Read Ebook: The Novel on the Tram by P Rez Gald S Benito Wooff Michael Translator

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Ebook has 106 lines and 6498 words, and 3 pages

"For crying out loud, what countess?" exclaimed the woman, laughing even more loudly.

"Don't think you fool me with your laughter!" I replied. "The Countess was either poisoned or murdered. There's no doubt about it in my mind."

At this juncture the tram arrived at Pozas and I had reached the end of my journey. We all got off. The English woman gave me a look indicative of her elation at finding herself free of me and each of us went in our several directions. I followed the woman with the dog, plying her with questions, until she reached her home still laughing at my determination to know better about other people's lives. Once alone in the street, I remembered the object of my journey and set off to visit the house where I was due to hand over those books. I gave them to the person who had asked for them in order to read them, and I started to walk up and down opposite Buen Suceso, waiting for the tram to reappear so I could then return to the opposite end of Madrid again.

I waited a long time and finally, just as it was getting dark, the tram prepared to leave.

I got on and the first thing I saw was the English lady sitting where she had sat before. When she saw me get on and sit down next to her, the expression on her face beggared description. She went as red as a beetroot and exclaimed:

"Oh! You again. I complain to driver--you are for high jump this time."

I was so preoccupied with my own emotions that, without paying attention to what the English lady was saying in her laborious utterances, I answered her thus:

"Madam, there is no doubt that the Countess was either poisoned or killed. You have no idea of that man's ferocity."

The tram continued on its way and every now and then stopped to take on passengers. Near the royal palace three got on, occupying seats opposite me. One of them was a tall, thin and bony man with very stern eyes and a bell-like voice that imposed respect.

They hadn't been on ten minutes when this man turned to the others and said:

"Poor thing! How she cried out in her dying moments! The bullet went in above her right shoulder-blade and penetrated down to her heart."

"What?" I exclaimed all of a sudden. "She died of a shot and not a stab wound?"

The three of them looked at me in amazement.

"Of a shot, sir, yes," the tall, thin and bony one said with a certain amount of surliness.

"And that woman maintained she had died of food poisoning," I said, more interested in this affair by the minute. "Tell me how it came about."

"And what concern is it of yours?" said the other with an offhand gesture.

"I'm very interested indeed to know the end of this horrific tragedy. Does it not seem to be straight from the pages of a novel?"

"Where do novels and dead people come into it? Either you're mad or you're trying to make fun of us."

"Young man, be careful what you joke about," added the tall and thin one.

"Don't you think I know what happened? I know it all from start to finish. I witnessed all the various scenes of this horrendous crime. But you're saying that the Countess died of a pistol shot."

"Good God. We weren't talking about a Countess, but about my female dog that we inadvertently shot while out hunting. If you want to make a joke of it, meet me outside and I'll answer you as you deserve."

"I see where you're coming from. Now you're determined to keep the truth hidden," I said, thinking that these men wanted to lead me astray in my inquiries, transforming that unfortunate lady into a female dog.

One of my interlocutors was doubtless preparing his answer, more physical than the case required, when the English woman put her finger to her temple as if to indicate to them that my head did not function properly. They calmed down at this and spoke not a single word more for the whole of their journey, which finished for them at the Puerta del Sol. No doubt they had been afraid of me.

I was so fixated on the idea that a crime had been committed that it was in vain that I tried to calm down as I reasoned out the threads of such a complicated question. But each time I did so my confusion grew and the image of the poor lady refused to leave me. In all the countenances that succeeded one another inside the tram, I thought I might see something that would contribute to an explanation of the enigma. I felt a frightful overheating of my brain and no doubt this inner disturbance was reflected in my face as everyone looked at me as at something that you don't see every day.

There was yet another incident which would turn my head during that fateful journey. On passing through the Calle de Alcal? a man got on with his wife. He sat down next to me. He was a man who seemed affected by some strong and recent emotion and I could even believe that, from time to time, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away invisible tears which were no doubt being shed behind the dark green lenses of his unusual spectacles. After a short time he said in a low voice to the person I took to be his wife:

"They suspect that she was poisoned, there's no doubt about it. Don Mateo's just told me. Poor woman!"

"How terrible! That's what I thought too," answered his wife.

"What else can you expect from such savages?"

"I won't leave a stone unturned till I get to the bottom of this business."

I, who was all ears, also said in a low voice: "Yes, sir, she was poisoned. There's proof of it."

"What? You know? Did you know her too?" said the man with the green specs, turning towards me.

"Yes, sir. And I do not doubt that her death was a violent one, no matter how hard they try to make us believe it was food poisoning."

"I'm of the same opinion. What an excellent woman! But how do you know all this for a fact?"

"I know, I know," I replied, extremely pleased that this man at least did not think I was mad.

"You'll make a declaration to the court then, for the judge has already started to sum up."

"I'll be happy just to see these rascals get what's coming to them. I'll make that declaration, yes, I will, sir."

My moral blindness had reached such a point that I ended up completely taken in by this event half dreamed, half read about, and believed it as I now believe I'm writing with a pen.

"Indeed I will, sir, for it is necessary to clear up this mystery so that the perpetrators of this crime can be punished. I will declare that she was poisoned by a cup of tea, the same as the young man."

"Yes, it surprises me," the lady answered. "What terrible things those monsters were capable of!"

"It's true, sir. With a cup of tea. The Countess was playing the piano."

"What countess?" the man asked, interrupting me. "The countess. The woman who was poisoned."

"The woman in question was no countess."

"Come off it. You too are one of those determined to hide the facts in this case."

"This was no countess or duchess, but simply the woman who did my laundry for me, the wife of the pointsman at Madrid North station."

"A laundress, eh?" I said roguishly. "You won't make me swallow that one."

The man and his wife looked at me quizzically and muttered some words to each other. From a gesture that I saw the woman make I understood that she had formed the deep conviction I was drunk. I opted not to argue and said nothing, content to despise such an irreverent supposition in silence as befits great souls. My anxiety knew no bounds. The Countess was not absent for a moment from my thoughts and she had started to interest me by reason of her sinister end as if all that had not been a morbid expression of my own impulse to fantasize, forged by successive visions and conversations. Finally, to understand to what extreme my madness carried me, I am going to relate the ultimate occurrence on this journey of mine. I shall say with what extravagance I put an end to the painful combat of my understanding caught in a battle with an army of shadows.

The tram was entering the calle de Serrano when I chanced to look through the window opposite where I was sitting into the street, weakly lit by street lights, and I saw a man go by. I shouted with surprise and foolishly exclaimed the following:

"There he goes. It's him, Mudarra, the principal author of so many crimes."

I ordered the tram to stop and alighted or rather jumped through the door, colliding with the feet and legs of the passengers. I descended to the street and ran after that man, shouting:

"Stop him! Stop him! Murderer!"

You can imagine what the effect of these words would have been in such a tranquil neighbourhood. The man in question, the same one I had seen in the tram that afternoon, was arrested. I, for my part, did not stop shouting:

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