THE ENCHANTED KISS
by O. Henry
But a clerk in the Cut-rate Drug Store was Samuel Tansey, yet
his slender frame was a pad that enfolded the passion of Romeo,
the gloom of Laura, the romance of D'Artagnan, and the desperate
inspiration of Melnotte. Pity, then, that he had been denied
expression, that he was doomed to the burden of utter timidity
and diffidence, that Fate had set him tongue-tied and scarlet
before the muslin-clad angels whom he adored and vainly longed
to rescue, clasp, comfort, and subdue.
The clock's hands were pointing close upon the hour of ten while
Tansey was playing billiards with a number of his friends. On
alternate evenings he was released from duty at the store after
seven o'clock. Even among his fellow-men Tansey was timorous
and constrained. In his imagination he had done valiant deeds
and performed acts of distinguished gallantry; but in fact he
was a sallow youth of twenty-three, with an over-modest demeanour
and scant vocabulary.
When the clock struck ten, Tansey hastily laid down his cue and
struck sharply upon the show-case with a coin for the attendant
to come and receive the pay for his score.
"What's your hurry, Tansey?" called one. "Got another engagement?"
"Tansey got an engagement!" echoed another. "Not on your life.
Tansey's got to get home at Motten by her Peek's orders."
"It's no such thing," chimed in a pale youth, taking a large
cigar from his mouth; "Tansey's afraid to be late because Miss
Katie might come down stairs to unlock the door, and kiss him
in the hall."
This delicate piece of raillery sent a fiery tingle into Tansey's
blood, for the indictment was true--barring the kiss. That was a
thing to dream of; to wildly hope for; but too remote and sacred
a thing to think of lightly.
Casting a cold and contemptuous look at the speaker--a punishment
commensurate with his own diffident spirit--Tansey left the room,
descending the stairs into the street.
For two years he had silently adored Miss Peek, worshipping her
from a spiritual distance through which her attractions took on
stellar brightness and mystery. Mrs. Peek kept a few choice
boarders, among whom was Tansey. The other young men romped
with Katie, chased her with crickets in their fingers, and
"jollied" her with an irreverent freedom that turned Tansey's
heart into cold lead in his bosom. The signs of his adoration
were few--a tremulous "Good morning," stealthy glances at her
during meals, and occasionally (Oh, rapture!) a blushing,
delirious game of cribbage with her in the parlour on some
rare evening when a miraculous lack of engagement kept her at
home. Kiss him in the hall! Aye, he feared it, but it was an
ecstatic fear such as Elijah must have felt when the chariot
lifted him into the unknown.
But to-night the gibes of his associates had stung him to a
feeling of forward, lawless mutiny; a defiant, challenging,
atavistic recklessness. Spirit of corsair, adventurer, lover,
poet, bohemian, possessed him. The stars he saw above him
seemed no more unattainable, no less high, than the favour
of Miss Peek or the fearsome sweetness of her delectable
lips. His fate seemed to him strangely dramatic and pathetic,
and to call for a solace consonant with its extremity. A
saloon was near by, and to this he flitted, calling for
absinthe--beyond doubt the drink most adequate to his
mood--the tipple of the roue, the abandoned, the vainly
sighing lover.
Once he drank of it, and again, and then again until he felt
a strange, exalted sense of non-participation in worldly
affairs pervade him. Tansey was no drinker; his consumption
of three absinthe anisettes within almost as few minutes
proclaimed his unproficiency in the art; Tansey was merely
flooding with unproven liquor his sorrows; which record
and tradition alleged to be drownable.
Coming out upon the sidewalk, he snapped his fingers defiantly
in the direction of the Peek homestead, turned the other way, and
voyaged, Columbus-like into the wilds of an enchanted street. Nor
is the figure exorbitant, for, beyond his store the foot of Tansey
had scarcely been set for years--store and boarding-house; between
these ports he was chartered to run, and contrary currents had
rarely deflected his prow.
Tansey aimlessly protracted his walk, and, whether it was his
unfamiliarity with the district, his recent accession of audacious
errantry, or the sophistical whisper of a certain green-eyed
fairy, he came at last to tread a shuttered, blank, and echoing
thoroughfare, dark and unpeopled. And, suddenly, this way came to
an end (as many streets do in the Spanish-built, archaic town of
San Antone), butting its head against an imminent, high, brick
wall. No--the street still lived! To the right and to the left
it breathed through slender tubes of exit--narrow, somnolent
ravines, cobble paved and unlighted. Accommodating a rise in
the street to the right was reared a phantom flight of five
luminous steps of limestone, flanked by a wall of the same
height and of the same material.
Upon one of these steps Tansey seated himself and bethought him of
his love, and how she might never know she was his love. And of
Mother Peek, fat, vigilant and kind; not unpleased, Tansey thought,
that he and Katie should play cribbage in the parlour together.
For the Cut-rate had not cut his salary, which, sordidly speaking,
ranked him star boarder at the Peek's. And he thought of Captain
Peek, Katie's father, a man he dreaded and abhorred; a genteel
loafer and spendthrift, battening upon the labour of his women-folk;
a very queer fish, and, according to repute, not of the freshest.
The night had turned chill and foggy. The heart of the town, with
its noises, was left behind. Reflected from the high vapours, its
distant lights were manifest in quivering, cone-shaped streamers, in
questionable blushes of unnamed colours, in unstable, ghostly waves
of far, electric flashes. Now that the darkness was become more
friendly, the wall against which the street splintered developed
a stone coping topped with an armature of spikes. Beyond it loomed
what appeared to be the acute angles of mountain peaks, pierced here
and there by little lambent parallelograms. Considering this vista,
Tansey at length persuaded himself that the seeming mountains were,
in fact, the convent of Santa Mercedes, with which ancient and
bulky pile he was better familiar from different coigns of view. A
pleasant note of singing in his ears reinforced his opinion. High,
sweet, holy carolling, far and harmonious and uprising, as of
sanctified nuns at their responses. At what hour did the Sisters
sing? He tried to think--was it six, eight, twelve? Tansey leaned
his back against the limestone wall and wondered. Strange things
followed. The air was full of white, fluttering pigeons that circled
about, and settled upon the convent wall. The wall blossomed with a
quantity of shining green eyes that blinked and peered at him from
the solid masonry. A pink, classic nymph came from an excavation in
the cavernous road and danced, barefoot and airy, upon the ragged
flints. The sky was traversed by a company of beribboned cats,
marching in stupendous, aerial procession. The noise of singing
grew louder; an illumination of unseasonable fireflies danced past,
and strange whispers came out of the dark without meaning or excuse.
Without amazement Tansey took note of these phenomena. He was on
some new plane of understanding, though his mind seemed to him
clear and, indeed, happily tranquil.
A desire for movement and exploration seized him: he rose and
turned into the black gash of street to his right. For a time
the high wall formed one of its boundaries; but further on,
two rows of black-windowed houses closed it in.
Here was the city's quarter once given over to the Spaniard. Here
were still his forbidding abodes of concrete and adobe, standing
cold and indomitable against the century. From the murky fissure,
the eye saw, flung against the sky, the tangled filigree of
his Moorish balconies. Through stone archways breaths of dead,
vault-chilled air coughed upon him; his feet struck jingling
iron rings in staples stone-buried for half a cycle. Along these
paltry avenues had swaggered the arrogant Don, had caracoled and
serenaded and blustered while the tomahawk and the pioneer's rifle
were already uplifted to expel him from a continent. And Tansey,
stumbling through this old-world dust, looked up, dark as it was,
and saw Andalusian beauties glimmering on the balconies. Some of
them were laughing and listening to the goblin music that still
followed; others harked fearfully through the night, trying to
catch the hoof beats of caballeros whose last echoes from those
stones had died away a century ago. Those women were silent, but
Tansey heard the jangle of horseless bridle-bits, the whirr of
riderless rowels, and, now and then, a muttered malediction in
a foreign tongue. But he was not frightened. Shadows, nor shadows
of sounds could daunt him. Afraid? No. Afraid of Mother Peek?
Afraid to face the girl of his heart? Afraid of tipsy Captain
Peek? Nay! nor of these apparitions, nor of that spectral singing
that always pursued him. Singing! He would show them! He lifted
up a strong and untuneful voice:
"When you hear them bells go tingalingling,"
serving notice upon those mysterious agencies that if it should
come to a face-to-face encounter
"There'll be a hot time
In the old town
To-night!"
How long Tansey consumed in treading this haunted byway was not
clear to him, but in time he emerged into a more commodious avenue.
When within a few yards of the corner he perceived, through a
window, that a small confectionary of mean appearance was set in
the angle. His same glance that estimated its meagre equipment, its
cheap soda-water fountain and stock of tobacco and sweets, took
cognizance of Captain Peek within lighting a cigar at a swinging
gaslight.
As Tansey rounded the corner Captain Peek came out, and they met
vis-a-vis. An exultant joy filled Tansey when he found
himself sustaining the encounter with implicit courage. Peek,
indeed! He raised his hand, and snapped his fingers loudly.
It was Peek himself who quailed guiltily before the valiant mien of
the drug clerk. Sharp surprise and a palpable fear bourgeoned upon
the Captain's face. And, verily, that face was one to rather call
up such expressions on the faces of others. The face of a libidinous
heathen idol, small eyed, with carven folds in the heavy jowls, and
a consuming, pagan license in its expression. In the gutter just
beyond the store Tansey saw a closed carriage standing with its
back toward him and a motionless driver perched in his place.
"Why, it's Tansey!" exclaimed Captain Peek. "How are you, Tansey?
H-have a cigar, Tansey?"
"Why, it's Peek!" cried Tansey, jubilant at his own temerity.
"What deviltry are you up to now, Peek? Back streets and a closed
carriage! Fie! Peek!"
"There's no one in the carriage," said the Captain, smoothly.
"Everybody out of it is in luck," continued Tansey, aggressively.
"I'd love for you to know, Peek, that I'm not stuck on you. You're
a bottle-nosed scoundrel."
"Why, the little rat's drunk!" cried the Captain, joyfully; "only
drunk, and I thought he was on! Go home, Tansey, and quit bothering
grown persons on the street."
But just then a white-clad figure sprang out of the carriage, and
a shrill voice--Katie's voice--sliced the air: "Sam! Sam!--help me,
Sam!"
Tansey sprung toward her, but Captain Peek interposed his bulky
form. Wonder of wonders! the whilom spiritless youth struck out
with his right, and the hulking Captain went over in a swearing
heap. Tansey flew to Katie, and took her in his arms like a
conquering knight. She raised her face, and he kissed her--violets!
electricity! caramels! champagne! Here was the attainment of a
dream that brought no disenchantment.
"Oh, Sam," cried Katie, when she could, "I knew you would come to
rescue me. What do you suppose the mean things were going to do
with me?"
"Have your picture taken," said Tansey, wondering at the foolishness
of his remark.
"No, they were going to eat me. I heard them talking about it."
"Eat you!" said Tansey, after pondering a moment. "That can't be;
there's no plates."
But a sudden noise warned him to turn. Down upon him were bearing
the Captain and a monstrous long-bearded dwarf in a spangled cloak
and red trunk-hose. The dwarf leaped twenty feet and clutched them.
The Captain seized Katie and hurled her, shrieking, back into the
carriage, himself followed, and the vehicle dashed away. The dwarf
lifted Tansey high above his head and ran with him into the store.
Holding him with one hand, he raised the lid of an enormous chest
half filled with cakes of ice, flung Tansey inside, and closed
down the cover.
The force of the fall must have been great, for Tansey lost
consciousness. When his faculties revived his first sensation was
one of severe cold along his back and limbs. Opening his eyes, he
found himself to be seated upon the limestone steps still facing the
wall and convent of Santa Mercedes. His first thought was of the
ecstatic kiss from Katie. The outrageous villainy of Captain Peek,
the unnatural mystery of the situation, his preposterous conflict
with the improbable dwarf--these things roused and angered him, but
left no impression of the unreal.
"I'll go back there to-morrow," he grumbled aloud, "and knock the
head off that comic-opera squab. Running out and picking up perfect
strangers, and shoving them into cold storage!"
But the kiss remained uppermost in his mind. "I might have done that
long ago," he mused. "She liked it, too. She called me 'Sam' four
times. I'll not go up that street again. Too much scrapping. Guess
I'll move down the other way. Wonder what she meant by saying they
were going to eat her!"
Tansey began to feel sleepy, but after a while he decided to move
along again. This time he ventured into the street to his left. It
ran level for a distance, and then dipped gently downward, opening
into a vast, dim, barren space--the old Military Plaza. To his left,
some hundred yards distant, he saw a cluster of flickering lights
along the Plaza's border. He knew the locality at once.
Huddled within narrow confines were the remnants of the once-famous
purveyors of the celebrated Mexican national cookery. A few years
before, their nightly encampments upon the historic Alamo Plaza, in
the heart of the city, had been a carnival, a saturnalia that was
renowned throughout the land. Then the caterers numbered hundreds;
the patrons thousands. Drawn by the coquettish senoritas, the
music of the weird Spanish minstrels, and the strange piquant
Mexican dishes served at a hundred competing tables, crowds thronged
the Alamo Plaza all night. Travellers, rancheros, family parties,
gay gasconading rounders, sightseers and prowlers of polyglot,
owlish San Antone mingled there at the centre of the city's fun and
frolic. The popping of corks, pistols, and questions; the glitter
of eyes, jewels and daggers; the ring of laughter and coin--these
were the order of the night.
But now no longer. To some half-dozen tents, fires, and tables had
dwindled the picturesque festival, and these had been relegated to
an ancient disused plaza.
Often had Tansey strolled down to these stands at night to partake
of the delectable chili-con-carne, a dish evolved by the genius of
Mexico, composed of delicate meats minced with aromatic herbs and
the poignant chili colorado--a compound full of singular flavour
and a fiery zest delightful to the Southron's palate.
The titillating odour of this concoction came now, on the breeze, to
the nostrils of Tansey, awakening in him hunger for it. As he turned
in that direction he saw a carriage dash up to the Mexicans' tents
out of the gloom of the Plaza. Some figures moved back and forward
in the uncertain light of the lanterns, and then the carriage was
driven swiftly away.
Tansey approached, and sat at one of the tables covered with gaudy
oil-cloth. Traffic was dull at the moment. A few half-grown boys
noisily fared at another table; the Mexicans hung listless and
phlegmatic about their wares. And it was still. The night hum of the
city crowded to the wall of dark buildings surrounding the Plaza,
and subsided to an indefinite buzz through which sharply perforated
the crackle of the languid fires and the rattle of fork and spoon.
A sedative wind blew from the southeast. The starless firmament
pressed down upon the earth like a leaden cover.
In all that quiet Tansey turned his head suddenly, and saw, without
disquietude, a troop of spectral horsemen deploy into the Plaza and
charge a luminous line of infantry that advanced to sustain the
shock. He saw the fierce flame of cannon and small arms, but heard
no sound. The careless victuallers lounged vacantly, not deigning to
view the conflict. Tansey mildly wondered to what nations these mute
combatants might belong; turned his back to them and ordered his
chili and coffee from the Mexican woman who advanced to serve him.
This woman was old and careworn; her face was lined like the rind
of a cantaloupe. She fetched the viands from a vessel set by the
smouldering fire, and then retired to a tent, dark within, that
stood near by.
Presently Tansey heard a turmoil in the tent; a wailing,
broken-hearted pleading in the harmonious Spanish tongue, and then
two figures tumbled out into the light of the lanterns. One was the
old woman; the other was a man clothed with a sumptuous and flashing
splendour. The woman seemed to clutch and beseech from him something
against his will. The man broke from her and struck her brutally
back into the tent, where she lay, whimpering and invisible.
Observing Tansey, he walked rapidly to the table where he sat.
Tansey recognized him to be Ramon Torres, a Mexican, the proprietor
of the stand he was patronizing.
Torres was a handsome, nearly full-blooded descendant of the
Spanish, seemingly about thirty years of age, and of a haughty, but
extremely courteous demeanour. To-night he was dressed with signal
magnificence. His costume was that of a triumphant matador, made
of purple velvet almost hidden by jeweled embroidery. Diamonds of
enormous size flashed upon his garb and his hands. He reached for a
chair, and, seating himself at the opposite side of the table, began
to roll a finical cigarette.
"Ah, Meester Tansee," he said, with a sultry fire in his silky,
black eyes, "I give myself pleasure to see you this evening.
Meester Tansee, you have many times come to eat at my table.
I theenk you a safe man--a verree good friend. How much would
it please you to leeve forever?"
"Not come back any more?" inquired Tansey.
"No; not leave--leeve; the not-to-die."
"I would call that," said Tansey, "a snap."
Torres leaned his elbows upon the table, swallowed a mouthful of
smoke, and spake--each word being projected in a little puff of
gray.
"How old do you theenk I am, Meester Tansee?"
"Oh, twenty-eight or thirty."
"Thees day," said the Mexican, "ees my birthday. I am four hundred
and three years of old to-day."
"Another proof," said Tansey, airily, "of the healthfulness of our
climate."
"Eet is not the air. I am to relate to you a secret of verree fine
value. Listen me, Meester Tansee. At the age of twenty-three I
arrive in Mexico from Spain. When? In the year fifteen hundred
nineteen, with the soldados of Hernando Cortez. I come to thees
country seventeen fifteen. I saw your Alamo reduced. It was like
yesterday to me. Three hundred ninety-six year ago I learn the
secret always to leeve. Look at these clothes I war--at these
diamantes. Do you theenk I buy them with the money I make with
selling the chili-con-carne, Meester Tansee?"
"I should think not," said Tansey, promptly. Torres laughed loudly.
"Valgame Dios! but I do. But it not the kind you eating now. I
make a deeferent kind, the eating of which makes men to always
leeve. What do you think! One thousand people I supply--diez pesos
each one pays me the month. You see! ten thousand pesos everee
month! Que diable! how not I wear the fine ropa! You see that
old woman try to hold me back a little while ago? That ees my wife.
When I marry her she is young--seventeen year--bonita. Like
the rest she ees become old and--what you say!--tough? I am the
same--young all the time. To-night I resolve to dress myself
and find another wife befitting my age. This old woman try to
scr-r-ratch my face. Ha! ha! Meester Tansee--same way they do
entre los Americanos."
"And this health-food you spoke of?" said Tansey.
"Hear me," said Torres, leaning over the table until he lay flat
upon it; "eet is the chili-con-carne made not from the beef or the
chicken, but from the flesh of the senorita--young and tender.
That ees the secret. Everee month you must eat of it, having care to
do so before the moon is full, and you will not die any times. See
how I trust you, friend Tansee! To-night I have bought one young
ladee--verree pretty--so fina, gorda, blandita! To-morrow the
chili will be ready. Ahora si! One thousand dollars I pay for
thees young ladee. From an Americano I have bought--a verree
tip-top man--el Capitan Peek--que es, Senor?"
For Tansey had sprung to his feet, upsetting the chair. The words
of Katie reverberated in his ears: "They're going to eat me, Sam."
This, then, was the monstrous fate to which she had been delivered
by her unnatural parent. The carriage he had seen drive up from the
Plaza was Captain Peek's. Where was Katie? Perhaps already--
Before he could decide what to do a loud scream came from the tent.
The old Mexican woman ran out, a flashing knife in her hand. "I have
released her," she cried. "You shall kill no more. They will hang
you--ingrato--encatador!"
Torres, with a hissing exclamation, sprang at her.
"Ramoncito!" she shrieked; "once you loved me."
The Mexican's arm raised and descended. "You are old," he cried;
and she fell and lay motionless.
Another scream; the flaps of the tent were flung aside, and there
stood Katie, white with fear, her wrists still bound with a cruel
cord.
"Sam!" she cried, "save me again!"
Tansey rounded the table, and flung himself, with superb nerve, upon
the Mexican. Just then a clangour began; the clocks of the city were
tolling the midnight hour. Tansey clutched at Torres, and, for a
moment, felt in his grasp the crunch of velvet and the cold facets
of the glittering gems. The next instant, the bedecked caballero
turned in his hands to a shrunken, leather-visaged, white-bearded,
old, old, screaming mummy, sandalled, ragged, and four hundred and
three. The Mexican woman was crawling to her feet, and laughing. She
shook her brown hand in the face of the whining viejo.
"Go, now," she cried, "and seek your senorita. It was I, Ramoncito,
who brought you to this. Within each moon you eat of the life-giving
chili. It was I that kept the wrong time for you. You should have
eaten yesterday instead of to-morrow. It is too late. Off with
you, hombre! You are too old for me!"
"This," decided Tansey, releasing his hold of the gray-beard, "is a
private family matter concerning age, and no business of mine."
With one of the table knives he hastened to saw asunder the fetters
of the fair captive; and then, for the second time that night he
kissed Katie Peek--tasted again the sweetness, the wonder, the
thrill of it, attained once more the maximum of his incessant
dreams.
The next instant an icy blade was driven deep between his shoulders;
he felt his blood slowly congeal; heard the senile cackle of the
perennial Spaniard; saw the Plaza rise and reel till the zenith
crashed into the horizon--and knew no more.
When Tansey opened his eyes again he was sitting upon those
self-same steps gazing upon the dark bulk of the sleeping convent.
In the middle of his back was still the acute, chilling pain. How
had he been conveyed back there again? He got stiffly to his feet
and stretched his cramped limbs. Supporting himself against the
stonework he revolved in his mind the extravagant adventures that
had befallen him each time he had strayed from the steps that night.
In reviewing them certain features strained his credulity. Had he
really met Captain Peek or Katie or the unparalleled Mexican in
his wanderings--had he really encountered them under commonplace
conditions and his over-stimulated brain had supplied the
incongruities? However that might be, a sudden, elating thought
caused him an intense joy. Nearly all of us have, at some point in
our lives--either to excuse our own stupidity or to placate our
consciences--promulgated some theory of fatalism. We have set up
an intelligent Fate that works by codes and signals. Tansey had
done likewise; and now he read, through the night's incidents, the
finger-prints of destiny. Each excursion that he had made had led
to the one paramount finale--to Katie and that kiss, which survived
and grew strong and intoxicating in his memory. Clearly, Fate was
holding up to him the mirror that night, calling him to observe
what awaited him at the end of whichever road he might take. He
immediately turned, and hurried homeward.
Clothed in an elaborate, pale blue wrapper, cut to fit, Miss Katie
Peek reclined in an armchair before a waning fire in her room. Her
little, bare feet were thrust into house-shoes rimmed with swan's
down. By the light of a small lamp she was attacking the society
news of the latest Sunday paper. Some happy substance, seemingly
indestructible, was being rhythmically crushed between her small
white teeth. Miss Katie read of functions and furbelows, but she
kept a vigilant ear for outside sounds and a frequent eye upon the
clock over the mantel. At every footstep upon the asphalt sidewalk
her smooth, round chin would cease for a moment its regular rise
and fall, and a frown of listening would pucker her pretty brows.
At last she heard the latch of the iron gate click. She sprang
up, tripped softly to the mirror, where she made a few of those
feminine, flickering passes at her front hair and throat which
are warranted to hypnotize the approaching guest.
The door-bell rang. Miss Katie, in her haste, turned the blaze of
the lamp lower instead of higher, and hastened noiselessly down
stairs into the hall. She turned the key, the door opened, and Mr.
Tansey side-stepped in.
"Why, the i-de-a!" exclaimed Miss Katie, "is this you, Mr. Tansey?
It's after midnight. Aren't you ashamed to wake me up at such an
hour to let you in? You're just awful!"
"I was late," said Tansey, brilliantly.
"I should think you were! Ma was awfully worried about you. When
you weren't in by ten, that hateful Tom McGill said you were out
calling on another--said you were out calling on some young lady.
I just despise Mr. McGill. Well, I'm not going to scold you any
more, Mr. Tansey, if it is a little late--Oh! I turned it
the wrong way!"
Miss Katie gave a little scream. Absent-mindedly she had turned
the blaze of the lamp entirely out instead of higher. It was very
dark.
Tansey heard a musical, soft giggle, and breathed an entrancing
odour of heliotrope. A groping light hand touched his arm.
"How awkward I was! Can you find your way--Sam?"
"I--I think I have a match, Miss K-Katie."
A scratching sound; a flame; a glow of light held at arm's length
by the recreant follower of Destiny illuminating a tableau which
shall end the ignominious chronicle--a maid with unkissed, curling,
contemptuous lips slowly lifting the lamp chimney and allowing the
wick to ignite; then waving a scornful and abjuring hand toward
the staircase--the unhappy Tansey, erstwhile champion in the
prophetic lists of fortune, ingloriously ascending to his just
and certain doom, while (let us imagine) half within the wings
stands the imminent figure of Fate jerking wildly at the wrong
strings, and mixing things up in her usual able manner.
~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~
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