cascabel

CASCABEL
1. Clerkenwell
The Clerkenwell neighborhood was, at the beginning of the last century, one of the poorest in London. Sickness and misery loomed on every corner, and there wasn't anyone who didn't have someone sick in their family or know someone who was. In those times of hunger and poverty, cries and lamentations became the background music of a darkened stage overshadowed by the shadow of death. It was easy to find yourself walking down the streets of the neighborhood with a group of people carrying out of their house a coffin containing the mortal remains of some relative, who was usually a child or an elderly person. Anyone who had passed through the neighborhood with some frequency would have seen a scene like this almost every day; it was for that reason that many became insensitive to it.

At night, you could hear the crying of a child; the next morning, the same cry would be replaced by another: the crying of a mother walking down the streets with her pale face and inflamed eyes.

There are people who, without deserving it, manage to cheat death. Others, on the other hand, have less luck and don't even get to see it coming. They're installed at home in a dark corner, waiting silently for the hour appointed to meet the dying person.

On the façade of the church, next to one of the pillars that flank the entrance portico, the priest hung a poster whose letters read: If with your mouth you acknowledge Jesus as Lord, and with your heart you believe that God raised him up, you will attain salvation.

Claudine's heart would shrink every time she passed by there with the precarious medicines the doctor gave her for her daughter. I believe, Lord, I believe; but save her, please, I beg of you, save her she would say to herself, as if her deepest prayers were going to be answered. However, despite all her pleas and lamentations, the girl, who was only six years old and clung to the life with all its forces, seemed to be weakening day after day.

Claudine watched her day and night, waiting like a divine ray of light for a small indication of improvement that would awaken her hopes and ease the anguish that oppressed her chest.

Throughout these days, the young mother lost a lot of weight, and with it, part of the beauty she had not long ago. Claudine, who always walked down the street with a smile on her face, amiably greeting all her neighbors, now walked bent over, dragging her gaze along the floor and with her mouth slightly open.

2. Claudine

The life of Claudine was always a blurry stain in the Lord's work. She spent most of her childhood in an orphanage located on the outskirts of London. There she learned two very important things; two things that, without her knowing it, would be of great use to her throughout her life: one, sewing, and the other, receiving blows. These blows, administered mostly unfairly by the nuns in charge of the orphanage, made Claudine a fearful and withdrawn girl, a silent girl, locked up inside herself, who seemed to live in a world alien to that within those walls. She related very little with her companions, and throughout the time she spent at the orphanage, she had only one friend, a hungry slut who every day at the same morning hour would sneak into the garden to receive some food, leftovers that Claudine collected from her plate and kept especially for him.

One day she was caught by one of the nuns giving food to the slut. As punishment, she received 25 slaps on the palm of her hand and was left without eating or dinner. The next morning, she had nothing to bring to her friend, and limited herself to petting his head. That same day, at mealtime, she saved a double ration to compensate for the next day.

This was the bottom line of Claudine's heart, one of the most noble among those in the orphanage. If God had repaired In that place, she would have discovered among her servants the best of her representatives.

The poor one, since she did not know any other way of life except for that one, saw everything that happened to her as normal, and every day, when she prayed, gave thanks for the luck that the nuns had made her believe she had.

When she turned 16, coinciding with a massive arrival of children at the orphanage, they looked for work for her in a sewing workshop and a roof where she could sleep.

In the center of London, not far from the Clerkenwell district, there existed an old and dilapidated building called atalaya, baptized thus due to its height. Its owners, Mr. and Mrs. Pikets, rented out their apartments at a low price, since they, due to the passage of time and the scarce maintenance they received, were in deplorable conditions. Such conditions attracted all kinds of people, most of whom came from the lower strata of society. Among them, Claudine, who, for half her salary, occupied one of the three rooms that formed the attic.

Although very reduced, with a sloping roof made of wooden boards and walls in very poor condition, it was provided with a bed, table, two chairs, a wardrobe, a wood-burning stove, and a small oval-shaped window that offered a privileged view of the lower part of the city. It was a damp and gray scene that intimidated Claudine.

Her dream, since very early age, was to have a house and form a family. That room was, in her 16 years of life, what most approached her ideal of life.

A few days after her arrival, using the little money they had advanced her at work, she decided to give her room a bit of warmth, something that would make it more welcoming. One day, after leaving work, she bought a painting at the market. When she got home, she lay down on the bed and visualized the painting hung on the wall in front of her. It was a small wall, cut into diagonal across the ceiling, and with a small gap that exposed the brickwork. She saw a good idea to cover up that defect with the painting, and thus get a double return on her investment.

She remembered having seen, two floors down, crossing the worn paper that covered the wall of the hallway, a rather oxidized nail.

She went down in search of it, and once located, began to pull it. Seeing no result from her efforts, she stopped for an instant, rubbed her fingertips against her dress, and tried again, this time with her hands. Not even using all her strength managed to move the nail. She put so much effort into her small venture that she didn't realize someone was watching her with curiosity just behind her. From the effort, Claudine began to sweat. Giving up on her endeavor, and annoyed at seeing her decorative project delayed, she let go of the nail, and as she turned around, she uttered a coarse expression she had learned in the orphanage, an indecent and improper expression for a girl of her age.

Just then, she discovered a young man behind her. He was a handsome young man with brown hair and a serene face. Claudine covered her mouth, ashamed of what she had just said, and turned red.

—Do you need help? —asked the young man. (-What are you doing?)

Claudine nodded her head. The young man approached the nail, grabbed it with force, shook it back and forth, and then pulled it out. Not without effort, the nail came out.

—Here you go.

—Thank you —said Claudine, taking the nail.

They smiled at each other, and the young man continued on his way. As he was going down the stairs, Claudine leaned over the railing and said:

—Wait...

The young man stopped and looked up.

—How do you call yourself? —asked Claudine.

—I'm called Roger.

—I'm Claudine.

—Nice to meet you, Claudine —said Roger, smiling—. See you soon...

And the young man continued on his way.

The next day, as Claudine was returning from work, she began observing the stones she found... path. He was looking for someone who would be consistent, and if possible, have some of their songs smooth. She found him little before arriving at the building. She hid him under the clothes and went up to her room. Took the nail, which had been kept in a drawer, the same one where she kept the plates and utensils, leaned it against the wall, on the rough spot, and hit it with the stone. The nail sank into the plaster until it reached the brick, which was insufficient to support the weight of the picture. Claudine attacked the nail with force; but used so much that, due to the bad state of the wall, a part came loose and fell to the floor of the neighboring room. A hole as big as the stone that Claudine had in her hand had formed in the wall.

Scared, she left the stone on the floor and looked through the hole. She didn't see anyone in the room. In the few weeks the young woman had been living there, she hadn't yet crossed paths with her neighbor; however, she knew of his existence, since every afternoon, a little before nightfall, she heard the door slam shut as he entered.

For a while, Claudine thought about the different consequences of the accident. The first one that worried her most was being expelled from the apartment; and the second, less serious than the first, was her neighbor's anger.

Anxious with these thoughts, she lay down on the bed, waiting for her neighbor. After a while, she thought it would be better to wait for him outside, in the hallway that led to the three rooms and ended at the stairs, so she could tell him what had happened before he saw it.

Claudine sat down on the floor and waited. She was already falling asleep when she heard footsteps. Claudine quickly got up as soon as she recognized the figure of a man, and felt a great relief when she realized it was the young man who had helped her remove the nail from the wall. Roger looked up and saw Claudine looking down at him with a smile. Before the young man could greet her, Claudine said:

Do you live here?

The young man Claudine arrived at her height. —If I live here? —said Roger, pointing to the door between the other two. —Ah yes —said Claudine, nodding with her head. —No, I live in that one over there. Claudine turned back and sat on the floor, covered her face with her hands, and began to cry. Roger knelt down, surprised by this sudden reaction, put his hand on Claudine's shoulder and asked: —What's wrong? Between sobs, with a voice interrupted, Claudine replied: —They're going to kick me out. —Where from? —From here. —From your house? Can't you pay? Claudine wiped her tears with the sleeve of her dress, grabbed Roger's hand and led him into her room. —That's why —said Claudine, pointing to the hole in the wall—. As soon as Mr. Pikets finds out, he'll raise a fuss; they'll kick me out, I'm sure, and I won't know where to go. I don't know what to do. All that's left is to trust our neighbor, Butler, not to say anything and help me hide the damage until I have money to repair it. Roger looked at the hole, thoughtful. —Butler is an old grumpy man who's angry with everyone. Butler is our neighbor. —What am I going to do then? As soon as that old man arrives and discovers the hole... —And I don't think he'll be late; he usually gets here at this time. Claudine sat on the bed, slumped over, and sighed. Roger picked up a stone from the floor and hit the wall. Claudine, hearing the sound, jumped in surprise. —But...! What are you doing? Roger looked at Claudine, took a breath to hit the wall again, and said: —A bigger hole. And he hit the wall again. Brick fragments fell on the other side of the partition. Claudine was completely paralyzed. —Can you get through here? —asked Roger after several blows—. We have to hurry. Old Butler won't be late. It's necessary that you go into the next room and throw away the debris in this one. —Why do we need to do that, Roger? —Trust me. Come on, I'll help you get through. Claudine put her arms and head through the hole, and with the help of her friend was passing to the other side.

During this operation, Roger did everything he could not to touch more than the young woman's waist and, in addition, not to raise the skirt of her dress, since, before all, no matter how extreme the situation was, he did not want to lack respect.

In the fall, Claudine hit her forehead on the debris and got a scrape.

'Are you okay?' Roger asked her.

The young woman got up from the floor. She had some blood on her forehead, but she was so nervous that she didn't even notice the damage. She nodded with her head, and without losing a single second began to pick up the debris.

Roger, meanwhile, crawled the bed to the wall, leaving the headboard very close to the hole, and asked Claudine to pass him the largest fragments first, and leave the smallest for last. Each piece of wall that Claudine gave him, Roger placed on top of the bed.

Occasionally, Roger would peer through the door and listen if he could hear Mr. Butler's steps.

When Claudine was passing the last remnants of the disaster, Roger thought he heard some footsteps. He thought it might be any other neighbor, but it wasn't worth taking a risk.

'Leave it alone, Claudine. Come on, I'll help you pass.'

Roger took hold of Claudine's hands, who had already passed her arms and head through the hole, and pulled her back.

'We have to be quick. Move the bed and put it under the hole.'

Roger approached the cabinet next to the oven, opened the drawer and took out a dirt-colored cloth and a knife that seemed sharp. Claudine finished moving the bed and turned around just as Roger closed his eyes, grasped the blade of the knife with his fist and quickly pulled it out. Claudine covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a scream.

Roger, without paying attention to Claudine, wiped the blood off the knife with the cloth and then used the same cloth... covered the wound on her hand. —It would be better if I spoke up, okay? From now on, don't say anything. He approached Claudine, put the blood-soaked cloth on her forehead, and without letting go of it, wrapped his arm around her and took her out of the room. Outside, looking for the key to enter his room, was Mr. Butler. This, upon seeing the blood coming from the young woman's head, furrowed his brow and exclaimed: —Holy blessed heaven! What happened to her? —The wall fell on her while she was sleeping —Roger said—. Come, help me get her down. —Damn building! —the old man shouted— Are you okay? —It's nothing —Roger said—, but she should see a doctor. The three of them went down to the first floor. Butler knocked several times on the door of the Pikets'. An old nearsighted man opened the door. It was Mr. Pikets. —Look at what that ruinous building did to that poor girl! Mr. Pikets remained silent and agape upon seeing the blood. His hands were trembling, and his eyes shone. —We're going to the police right away! —Butler continued to say. —But... can you explain what happened? —Mr. Pikets managed to ask. —Can't you see? A wall from their walls fell on her while she was sleeping —said Butler. —I was lucky I was in my room and heard everything, so I could help her —Roger intervened. —But... —said Pikets— The police? This young woman should see a doctor. —And the police too! —the old man said. —Well, well, but first she should see a doctor —said Pikets—. Don't worry about the doctor's expenses. I'll take care of that, and... well, she'll have a better room, and... for the same price, of course. —Of course it will! —Butler shouted. —But... it won't be necessary to go to the police. —You talk about it —interrupted Roger—; I'll take her to see a doctor, and whether or not to go to the police will be up to her. Roger left the building with Claudine, leaving the two old men alone. Already outside, and having solved the problem, Claudine dared to talk. —Won't we go to a doctor, right? —he asked. Roger smiled. —Of course not. We'll go to a friend's house instead, if you don't mind. He'll lend us what we need to heal these wounds and hide your scratch. Then, if you feel like it, we can take a walk in the park. 3. Marie Nobody missed the party. Friends and family wanted to be present on such a special day for Marie. She was turning fifteen. Only child of Eduard and Margaret Connell, Marie had parents who were the envy of all her friends, who often said: I wish my parents were like yours. For the Connell couple, their daughter was everything. Despite being a girl who never lacked anything, she was always dissatisfied with nothing and never complained about anything. That morning, seeing the sun rise, Marie's parents decided to celebrate her birthday in the garden. It had been a clear day, added to the mild temperature, which foretold a beautiful spring day. At first hour of the afternoon, the tables were perfectly arranged on the patio, provided with drinks and appetizers that the guests were selecting and placing on their plates. The leaves of the hedges bordering the patio shone gently under the sun, and not even a gentle breeze dared to disturb them. A gramophone, located on a table under the porch, was animating the party with a new style of music called fox-trot. The vinyl record, a gift from Aunt Rose, had been bought from a group of American soldiers in exchange for some coins and information about where to spend it carelessly, or rather: on women, as agreed by Rose with pleasure. But this gift, like all the others, failed to arouse greater interest in Marie, overshadowed as it was by another much more special one: a greyish puppy with woolly fur, small eyes, and drooping ears: it was called a Barbet puppy. And although she showed equal gratitude to the rest of the gifts, barely paid attention to them, not only because of the enormous illusion that the puppy had made for her, but also because said gift came from someone very special to her: her friend Darrell, whom she was secretly in love with; so secretively that he didn't even know it.

Darrell, who was then twenty-one years old, was a handsome, educated, and cultured young man; virtues that he carried with great humility. Recently promoted to sergeant of the British army, Darrell had a bright future ahead of him.

With the puppy in her arms, Marie scanned the patio for her friend, spotting him quickly chatting with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tilman, alongside their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Connell. She was happy about the good relationship between them and blushed at the thought that they might strengthen their bonds in the future.

She decided to approach them when a hand grasped her arm, holding her back.

—Finally, I've found you. Tell me, dear: do you like music?

—Very much, Aunt Rose; thank you.

—You look different. You're turning into a real woman.

Marie blushed.

—I don't know, Aunt Rose. I don't think...

—It's true.

Her cousin Shelly joined them.

—Almost old enough to have a boyfriend —Aunt Rose continued—, but that's not something you should worry about now; as you say, you're still just a girl. Shelly was your age and didn't have a boyfriend either, at twenty years old, wasn't she? But that's true: she didn't lack suitors; by the way, Marie, did you know Darrell invited Shelly out?

Marie's color turned from pink to white, and a terrible anguish seized her.

—They make an excellent couple —Aunt Rose continued—, don't you think?

Marie couldn't contain the pain, noticing that her eyes were welling up, so she lowered her head and said:

—Yes They do, aunt... And before the first tears could fall, he went inside the house, leaving mother and daughter there planted. He went up to his room, got into bed, hugged the dog, and cried like he hadn't done in a long time.

After a while, his mother came into the room, saw her crying daughter, sat down on the bed, puzzled, and asked what was wrong. Marie, still crying, turned her head away from the pillow, looked at her mother, and started smiling.

Nothing, Mom; I'm just very happy that so many people have come.

Ay, my life! Everyone loves you so much.

I know, Mom; that's why I'm happy.

And what does he say? she asked, petting the puppy's head.

He wonders if you'll let him sleep with me in my bed...

We'll see; we'll ask Dad. Tell me, have you given him a name yet?

No, not yet.

And did you thank Darrell? It was his idea to give it to you.

Marie, who had been smiling until then to avoid disappointing her mother, became serious.

No, Mom.

Well, you should.

I know... but...

Come on, Marie; he's your friend, and I'm sure he took a lot of trouble to get it for you.

Mrs. Connell took her daughter's hand without releasing the dog, and led her back to the garden. Soon they found Darrell talking to Mr. Connell.

You've been looking all over the house for me, dear, said Mrs. Connell to her husband. Come; I have something to show you...

And the two of them walked away, leaving the couple alone.

Hi, Marie, said Darrell.

Marie looked away. Despite the years they had known each other and the good relationship between them, he felt very far from her, almost like a stranger.

What's his name? asked Darrell.

Not yet.

Not knowing what else to say, they remained silent for a while.

How's the party going? asked Darrell, finally.

It's fine, I suppose... How do you see it?

Fine! There are many people. And that music... it sounds... it's great. —It's Aunt Rose's gift; and well, Shelly's too, I suppose. Fox-trot. —What? —That's what it's called: fox-trot. —Ah; it really sounds good. —Hey, Darrell... —Yes? —I wanted to tell you something... They walked up to a stone bench, located in front of some roses, and sat down. Marie remembered her aunt's words, making her feel more like a child than she actually was, and felt silly. —My cousin Shelly is a very pretty girl. Darrell seemed uncomfortable. —Yes; Shelly is a very pretty girl. —And she's already a woman... —Marie went from feeling silly to ridiculous, seeing that she didn't dare say what she thought, and continued:— Really, thank you very much; it was the best gift of all. Promise me one thing, Darrel. —I notice you're strange, Marie; is something wrong? —I just want you to promise me one thing. —Whatever you ask. —Promise that you'll always be my friend, that we'll never lose the trust we have in each other. Darrell looked at her strangely, and before he could answer, Marie gave him a kiss on the cheek and left. 4. A desperate request. One night, Claudine was having dinner with her husband when the following occurred: —Roger... —she said. Silence. Roger was stirring the soup with his spoon without looking up from the plate—. Roger —repeated Claudine to her husband in the same tone of voice, troubled—. You have to do something. Roger didn't say anything; he got up from the table and went to the room where their daughter slept. He knelt down beside her, and when his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he looked at her carefully. As she breathed, she emitted a hoarse whistling sound that oppressed the father's soul. He kissed her on the cheek and returned to bed, thoughtful. The next day, like every morning, Roger went to work: a factory where he had worked since just before meeting his wife in that dilapidated building. During the first two hours of his shift, from his post, he was watching the people coming and going... Arrivals from the zone supervisor. In one of these, Roger left his post and approached him.

--Excuse me, sir; I wanted to ask... well, I wanted to know if they need men for the night shift.

--No. Go back to your post.

--Although it may be...

--No, Roger; go back to your post.

Crushed by the negative response, he dared to ask for an interview with Mr. Wallace, owner of the business and head of the 143 workers in the factory, but this refused him outright without giving him the option to insist. He knew Roger's situation and intuited his intentions, so he preferred not to bother the boss with such uncomfortable topics, as he knew how much they irritated him.

At mid-morning, abandoning his routine, Mr. Wallace left the office to take a walk around the different plants of his thriving industry. This was not something he did habitually, although he did it from time to time to let himself be seen by his workers and for them to have present the figure who paid the bread that fed their children.

If we were to delve into Mr. Wallace's personality, we would see that he was a mean man, whom life smiled upon without deserving it, whom fate, destiny, providence, the whim of a divine being, all together or none, had enriched and whom society respected.

Mr. Wallace, a short man with almost no neck, ruddy and with a few extra pounds, passed very close to Roger with his head held high and his arms crossed. Roger, seeing him, left his work post and approached him.

--Sir, I need to talk to you --he said, trying to maintain his composure--. My daughter is... dying. Please, sir, if you would let me... I could work nights at the factory. Please, sir, I need...

Mr. Wallace stopped and, without looking at him, said:

--Do you intend to work day and night? If so, your performance would be so low that I'd have to fire you. Go back to... work that he has, which is not little.

And, turning his back on him, he continued his route through the plant.

Roger stayed there planted, watching as his only hope was walking away from Mr. Wallace's hand. Seconds later, he returned disheartened to his post. Although it may seem strange, he did not feel hatred, resentment, or anything bad towards his boss; that would have gone against his nature, and on the other side, the concern he felt was so great that it didn't leave room for any other feelings.

The day seemed eternal. Roger performed his work like an automaton, detached from what surrounded him.

He didn't eat. Not even did he leave his job when the lunchtime siren sounded. He stayed there with his pain, numb.

It seemed as though fortune was showing its most bitter face and leaving him to fall into the well of desperation; but, as is known, there is no bottom without a well, and that same afternoon, to his surprise, the supervisor approached him and asked him to accompany him, since the boss wanted to see him. Hope illuminated his path for the first time in a long time.

Roger followed the supervisor to the boss's office. After knocking on the door, he entered. Mr. Wallace, reclining in his leather armchair, behind a large desk, offered him a seat. He was smoking a cigar solemnly, lifting his head with each exhalation of smoke.

I've sacrificed part of my life in this company, said Mr. Wallace. Having what I have has cost me a lot. Don't think I don't know what it's like to go hungry. Do you see this cigar? Do you know how much it costs? Oh, of course not! What nonsense I'm saying! It's an H. Hupmann, do you recognize the name? You recognize it, don't you? Listen... if I had been a permissive person, like you're asking me to be now, I wouldn't have anything. Do you understand what I mean? Right now, I couldn't even smoke this cigar, nor could I afford my wife's whims, which are many and expensive, nor my daughter's, which are no less costly than my wife's. I know what you're saying... Mr. Frost has informed me of everything, and I don't think I feel indifferent to a situation like yours. Deep down, these things affect me more than you think. See... I'm going to propose something: I need a maid at home; a maid who is willing to... how do I say it?... who is willing to do anything. — Roger looked confused at his boss.— I'll be clear; I want your wife's life in exchange for your daughter's. I'll pay the best doctors, cover the best medicines, and everything in exchange for your wife for no more than three months.

—The life of my wife? How, sir? No... I don't understand well...

—I see you don't understand well; what I ask in exchange for your daughter's life is your wife's body. It's quite simple to understand...

—But sir!...

—I'll pay the best doctor in all England; medicines, and two nurses who will take care of your daughter day and night. If there's even a slight chance your daughter can be saved, this solution passes through it. Go home. Take the afternoon off. Talk to your wife; think about it; I'll hear from you when you've made up your mind. I'm not in a hurry.

These words upset Roger's emotional state. There was someone who was offering him a hand, slowing his fall down that well, but to do so, they were stretching the rope around his neck.

He left the office and returned home, turning over Mr. Wallace's proposal in his mind. When he arrived, he and his wife discussed the topic until very late at night. But... what is all this, Roger? Claudine asked, troubled, without getting a clear answer from her husband. In reality, both of them had doubts about Mr. Wallace's proposition —she more than him—; but both agreed to accept.

5. The good news.

Marie barely ate, slept little, and spent most of her time absent-mindedly, with her mind wandering. Sometimes she would let time pass sitting on the bench in her dressing room, looking at the street through the window of her room and playing with the strands of her hair. At times she would wake up from her sleep, pick up the dog in her arms, press her cheek against his, and between sighs squeeze him mercilessly against her chest.

At mealtime, she was equally absent. Her father, who had been observing her strange behavior for several days, began to show concern and kept asking about her lack of appetite. Marie, with a few seconds' delay, always answered it's because of the summer, damn heat!

One day, when Marie got up from the table and went to her room, Howard told his wife:

--Something is wrong with this girl. I'm her father and I can tell.

--You're her father and you know it, and if you were her mother like me, you'd also know what's going on.

--What's going on then?

--She's in love.

In the mornings, when she didn't have classes, Marie would go down to the garden, where she would spend time watching the butterflies flutter among the lilies, mimosa, and heliotrope that adorned it, with a melancholy so deep that she often thought about how little sense her life would make if she couldn't share it with Darrell, and that if that were the case, it would be better to stop living. Sometimes she'd say: Shelly is prettier than me; besides, Darrell still sees me as a kid, and then she'd reprimand herself: You've been foolish for thinking you could... , believing that by thinking in such a pessimistic way, she would bury all the illusions she had until then and therefore the pain would disappear.

But the truth, which she didn't know, was that Darrell had a date with Shelly without wanting it and did want it with Marie, even though the latter was less beautiful than the former. Darrell saw in Marie tenderness, kindness, and innocence; in Shelly he saw everything opposite, which displeased him excessively.

One night, two days before his date with Shelly, Darrell entered the office of his father and maintained an interesting conversation with him.

—That girl... Shelly, doesn't it seem a bit strange?

Without looking up from the papers he had on the table and moving them from one side to the other, Darrell's father replied:

—Strange?

—Yes. I mean that... well, she's not like the other girls.

—Ah; and?

—Well, it bothers me. I don't want to go out with her.

Still moving the papers:

—Tell your mother; she was the one who arranged everything with Shelly's mother... how does she call herself? That, Shelly; but if you don't want to date her, you don't have to. Cancel the date by sending your apologies with a bouquet of flowers and that's it. But, son, I don't see what harm it could do to go out with her.

—I know, father, but it's just... there's something more.

—Ah...

—I'd like to ask permission from another girl's parents to date her.

—Well, go ahead, son. I trust that...

—It's about the Connells —interrupted Darrell his father, who suddenly stopped shuffling papers to fix his gaze on his son.

—The Connells? Are you talking about little Marie?

—Yes, father.

—That is... that is fantastic!— Darrell's father stood up from the chair and approached his son.— The Connells are an exceptional family, and Marie seems like an excellent girl. I think it's a very good decision. I'm really happy, son.

Both of them, satisfied, hugged each other.

6. The agreement.

Two days later, at night, Elisabeth and Joseph —the Wallace gentlemen— presided over the table in their large dining room. Their two guests, Roger and his wife, sat facing each other, barely lifting their heads from their plates, while Emily, the Wallace's daughter, ate seated next to her father.

Little was said during dinner; any attempt at conversation would fade away at its beginning. The tension of Roger and his wife, despite their efforts to conceal it, was noticeable since their arrival at the house.

Finally, as one of the servants served dessert, Mr. Wallace addressed the topic that had brought them together:

—Relax; think about your daughter. Imagine you'll be enjoying her happiness soon.

Roger looked up from his plate and gazed at his wife. His unease was visible in his eyes, while hers showed uncertainty, like a fool who senses danger but doesn't know its true gravity.

Turning to Mr. Wallace, Roger replied:

—Yes, sir, but we're not sure this is...

—Nonsense! —interrupted Mr. Wallace, raising his voice— Don't worry about anything; I'll bring the best doctor in the country. I don't know if I should say this... I dislike spoiling things... but I'll tell you: yesterday I spoke with Dr. Herbert Khol; if you don't know, Dr. Khol is one of Europe's most prestigious doctors. I asked him, as a personal favor, of course, to take charge of your daughter's case, and he agreed readily; in fact, he showed optimism and interest.

—But sir, what you're asking for in return is...

—A small sacrifice, dear friend, nothing more than that: a small sacrifice. Do you have anything better to offer us?

Roger fell silent. Mr. Wallace continued:

—Your daughter's life is in your hands. You decide.

—Agreed —said Claudine—. I accept. I don't know what you want from me, but I accept.

—Enough nonsense and mysteries —interrupted Mrs. Wallace, with disdain— We love you, dear one; we want a slave. Your life for your daughter's. If you accept, you'll stay; if not, Eugene will take you back home.

Claudine looked at them one by one, terrified, and reaffirmed her decision:

—I accept, ma'am.

—Well, dear; let's see.

This entire scene, sheltered by the cruel circumstance that necessitated it, was being watched with attention by the two servants standing beside the entrance to dining room. The one was named Eugene; the other, Fabián. The first was a middle-aged man, rather robust, with soft and attractive features, transmitting tranquility and confidence. The second was a thin man, with a narrow face, sunken eyes, ugly like a lizard, whose serious and dark countenance was a faithful reflection of his soul.

Mrs. Wallace made a gesture with her head to Eugene, who seeing the signal from his mistress placed himself behind Claudine, took hold of her arm, and forced her to stand up. Claudine looked at her husband, and he, unable to maintain the gaze, bowed his head. The situation seemed so unbelievable that she arrived at thinking that nothing of all this was happening to her in reality.

—Lower the dress to the waist —ordered Mrs. Wallace.

Claudine crossed her arms over her chest.

—This way we won't go well —said Mrs. Wallace—. It would be better for you to return to your house and leave your daughter in God's hands. She is less reliable than a doctor, but much cheaper.

Claudine let her arms fall. Eugene looked at Mrs. Wallace, and seeing that she nodded her head, untied the lace that closed the young mother's dress and lowered it to the waist.

—The bra; take it off too.

The butler unfastened the piece of clothing and took it off. There was no resistance, but Claudine had to make a great effort not to cover her breasts with her arms. She felt such shame and humiliation that she wished to die. Meanwhile, her husband looked at her intermittently, struggling between his morbid curiosity, which he would feel guilty about for the rest of his life, and the pain it caused him.

Emily, meanwhile, had left the cutlery on the table and alternated her gaze between Claudine and her husband, enjoying as none of the present could ever enjoy the horror and suffering reflected in their faces.

—Tie her up —ordered Elisabeth. Eugene tied his hands to the back with a rope he pulled out of his pocket, giving it several turns around his wrists without tightening it too much, and then stepped away.

Everyone, especially Elisabeth, appreciated the beauty of her breasts, white as snow, and the extreme thinness of her stomach, the result of poor nutrition. Her ribs were softly marked on her skin. This was not very attractive, but it didn't bother the Wallece family, who saw with pleasure and joy the ravages of poverty and misfortune.

—Fabián —said Mrs. Wallece—. Come here.

The other servant, who looked more terrible, stood behind Claudine.

—Touch her —continued Mrs. Wallace.

Fabián circled around her with his arms and grabbed her breasts, pinching her nipples, which were small and rosy.

—Harder.

Claudine closed her eyes and contorted her face in pain.

—More.

The pain, that strange and unpleasant perception that almost all human beings flee from, became more unbearable.

—That's enough —said Mrs. Wallace—. Lift up her dress to the waist and pull down her panties to her knees so we can see her entirely.

Roger, who had been observing the scene furtively until then, maintaining an inner struggle to control himself and not stop this aberration, finally turned his gaze away from the window, defeated by the pain.

—Eugene —said Mrs. Wallace, addressing the servant—, our guest wants to leave. Take him home.

On one hand, Claudine desperately wanted her husband not to witness such a lamentable humiliation, but on the other hand, staying alone terrified her.

With her hands tied to her back, her dress rumpled around her waist like an accordion bellows, and her panties rolled up to her knees, Claudine saw her husband walking away.

—Roger, please... —she managed to say, almost out of breath.

Before he left the dining room, in the precise instant when Fabián... body of Claudine on the table, Roger turned to contemplate his wife for the last time and the image he saw had such an impact on him that he would remember it for a long time. And not just that image would torture him, as little later, when he was walking through the garden towards the street, he heard something that paralyzed him and which he would also remember for all that time and much more if he ever forgot it.

6. A scream is worth more than an image.

As Roger left the house, Claudine convinced herself that something would happen at that very moment that would save her from all that depravity; but as time passed, especially when she saw Mrs. Wallace's smile take on a malicious tone, her hopes melted away like ice in the palm of her hand. Only when she saw Fabián lowering his pants and feeling the touch of his member on the entrance to her sex did she say to herself: 'Oh, God! What are they going to do to me?' The answer, if someone had heard her question and answered sincerely, would have been that they were going to rape her.

Nothing could stop what was about to happen. The butler held her by the hips and rushed at her. Claudine, who felt her body opening up suddenly, couldn't help but let out a scream that echoed beyond the boundaries of the Wallace estate, which her husband had heard as he walked away through the garden.

Overcoming the first obstacle, Fabián began to move, finding immense pleasure in the resistance offered by the dry forced passage.

Claudine then began to cry and soon beg him to stop. But Fabián, far from stopping, accelerated his pace, and for the greater torture of his victim, lifted her head by the hair so that everyone could see the suffering on her face.

The serenity of those who were enjoying this scene resulted terrifying. They looked at her with attention, but with a passive amazement, like someone looking at the menu of a good restaurant.

Fabián intensified his attacks; so much that, when the young woman's body was bathed in the fluid of that unknown, the unfortunate felt she would disappear in an instant.

Mrs. Wallace got up from her chair, approached her, and, grabbing her by the hair, separated her from the table. Claudine's legs were trembling and her sex hurt.

—Get down on your knees.

With Fabián's help, who was standing beside her with his member stained with semen, Claudine got down on her knees.

—Open your mouth and don't dare to close it.

Said this, her hand struck Claudine's cheek with violence, causing her to close her mouth after the impact. Then she received another slap in the same cheek, with the same force as the previous one.

—You said not to close your mouth! —she screamed.

Claudine began to cry again, resisting obedience. It still seemed impossible to her that all this was really happening to her. Mrs. Wallace raised her arm with an implacable and severe gesture; only then did Claudine obey. Mrs. Wallace brought her mouth close to Claudine's, paused at a very short distance, and spat in her mouth. The saliva slid down her interior, causing her a deep disgust, an unpleasant sensation of repugnance. Mrs. Wallace stepped back so that Fabián could introduce his member into her mouth, stained with semen. Claudine, feeling her mouth also outraged, closed her eyes tightly and let them also violate her without offering resistance.

As the member entered and left, the same member that had separated their flesh, Mrs. Wallace began to walk slowly but firmly across the room, arms crossed and a serious expression. Then she continued speaking in a voice that cut through the air:

—Your life isn't worth even a tenth part of The money you're going to receive. No matter how much you suffer and no matter how painful and degrading it is what you're going to live in this house and outside of it, you must show gratitude. Don't you know how? Don't worry; I'll teach you not only to show it but also to be it. I'll also teach you many other things that will be better for your own good if you remember them. Nothing you feel or think matters anymore. Your life is now worthless. You will be subjected to my will and that of my family, either by the good or by the bad. Three months; then you'll be free. Remember this: anyone can use your body unless I don't want it, and never say no to the requests of people you treat, whether inside this house or outside of it. Do things wrong, and you will be severely punished. Keep doing things wrong, and you will be handed over to Lord Keyworth.

--If you don't know who Lord Keyworth is, mom --interrupted little Emily.-- If I knew, she wouldn't have stayed--

--Shut up, Emily. And you, Fabián, stop it; let her breathe.

Fabián removed his member from Claudine's mouth, untied her hands, and helped her sit down in the chair.

Hunched over, pressing her hands between her legs, and hiding her recently profaned and painful sex, Claudine continued to cry. Her whole body was shaking. Mrs. Wallace wrapped her arms around Claudine's head and held her tightly against her stomach.

--Come on, calm down; you'll get used to it --she said while stroking her hair--. Everything will be fine if you behave properly. The worst thing you can do is think; the less you think, the less you'll suffer. Obey and do things right; you'll avoid many problems.

After a while, when Claudine stopped crying, Mrs. Wallace separated herself from her. She was holding a black leather collar with several rings, one of which had a small silver bell dangling from it. Then she took out a few more black leather straps with bells from her pocket. all of them, although slightly smaller than the first one.

As she put the collar around her neck, Emily asked to put the rest of the bracelets on her body, which she did in wrists and ankles. Then Eugene covered her with a green cape.

—You'll wear them always during your stay —said Mrs. Wallace, referring to the straps—. You won't take them off under any circumstances. The sound of the bells will warn us of your presence wherever you are.

Mrs. Wallace began to walk her hand over Claudine's breasts.

From now on, you'll stop calling yourself Claudine; Now you're Bell.

—Elisabeth —interrupted her husband—; don't get too attached to her; she'll only be with us for three months.

Mrs. Wallace looked at him sternly, something her husband interpreted as a rebuke for having acquired such a beautiful and suffering woman for such a short period of time.

—Emily —said Mrs. Wallace, addressing her daughter—. Take her away tonight. She's yours. Have fun with her, but don't hurt her; no blows or sodomy. Use her mouth for whatever you want, and if she doesn't obey, let me know.

Claudine shuddered, and the tinkling of the bells, which had not stopped since they were put on, became more audible throughout the room.

A perfect evening.

Some days after Darrell announced his intention to ask the Conells for permission to go out with Marie, and before doing so, their parents met at the Rules restaurant in Covent Garden district, where they enjoyed a great friendship. Mr. Tillman revealed between wine glasses his son's intention. Everyone was enthusiastic about the idea and toasted it.

After dinner, they went to the Royal Princess Theatre on Oxford Street, number 73, to see a very popular show of the time: The Fatal Wedding.

On their way back home, in the Chevrolet at the That people were traveling had broken down between the districts of Holborn and Clerckenwell, a place that announced its hostility with the lack of light.

Howard got out of the car scratching his beard.

—Howard, dear —said Mrs. Conell—, let's walk back to the theater; we'll find a taxi there.

A street woman, also known as public or merry life, who Howard took for a flower vendor because she was carrying a bouquet of very poor roses under her arm, stopped to contemplate the scene.

—Come on, Howard —insisted his wife—; let's get out of here.

At that moment, detaching herself from the soft fog that surrounded her, the young prostitute approached.

—Do you want a rose, sir?

—Can a rose take me home?

—I don't think so, but if you buy the entire bouquet, maybe yes...

Howard looked at the girl. She was beautiful to the eyes of a blind man whose hands would have been unable to see the dirt on her neck, the livid spots on her face and the dark desire in her gaze. It was that awkward figure an soul that had renounced its body and a body that had forgotten the existence of its soul. She had a sweet voice, almost warm, beautiful mouth and mostly rotten teeth.

—I can take you home to a coachman —continued the young woman—. He lives nearby.

—How much do you want for the bouquet?

—50 pence.

—They're yours; take us.

Mrs. Connell approached her husband and grabbed his arm. They followed the girl through a narrow street filled with puddles that could have been from urine, which would explain the strong smell in the air.

The girl stopped next to a facade of sad brickwork, like an abandoned factory, straight figure with three bare windows, one of them oval-shaped, and an old wooden door without a lock.

—Will you give me some more pennies, sir? They'll help wake up that lazybones.

Howard rummaged through... sus pockets. In one of them he found some coins that he gave to the young woman immediately. She, with her back to the door, counted them one by one with her finger and put them in the pocket of her skirt. Satisfied with the amount, she smiled at Howard, and as she made a elegant bow to the couple, she pushed the door softly with the sole of her foot, and disappeared in less than it takes to say amen.

The couple waited silently in front of the door. Five minutes, ten, fifteen... After that time, Helen said: Howard: he won't take us, or maybe that young woman has cheated us. Howard ventured to push the door, expecting to enter the interior of a dwelling, and found nothing but a long and narrow alleyway, formed by two brick walls, full of recesses, doors, and entrances to other alleys.

—That scoundrel has robbed us! —growled Mr. Connell with indignation.

—Don't get upset, dear. Let's go back to the theater. We'll find a taxi that will take us there. This place doesn't like me. Let's leave, please.

They therefore embarked on the path of return; a silent path between puddles of water and trash cans. Only in the distance could be heard a noise similar to a cry, but it was actually the howling of a dog in heat.

As the couple passed through the darkest and narrowest street they had walked with the prostitute, when a figure emerged from nowhere and approached them from behind.

Howard suddenly noticed her presence and stopped. His wife, who was holding his arm tightly, turned towards him.

—Let's go, cari... —said Mrs. Howard in the exact instant that an arm wrapped around her husband's neck and the blade of a knife cut his throat.

Mrs. Howard did not believe what her eyes were showing her. She put her hands to her mouth, took a few steps back, and began to tremble with fear. She didn't think about screaming, as her mind had collapsed from shock, and for the same reason she also didn't think about running. A moment later, seeing the blood burst from the neck of her husband, already dead, she fainted.

Suddenly she woke up. She gained consciousness lying face down on the cold floor of some unknown place. It was a dark and narrow place with a stench of rancidness. She tried to turn over, but a great weight placed on her back, around the height of the coccyx, prevented her from doing so. She tried to call for help, but a dirty rag stuffed in her mouth and tied with a cord denied it to her. She tried to move her head, and not finding an obstacle that hindered her, she did so, and found herself face to face with her husband's face, who had open eyes, a vacant stare, and no breath in his mouth. Mrs. Connell closed her eyes tightly and turned her head again.

That shadow that emerged from nowhere had dragged them from the street into a portal and hidden them in the hollow of the staircase. It had gagged the woman with a dirty and worn-out rag, and since it seemed like an attractive, elegant, and well-perfumed woman to him, he sat on her for a while. At that moment, Mrs. Connell woke up and saw her husband.

Don't move, slut, said a voice battered by alcohol.

The cold hand of that killer lifted her skirt to her waist. Then it lay on top of her victim and she began to twist like a fish on the deck of a boat. She saw a fish in front of him, the same knife that had taken her husband's life, and going up to meet his neck, she heard the voice saying:

If you move, I'll make a bow tie, do you understand, slut?

Mrs. Connell stopped. There was nothing she could do. Her life was in the hands of that natural waste, and she knew that not doing what he said would shorten the path that separated her from death. She had to do whatever he asked, thought, not for herself or her life, but for her daughter, since leaving her alone in this world of misery and disaster terrified her more than her own death.

The knife stopped pressing her throat to go... cut off her underwear. With one tug the garment came undone from her body and ended up on the floor.

She tried to beg for mercy. By then, the man was prepared to defile her body, and with the same firmness he had used to cut his wife's throat, he thrust the cock into her through the narrowest passage she could use.

Mrs. Connell, feeling the same pain as if they had stabbed her with a knife, tensed her body muscles and bit the handkerchief.

Five minutes later, the savage felt the urge to cum, and pulling his victim's hair with one hand and covering her nose with the other, he accelerated his thrusts. Marie's mother, unable to breathe, began to move from side to side in desperation. This resistance infuriated the man, so he pulled harder on her hair and increased his movements. Seconds later, the man saw his excitement satisfied at the exact moment his victim collapsed against the floor, already dead.

The remains disappeared from the scene and returned after a time with a cart. He searched the woman's purse, taking out a small sum of money, and ripped off her neck a gold chain whose center had a bird design with blue, green, and canary feathers. Then he loaded the body onto the cart, covered it with a blanket, and headed to the Thames dock, where, after making sure no one was watching, he threw it half-naked into the water. He returned to the portal, searched his wife's husband, taking out more money from him, loaded him onto the cart, and took him to a point on the river not far from where he had thrown his wife, and there, without another word, threw him in too. Then, with all the money in his pocket, he went to the tavern. There, he told the drinkers he had invited that a dog had attacked him, and that to defend himself he had stabbed it with a knife. He drank until he was drunk, singing songs with the rest of the drinkers he had invited, and said I'm returning home, little before arriving, lost his balance, fell to the floor, took one last sip from his bottle of The Macallan whisky and fell asleep.