Сердца трех / Hearts of Three

Giving his horse to a gendarme to hold, not stopping to brush the filth from his person, the old man limped hurriedly to the wagon and began an examination of the several packing cases, large and small, which composed its load. Of one case he was especially solicitous, even trying to lift it and seeming to listen as he lifted.

He straightened up, on being addressed by one of the gendarmes, and made voluble reply.

�Me? Alas señors, I am an old man, and far from home. I am Leopoldo Narvaez.

It is true, my mother was German, may the Saints preserve her rest; but my father was Baltazar de Jesus y Cervallos e Narvaez, son of General Narvaez of martial memory, who fought under the great Bolivar himself. And now I am half ruined and far from home.

Prompted by other questions, interlarded with the courteous expressions of sympathy with which even the humblest moso is over generously supplied, he managed to be politefully grateful and to run on with his tale.

�I have driven from Bocas del Toro.

It has taken me five days, and business has been poor. My home is in Colon, and I wish I were safely there. But even a noble Narvaez may be a peddler, and even a peddler must live, eh, señors, is it not so? But tell me, is there not a Tomas Romero who dwells in this pleasant city of San Antonio?’

�There are any God’s number of Tomas Romeros who dwell everywhere in Panama,’ laughed Pedro Zurita, the assistant jailer. �One would need fuller description.

’

�He is the cousin of my second wife,’ the ancient answered hopefully, and seemed bewildered by the roar of laughter from the crowd.

�And a dozen Tomas Romeros live in and about San Antonio,’ the assistant jailer went on, �any one of which may be your second wife’s cousin, Señor. There is Tomas Romero, the drunkard. There is Tomas Romero, the thief. There is Tomas Romero but no, he was hanged a month back for murder and robbery.

There is the rich Tomas Romero who owns many cattle on the hills. There is…’

To each suggested one, Leopoldo Narvaez had shaken his head dolefully, until the cattle-owner was mentioned. At this he had become hopeful and broken in:

�Pardon me, Señor, it must be he, or some such a one as he. I shall find him. If my precious stock-in-trade can be safely stored, I shall seek him now. It is well my misfortune came upon me where it did.