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Updated: June 9, 2025
Even to-day, do you think I've got the strength and quickness, or even the enjoyment in my work, that I had when I was twenty-five? Not on your life! Old age is certainly coming, and coming fast. So I tell you again we've got to save something. To all this Zureda added a number of other arguments, discreet and weighty, so that his wife declared herself convinced.
"Crazy, you?" demanded the youth. "No!" "Well, you act it!" "You're wrong. I know all about you I know you've been beating your mother. And you can't pay for a thing like that even with every drop of your blood. No, sir! Not even the last drop of pig's blood you've got in your body would pay for that!" Amadeo Zureda was afraid of himself. He had begun to shiver.
"I tell you he's a dandy!" repeated Don Adolfo. "If he died, the devil would think a good while before taking him. He's a drunkard and a gambler, always chasing women and fighting. He's the limit!" After a moment he added: "Really, he don't seem like a son of yours, at all." Amadeo Zureda made no answer. Looking out of the car window, he tried to distract himself with the landscape.
The poor man suspected nothing. He remained quite blind. Even if he had not loved Rafaela, his adoration of the boy would have been enough to fill his eyes with dust. Truth, however, is mighty and will prevail. After a while Zureda began to observe that something odd was going on about him.
"I'm not afraid of work, you know," went on Zureda, "but engines are made of iron, and even so they wear out at last and get tired of running. Men are just the same. And when it happens to me, as it's got to, some day, what'll become of us, then?" Calmly Rafaela shook her head. She by no means shared her husband's fears. No doubt Amadeo's sickness had made him timorous and pessimistic.
Half an hour before supper, Zureda tiptoed to their bedroom and took from the little night-table his heavy-bladed, horn-handled hunting knife the knife he always carried on his runs. After that he put on a flat cap, tied a muffler round his neck for the evening was cold and started to leave the house.
"You were a conductor on the Asturias line when I worked on the one running to Bilbao. Don't you remember me? Amadeo Zureda?" "Yes, indeed!" The two men embraced each other. "Why, I used to say 'thee' and 'thou' to you!" cried Don Adolfo. "Yes, yes, I remember that, too. I remember everything, now. We were good friends once, eh? Well, time seems to have made some pretty big changes in both of us."
Annihilated by the realization of this new disaster, no longer having any heart to defend himself, the wretched man let his arms fall. And just at this moment Manolo, beside himself with rage, plunged the fatal blade into his breast. Now with his vengeance complete, the parricide took to flight. Amadeo Zureda, dying, was carried to the hospital. There, that same night, Don Adolfo came to see him.
High up in the Gothic steeple, the bells were swinging, gay and clangorous. A neighbor, passing, said to the old engineer: "Well, Manolo's showed up." "When?" asked Zureda, phlegmatically. "Last night." "Where did you see him?" "At Honorio's inn." "A great one, that boy is! He's certainly some fine lad! Never came near me!" The day drew on, without anything happening.
Suddenly Berlanga exclaimed: "If Zureda and I weren't pals " Silence. The silversmith added, warming to the subject: "Rafaela, tell me the truth. Isn't it true that Amadeo stands in our way?" She peered closely at him, and afterward raised her handkerchief to her eyes. She gave him no other answer. And nothing more happened, just then.
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