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Updated: June 6, 2025
She had never been a beauty; but her trace of fleshiness, her big black eyes that seemed to brighten a clean brownish countenance, and especially the light wrapper she would hurriedly throw on to attend to her nocturnal patronage, lent her charm in the eyes of those healthy youths who laid their courses toward the Valencian shore with joyous anticipation of a sight of siñá Tona.
Sharp eyes soon made out the identity of the craft. Flor de Mayo! Flor de Mayo! The boat came on, now swallowed in the deep trough, now rearing on the crests of the combers. Siñá Tona and Dolores began to shriek and scream like mad.
Martinez, siñor Martines, in two months ... Tona cannot pretend any longer! People are noticing. What will the boys say when they find that they have a young brother? But Martinez got cross. It wasn't his fault, if the documents didn't come. She could see how many letters he kept writing. Finally the patrolman announced one morning that there was no other way out of it.
That was good training for a girl, wasn't it! What she didn't know was probably not worth knowing. And Tona was to be mother-in-law of a piece like that! Pretty as she was, all that had kept her off the streets so far was the good advice some of the women of the neighborhood gave her. Even so, her conduct with Tonet was getting to be the talk of the village.
The matter did not remain long secret; nor was Tona displeased at the talk. She wanted it known that the tavern had a man in charge. When she had something to attend to in the Cabañal, she left the shop in care of Martinez, who sat, as he had always sat, under the shelter, looking out to sea with the rifle across his knees. Even the two boys understood that something was going on.
The fun, later on ...!" And he set a good example by taking off his cap and putting on a long face, as the chaplain, sweating just as much under that stifling cope, was fumbling through his book to find the prayer beginning Propitiare Domini supplicationibus nostris et benedic navem istam.... Siñá Tona and tio Mariano on either side of the curate stood with eyes nailed to the ground.
Tona talked more picturesquely than she had ever talked before. So Her Royal Highness of the Horseshoe, that wench of a teamster's daughter, was getting into the family, as she had always meant to do! Well, that Queen Virtuous knew which side her bread was buttered on.
Why not, with a boat full of the real stuff, not to mention that stocking crammed with silver duros that sometimes stuck into his ribs as he lay down on the bed in the stateroom! To make sleeping more comfortable he removed that annoying obstruction, and siñá Tona said not a word. Was he not to be her husband?
Just what she needed a husband with a thick skull and nothing inside it, who would be able to work like a cart-horse from morning till night. The pickpocket! Just like her to steal the only man in the family that could earn a cent! But then suddenly Tona thought of something, and she broke off her tirade. Better let them get married! That simplified the situation and favored her own plans.
The money was all hers, and so long as the tavern paid as well as it was paying, there was no need to worry. In four or five months, however, Tona began to go around with a long face. See here, Martinez, siñor Martines, just come down out of the clouds and listen to Tona for a moment. Tona is saying something to you. She is saying that something must be done, in the circumstances.
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