyes of the dumb child meant that the blind child could walk without stumbling, and they communicated by means of furious touches and taps, amazing to watch. Thanks to the accuracy of that language, the blind children soon realized that the children from the hospice were there too, while the dumb children, all eyes, longed to take their turn performing a few passes with the “bulls,” as if they needed the gift of speech to do so! The system of gestures used among the deaf-mutes was often incredibly subtle and quick, as agile and flexible as the human voice. Their bright faces, their eyes alive with language, were in marked contrast to the bored, dead, horribly pockmarked faces of the blind children, whose eyes were either empty and closed beneath a fringe of rough lashes or open but oblivious to light, their pupils like curdled glass.
    They stopped and, for a moment, thanks to endless gestures and grimaces and touches, fraternity between the two groups reigned. Then the blind children, unable to take part in any of the games, moved disconsolately away. Some allowed themselves a smile, as if they could see, their knowledge of what was happening communicated to them through a rapid tapping of fingers. The sight of those poor wretches inspired Tristana with such compassion that it almost hurt her to look at them. Imagine not being able to see! They were not whole people: they lacked the ability to understand, and how wearisome to have to understand everything through the mind alone!
    Saturno left his mother’s side to join a group of boys who, having posted themselves in a convenient spot, were robbing passersby not of their money but of their matches. “Your matches or your life,” was their watchword, and this plundering brought the boys more than enough material for their pyrotechnical experiments or, indeed, for Inquisitorial bonfires. Tristana went to look for him, but before she drew near, she saw a man talking to the deaf-mute children’s teacher, and when her eyes met his—because they saw and looked at each at the same moment—she felt an inner shudder, as if her blood had momentarily ceased to flow.
    Who was he? She had probably seen him before, but she couldn’t remember when or where, whether there or somewhere else; but this was the first time she had felt such profound surprise on seeing him, surprise mingled with confusion, joy, and fear. Turning her back on him, she spoke to Saturno, warning him of the dangers of playing with fire, but she could hear the stranger’s voice talking energetically about things she could not understand. When she looked at him again, she felt that he, in turn, was searching her out with his eyes. Embarrassed, she moved off, determined, however, to steal another glance at him from a distance, eager to observe with a woman’s eyes this man who, for no apparent reason, so demanded her attention, to see if he was dark or fair, if he wore elegant clothes, if he was someone of importance, because she had not as yet established any of those things. He, in turn, moved off: He was young, quite tall, and his clothes were those of an elegant person who cannot be