Читать книгу Chata and Chinita. A Novel онлайн

161 страница из 163

“Stay! stay!” cried Chinita, eager to give her news, as she saw Chata about to fly. “Though I did not look, I found something. Oh, yes, in black letters, so big and clear!”

Chata returned precipitately. “Letters—what letters?” she cried.

“Big black letters, J and U and A and N; and the letters for the American name—how do they say it? Ash— Yes, Ashley—it is not hard—and that he was born in the United States, and murdered here in May,—yes, I forget the figures, but I counted up; it was just fourteen years ago, upon the 13th of this very month. It was all written out upon a little wooden cross, which had fallen face down upon the grave I fell asleep upon. I might have looked for it a hundred years and not have found it, but I had scraped away the sand from it to rub my hands. It is thick and heavy; I could scarcely turn it over to read the words,—but they are there. You may tell Doña Feliz there was an American.”

“No, I shall say nothing,” said Chata, dreamily. “She likes not to hear of murder or of ghosts. Ah, the poor American! why does his spirit stay here? This is not purgatory. Ah, can it be he cannot rest because he died upon the 13th?—the unlucky number, my mother says.”