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Updated: May 20, 2025
Before a little waxen image of the Mother and Child, an odd little Virgin with an Indian face, brought home by Feliu as a gift after one of his Mexican voyages, Carmen Viosca had burned candles and prayed; sometimes telling her beads; sometimes murmuring the litanies she knew by heart; sometimes also reading from a prayer-book worn and greasy as a long-used pack of cards.
... Who was it had asked her the same question, in another idiom ever so long ago? The man with the black eyes and nose like an eagle's beak, the one who gave her the compass. Not this man no! She answered, with the timid gravity of surprise: "Chita Viosca" He still watched her face, and repeated the name slowly, reiterated it in a tone of wonderment: "Chita Viosca? Chita Viosca!"
The family of a Spanish fisherman, Feliu Viosca, once occupied and gave its name to such an islet, quite close to the Gulf-shore, the loftiest bit of land along fourteen miles of just such marshy coast as I have spoken of.
Weirdly the past became confounded with the present; impressions of sight and of sound interlinked in fastastic affinity, the face of Chita Viosca, the murmur of the rising storm.
That golden hair was a Scandinavian bequest to the Florane family; the tall daughter of a Norwegian sea captain had once become the wife of a Florane. Viosca? who ever knew a Viosca with such hair? Yet again, these Spanish emigrants sometimes married blonde German girls ... Might be a case of atavism, too. Who was this Viosca?
Still the population itself retained a floating character: it ebbed and came, according to season and circumstances, according to luck or loss in the tilling of the sea. Viosca, the founder of the settlement, always remained; he always managed to do well.
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