California -- History -- Fiction; Rezanov, Nikolai Petrovich, 1764-1807 -- Fiction
"Pardon, senor. If I thought you could I should not be here. One
often says such things. This is the plan: You shall suggest that we
buy your wares, and that you buy again with our money. The dear
Governor only wants to save his conscience an ache, for we have driven
him nearly distracted. I am sure he will consent, for you will know
how to put it to him very diplomatically."
"But if he refused to understand, or his conscience remained obdurate?
I should then have neither cargo nor ballast."
"He would never trick a guest, nor would he let the money go out of the
country. And he knows well how much we need your cargo and longs to be
able to state in his reports that he sold you a hold full of
breadstuffs. Moreover, I think the time has come to tell him of the
distress at Sitka. He is very soft-hearted and is now in that
distracted state of mind when only one more argument is required. I
hope I have given you good advice, Excellency. It is the best I can
think of. I have given it much thought, and the terrible state of
those miserable creatures has kept me awake many nights. I must return
now. Will your excellency kindly remain here until I am well on my
way?--and then return by the beach? I shall go as I came, through the
valley. Neither of us can be seen from the Battery."
"I will obey all your instructions," said Rezanov. But he did not move,
nor could the mustang. Concha smiled and pointed to the other side of
the cleft, which was about as wide as a narrow street.
"Pardon, senor, I cannot turn."
For a moment Rezanov stared at her, through her. Then his heavy eyes
opened and flashed. It seemed to him that for the first time he saw
how beautiful, how desirable she was, set in that gray volcanic rock
with the heavens gray above her, and the stars fading out. It was not
the bower he would have imagined for the wooing of a mate, but neither
moonlight nor the romantic glades of La Bellissima could have awakened
in him a passion so sudden and final. Her face between the black folds
turned whiter and she shrank back against the jagged wall: and when his
eyes flashed again with a wild eager hope she involuntarily crossed
herself. He threw himself against the horse and snatched her down and
kissed her as he had kissed no woman yet, recognizing her once for all.
When he finally held her at arm's length for a moment he laughed
confusedly.
"The Russian bear is no longer a figure of speech," he said. "Forgive
me. I forgot that you are as tender as you are strong."
Her hands were tightly clasped against her breast and the breath was
short in her throat, but she made no protest. Her eyes were radiant,
her mouth was the only color in that gray dawn. In a moment she too
laughed.
"Dios de mi alma! What will they say? A heretic! If Tamalpais fell
into the sea it would not make so great a sensation in this California
of ours where civilized man exists but to drive heathen souls into the
one true church."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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