Read Online Cervantes Street by Jaime Manrique - Free Book Online Page A

nothing in my cousin’s behavior gave me pause for suspicion, I felt a twinge of jealousy. When Miguel finished singing, we all cheered and clapped; then silence reigned inside the coach for the rest of the ride. Mercedes stared out the window, all the way to the cathedral.
    After we said our prayers in front of the main altar, we went to see Garcilaso’s tomb. I was eager to show it to Miguel. He dropped to his knees in front of the marble sarcophagus and kissed the cold stone. I, too, had been overcome with emotion the first time I visited Garcilaso’s resting place. Leonela gave Mercedes a small bouquet of roses she had been carrying and my cousin laid it at the base of the poet’s sepulcher. Miguel offered to recite a sonnet he had written in honor of the great Toledano. The less I say about that sonnet, the better. But Mercedes seemed to approve of it.
    I was relieved when we left Toledo together. On the ride back to Madrid, Miguel raved about Mercedes and proceeded to ask me questions of a personal nature. I was careful not to reveal too much.
    “She’s so beautiful, and intelligent, and vivacious,” Miguel said.
    I nodded but said nothing.
    He went on, “Her spontaneity is so captivating.”
    Before he had a chance to continue talking about her, I said: “My parents and grandparents have always expected us to get married.” Miguel’s face could not hide the disappointment my news caused him. He had little to say on the remainder of our trip back to Madrid.
     
    * * *
     
    I started classes at the university and was kept busy, delighted with my studies and my new acquaintances. One day a letter from Mercedes came in the mail giving me the usual news about my grandparents’ health and full of questions about university life. In a postscript, as an apparent afterthought, she added that Miguel had stopped by to visit them. At first I thought nothing of it. However, I wrote to Miguel without mentioning the visit; he didn’t answer back. A week passed, then two. His silence preoccupied me. Then the poison of jealousy began to well up in my heart. Immediately, I repudiated the thought that my best friend would try to make love to my intended. As for Mercedes, I knew she was too noble and pure to be capable of betrayal. I had my doubts about Miguel, though. Jealousy began to consume me to the point that I became increasingly distracted and could not study, could not sleep, could not eat. I took residence in the student taverns of Alcalá, where I drank by myself in a corner, until I fell into a stupor. My servants would carry me home before I was robbed and stabbed. I could not continue in that state. I owed an obligation to my family’s name to behave always like the caballero I was. One dawn, after an interminable sleepless night, I got dressed and, on an impulse, woke up the man in charge of the stable and asked him to saddle my fastest horse. I left for Madrid determined to . . . what was it I hoped to find out? I prayed that my suspicions were unfounded.
    I rode directly to Miguel’s house and found Don Rodrigo changing smelly bandages on a patient. “Don Luis,” he exclaimed, “to what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
    I was too impatient for his usual foolishness, so I said, “Good morning to you, Don Rodrigo. Is Miguel at home?”
    My abruptness seemed to startle him. He continued changing the bandages as he spoke. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Miguel since . . . yesterday? I thought he had gone to Alcalá to visit you. Is there anything wrong?”
    I shook my head.
    “My wife is at the market, Don Luis, but why don’t you go upstairs and ask Andrea? She might know where Miguel is. He should be here this morning, helping me. That’s where he should be.”
    I found Andrea breast-feeding her baby. “Please don’t get up,” I said. “I need to find Miguel. It’s urgent.”
    “Miguel left for Toledo yesterday,” Andrea responded, hoisting the baby to cover her exposed breast.