Luna Benamor | Page 9

the aged fellow,
whereupon Zabulon intervened with his darkly energetic authority.
"My father knows what he is talking about. We will never go; we can't
go. In Spain the old customs always return; the old is converted into the
new. There is no security; woman has too much power and interferes in
matters that she does not understand."
Woman! Zabulon spoke scornfully of the sex. They should be treated
as the Jews treated them. The Jews taught them nothing more than the
amount of religion necessary to follow the rites. The presence of
women in the synagogue was in many instances not obligatory. Even
when they came, they were confined to the top of a gallery, like
spectators of the lowest rank. No. Religion was man's business, and the
countries in which woman has a part in it cannot offer security.
Then the unsympathetic Israelite spoke enthusiastically of the "greatest
man in the world," Baron Rothschild, lord over kings and
governments--taking care never to omit the title of baron every time he
pronounced the name--and he finally named all the great Jewish centers,
which were ever increasing in size and population.
"We are everywhere," he asserted, blinking maliciously. "Now we are
spreading over America. Governments change, peoples spread over the
face of the earth, but we are ever the same. Not without reason do we
await the Messiah. He will come, some day."
On one of his morning visits to the ill appointed bank Aguirre was
introduced to Zabulon's two daughters,--Sol and Estrella,--and to his
wife, Thamar. On another morning Aguirre experienced a tremor of

emotion upon hearing behind him the rustle of silks and noticing that
the light from the entrance was obscured by the figure of a person
whose identity his nerves had divined. It was Luna, who had come,
with all the interest that Hebrew women feel for their domestic affairs,
to deliver an order to her uncle. The old man grasped her hands across
the counter, caressing them tremblingly.
"This is my granddaughter, sir consul, my granddaughter Luna. Her
father is dead, and my daughter too. She comes from Morocco. No one
loves the poor girl as much as her grandfather does."
And the patriarch burst into tears, moved by his own words.
Aguirre left the shop with triumphant joy. They had spoken to each
other; now they were acquainted. The moment he met her upon the
street he would cling to her, taking advantage of some blessed customs
that seemed to have been made for lovers.

II
NEITHER could tell how, after several ordinary meetings, their
friendly confidence grew, or which had been the first word to reveal the
mystery of their thoughts.
They saw each other mornings when Aguirre would go to his window.
The Feast of Tabernacles had come to an end, and the Aboabs had
taken down the religious structure, but Luna continued to go to the roof
under various pretexts, so that she might exchange a glance, a smile, a
gesture of greeting with the Spaniard. They did not converse from these
heights through fear of the neighbors, but afterwards they met in the
street, and Luis, after a respectful salute, would join the young lady,
and they would walk along as companions, like other couples they met
on their way. All were known to one another in that town. Only by this
knowledge could married couples be distinguished from simple friends.
Luna visited various shops on errands for the Aboabs, like a good
Jewess who is interested in all the family affairs. At other times she

wandered aimlessly through Royal Street, or walked in the direction of
the Alameda, explaining the landmarks of the city to Aguirre at her side.
In the midst of these walks she would stop at the brokers' shop to greet
the patriarch, who smiled childishly as he contemplated the youthful
and beautiful couple.
"Señor consul, señor consul," said Samuel one day, "I brought from my
house this morning the family papers, for you to read. Not all of them.
There are too many altogether! We Aboabs are very old; I wish to
prove to the consul that we are judeos of Spain, and that we still
remember the beautiful land."
And from underneath the counter he drew forth divers rolls of
parchment covered with Hebrew characters. They were matrimonial
documents, acts of union of the Aboabs with certain families of the
Israelite community. At the head of all these documents figured on one
side the coat of arms of England and on the other that of Spain, in
bright colors and gold borders.
"We are English," declared the patriarch. "May the Lord preserve our
king and send him much happiness; but we are Spaniards historically:
Castilians, that is... Castilians."
He selected from the parchments one that